Work Text:
“You’re shaking,” Apple observes, her voice a soft, honeyed vibration that cuts through the heavy silence of the dorm room.
Raven freezes mid-step, having just emerged from the bathroom. She is wearing a deep plum dress that clings to her ribs, the fabric cool against skin that feels feverish. Her heart hammers against her sternum, a frantic bird in a cage, because being *seen* by Apple White is a visceral experience—it is a blinding, golden warmth that makes Raven feel stripped bare.
Apple is standing by the vanity, beaming, clutching a massive, lush bouquet of blue and black dahlias. The scent is thick, peppery and sweet, filling the small space until it feels claustrophobic. Raven’s breath hitches. The sheer intensity of the affection in Apple’s eyes triggers a surge of raw, uncontrolled magic. It starts as a prickle at the base of her spine and rushes upward, a cold electric current that spills from her fingertips. She reaches for the flowers, but the moment her skin brushes the petals, the vibrancy drains. The vivid blues grey out; the petals curl and shrivel, wilting in a sudden, violent lapse of vitality.
Raven recoils, a gasp catching in her throat. “I—Apple, I’m sorry, I just—”
The panic is a physical weight in her chest. She stares at the dead stalks, her stomach churning with the fear that she ruins everything she touches. But Apple doesn’t flinch. Instead, she lets out a tiny, breathless laugh and reaches behind her, producing a smaller, heavy glass vase. Inside are pruned black roses, their stems jagged and lined with wicked, sharp thorns that press against the glass.
“I figured the first ones might be too delicate for a first date,” Apple whispers, her gaze lingering on Raven’s flushed cheeks.
Raven takes the vase, the cold glass grounding her. She feels the sharp prick of a thorn grazing her thumb, a tiny bead of red blooming—a real, physical sting that anchors her to the moment. Apple shifts her weight, her fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of her own red dress.
“So,” she starts, her voice suddenly small, devoid of its usual poise. “Do you think... maybe we should go to the multi-hex theater? Not that I’ve already checked the ticket times and mapped the route, but... you know. If you want.”
Raven feels the tension in her shoulders snap, replaced by a warm, radiating heat. She looks at the poised princess, now fidgeting and flushed, and realizes the gold is just as shaky as the purple. “I’d love to,” Raven breathes, the words humming in her throat.