Kyle lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, eyes fixed on the wooden beams of the ceiling overhead as if they'd rearrange themselves into answers if he stared long enough.
But they didn't.
All they gave him were shadows cast by the flickering lantern and the distant chirps of evening cicadas outside.
The memory of the kiss played on a loop in his head—the way Buer leaned in, the way Egeria didn't resist, how their silhouettes merged under the golden twilight like two halves of something that had been separated too long.
And the way neither of them flinched when they realized he was watching.
He'd dropped the teapot, yes. The handle was still slightly cracked where it had hit the stones. But what had shattered more than porcelain was his sense of… understanding.
"Are girls meant to kiss like that?" he muttered aloud.
No one answered. Of course not. The mountain wind never had opinions. Only cold breezes and silence.
He turned over, face half-buried in the pillow now.
What was that supposed to mean? Was it… the same kind of kiss people shared in the stories he'd read? The ones where stolen glances turned into moonlit confessions and lips met like fate had tied them together? Or was it something else? Something gentler? More complicated?
More grown-up?
Kyle's mind drifted, reluctantly, to those dusty old romance novels that had started appearing on the far-left corner of the library shelf when he was about fifteen. At first, he thought it was a cataloging error. Then maybe some overenthusiastic academic ghost had a passion for smut and soft candlelit betrayal. But now, years later… he wasn't so sure.
Perhaps Egeria had placed them there on purpose.
She never admitted it. But he remembered how she would glance over her teacup when he borrowed one. How she never commented, never teased, just let him explore the contents at his own pace. His own confusion.
His own loneliness.
And now, after all that emotional undercurrent, this. The two women who raised him, guided him, protected him… had kissed each other.
Not a peck. Not an accidental brush. But something… meaningful. Intimate.
He pulled the blanket up to his chest.
How was he supposed to react to that? Was he happy for them? Jealous? Confused? All three?
His chest felt tight in a way that wasn't unpleasant, just unfamiliar. Like the first breath of cold mountain air after staying indoors too long.
He knew what he saw. But he didn't know what it meant. Not really.
Not yet.
He rolled onto his side with a quiet sigh, pulling the blanket over his shoulder. The moonlight streamed through the carved lattice of the window, silvering the edges of his bed and casting pale shadows over the wood-paneled floor.
He would have to ask Buer. Tomorrow, maybe. When his brain didn't feel like porridge.
She had been sleeping beside him every night since she arrived—not in any scandalous way. Just soft, warm cuddles, half-asleep kisses on his cheek, whispered stories of Sumeru's golden deserts and rain-drenched jungles. She always smelled like moss and sunlight and books—he didn't know how that was possible, but it comforted him.
Still, now that she and Egeria had made up—made up—she'd surely return to her own bed tonight, right?
He was just beginning to drift, the weight of sleep tugging at his limbs, when—
Shhff—
Soft, green vines bloomed out of thin air like blooming wildflowers, wrapping around his arms and ankles—not tight, just enough to hold him in place. He blinked, heart leaping in his chest.
"Wha—!"
And then, with a shimmer of jade light, she appeared. Directly above him. Her body easing into place as though she'd always belonged there—knees astride his waist, cloak billowing down, a cascade of soft white hair trailing over her shoulder.
Buer.
Her smile was serenity incarnate—calm, unreadable, just faintly amused. The same expression she might wear while watching a Sumpter Beast try to learn etiquette.
"You look so serious, my baby," she cooed, her voice like silk over dew. She leaned down, the tip of her nose barely brushing his. "All frowny and pink in the face."
"B-Buer—?!"
He squirmed beneath her slightly, flustered not just by her sudden appearance but by the way her weight settled so comfortably on his chest. The vines glowed faintly where they touched his skin, warm like sunlight—not hurting, just keeping him there.
She gave a hum, resting her cheek lightly against his. "Did you like the little show your master and I put on?" she whispered into his ear, her breath cool and scented with mint and lilies. "We worked very hard on it."
Kyle made a choked noise in the back of his throat.
"I—I didn't mean to see it! I was just bringing tea, and then—and then you were—! And she was—!"
"Mhm," Buer purred, clearly enjoying every second of his spiraling fluster. She drew back slightly, so she could look into his eyes—her green irises glowing faintly in the dark. "And yet… you didn't look away."
"I—! I was shocked!"
"Oh? Is that what we call it now?" Her smile widened just slightly. "Sweet, curious Kyle, eyes wide and lips parted, holding that poor teapot like it was the last thing tethering him to reality."
He groaned and covered his face with his hand—well, tried to. The vines held firm.
"I did drop the teapot…"
"Yes, you did," she giggled, nuzzling against his neck now with maddening affection. "You poor thing. Your whole world tilted a little, didn't it?"
He turned redder by the second. "I… I didn't know girls could… you know…"
"What? Love each other?" she asked, lifting her head, now genuinely gentle. "Care for each other in ways that don't fit the silly little molds in your novels?"
He blinked up at her, surprised by the sudden sincerity in her voice. "No, I—I mean, maybe? I just never thought about it. I didn't know what it meant. What it means."
Her smile softened. The vines uncurled from his limbs and faded away, vanishing like smoke. Her hands now cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. She kissed his forehead, slow and reassuring.
"It doesn't have to mean anything right now," she murmured. "Not if it confuses you. You don't have to name every feeling just because it's new."
Kyle swallowed, his heartbeat slowly settling. "Then… what was it?"
"A promise," Buer whispered, resting her forehead against his again. "An old one. A quiet one. Between her and me. Something ancient… something healing."
His lashes fluttered. "And me?"
She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again. "You are part of our now. And our tomorrow. Don't be afraid of where that leads."
He searched her expression for mockery, but found none. Just affection. And mystery. Always a bit of that.
"You're both so… complicated," he mumbled.
"Mhm. Terribly," she agreed, smile returning with a touch of mischief. "But you love puzzles, don't you, my sweet little sage?"
Kyle groaned, covering his face again. This time, she let him.
She curled up beside him, looping an arm around his waist and pressing her face into the crook of his neck, sighing contentedly like she hadn't just thrown his entire night into chaos.
"I have your master's kiss on my lips," Buer whispered, the words almost musical as her fingers idly played with a lock of his hair. "I brought one extra for you. And I told her I'm going to give it to you."
She paused, and when he turned his face slightly, he saw her eyes gleaming in the dim light—gentle, playful, but watching him so closely.
"Tell me, sweet little Kyle," she murmured, her smile both soft and wicked, "do you want it?"
Kyle's breath hitched.
His stomach did a slow, traitorous flip.
Buer never asked questions like that lightly. Not when it mattered. And this—he could tell—this mattered.
Because up until now, they hadn't kissed. Not really.
Cheek kisses? Dozens. Forehead kisses? Countless. She adored pressing them onto his skin like blessings, and he'd grown used to her presence around him like spring rain—constant, gentle, impossible to stop.
But lips to lips?
Never.
Not once.
She'd asked, once or twice, always playfully, always letting him dodge it. And he had. Not because he didn't want to. But because… he hadn't known how to deal with that feeling in his chest. The sudden, raw vulnerability that came with imagining her that close.
But now?
Now she was offering it—not hers, but Egeria's. The implication made his thoughts spin out of orbit. Was he meant to take Egeria's kiss secondhand? Did it even count? Would Buer be disappointed if he said yes?
Would she be hurt?
His mouth went dry. He blinked at her, struggling to form words, but every path seemed dangerous.
"I…" he swallowed. "I don't know."
She tilted her head, expression unreadable.
"I want to," he admitted, the words tumbling out quietly. "But… not like that. Not because it's hers. That doesn't feel fair to you."
For the first time in that entire surreal night, Buer looked surprised. Just a flicker of it, like a leaf rustling in a breeze—but he saw it.
He continued, voice shaky but honest. "You've been with me since you came here. Holding me, talking to me. You've been kind even when I didn't know what to feel. I didn't want to kiss you back then because… I was afraid I'd mess it up. Or mean something I didn't understand yet."
Her smile returned, but it wasn't mischievous this time.
It was warm.
Proud.
Affectionate.
"You're so careful with your heart," she said softly, brushing his bangs aside. "It's what I love most about you."
Kyle blinked. "Love…?"
She touched her finger to his lips. "Hush. I'm not asking for an answer tonight. I never have. I only ask… that you keep being honest."
He nodded slightly, still unsure what to do with the twisting ache in his chest. The fear that saying the wrong thing might break the delicate thing growing between them.
Buer leaned in slowly, pressing her forehead to his once more.
"The kiss I carry," she whispered, "was a gift. From one woman to another. Not a bargain. Not a test. If you don't want it, it'll stay with me."
Kyle closed his eyes. "...It's not that I don't want you."
"I know."
"I just… want you. Not a borrowed kiss."
That made her smile again—full and real this time, no mischief, no edge. Just soft, glimmering joy.
"Well then," she said, drawing back ever so slightly, her face hovering inches from his, "whenever you're ready to kiss me—not for her, not for curiosity, but for me—you'll ask."
She traced his cheek with a finger and curled against his side again, like nothing had changed.
But something had.
His heart felt lighter, fuller.
And for once, he wasn't afraid of what that meant.
Something felt right, like it was always meant to be.
Buer had just nestled into his side again, her breath warm against his collarbone, when Kyle opened his eyes.
Something inside him had shifted.
Not because he felt pushed. Not because he felt ready in some grand, heroic sense.
But because… it was her.
Because she had waited.
Because she had never demanded, never cornered, never made him feel less for not knowing what to do with the storm in his heart.
She had brought him light when he didn't know he was cold. And warmth when he didn't know he was lonely.
And that night, as the vines gently cradled them, and moonlight filtered through the windows of the mountain sanctuary, he understood something simple:
He wanted to kiss her.
Not out of guilt. Not out of confusion. Not because of Egeria.
But because he wanted to.
He turned his face slowly toward her. Her eyes were already open, watching him with that serene, unreadable calm she wore when she sensed something delicate beginning to bloom.
"Buer," he whispered.
She blinked once, her lashes soft against the dim starlight.
He didn't say anything more.
He just leaned in.
And when their lips met—quietly, reverently—it was like exhaling after a lifetime of holding his breath.
There was no firestorm, no crashing waves or thunderclaps.
Only warmth.
Only stillness.
Only the faintest hum of something precious being exchanged without words.
Her lips were soft, still faintly tasting of the jasmine tea she loved. She didn't move too much. She let him guide it—gentle, hesitant, sincere. She stayed with him, utterly present, like the world had folded itself around the space between their mouths.
And when he pulled back, heart thudding against his ribs, she didn't say anything right away.
She only looked at him.
Her eyes shimmered—not with tears, but something close. Deeper.
Then her smile bloomed, slow and radiant, like a dawn made just for him.
"You didn't ask," she whispered teasingly, brushing a thumb across his lower lip.
"I didn't need to," he murmured, breath still shallow. "You already knew."
She giggled—giggled, like a girl in love—and pulled him into her arms with quiet ferocity, burying her face in his chest.
"I'm still giving you your master's kiss later," she muttered into his shirt, her voice muffled and warm. "For the record."
Kyle huffed a soft laugh. "Sure. I'll take that one too. But only because I want you to give it."
"Mhm," she said, curling tighter around him. "You're lucky you're cute."
The vines slowly receded into the floor, their work done. The sanctuary's hush returned.
And as Buer nuzzled into the crook of his neck again, her smile lingering against his skin, Kyle finally closed his eyes.
Not out of weariness.
But out of peace.
The night held him, and so did she.
And for the first time since she arrived, he kissed her lips and knew—not just that he wanted her—
But that he'd chosen her.