Morning broke over the forest with a quiet insistence, the sky softening from inky black to a pale, misty gray. A faint golden glow crept through the trees, threading through damp leaves that glistened with dew. The air was cool and sharp, carrying the crisp scent of wet earth and pine, a gentle nudge that stirred the world awake. Birds chirped in scattered bursts—high, trilling notes that danced through the branches, not a chorus but a conversation, alive and unhurried.
It was a morning that felt like a held breath, delicate yet heavy with the promise of a new day.
The campfire from last night smoldered in the clearing's center, reduced to a pitiful scatter of ash and charred wood. Gray tendrils of smoke curled lazily upward, faint and thin, the embers long since dulled to a lifeless black. A few stubborn twigs lay half-burnt, their edges crumbling into the dirt, a far cry from the crackling blaze of hours before. Nearby, the bones of five roasted fish remained, sunken slightly into the soil, their fragile frames dusted with ash—silent relics of a meal that had been more necessity than comfort.
A soft rustle stirred the stillness.
Syl moved first, blinking awake as the sound of birdsong filtered gently through her senses. She yawned—a small, warm sound—and slowly lifted her head from Kibo's lap, her hair a tangled mess across his thighs. Her body was heavy with the comfort of rest, limbs reluctant to stir. She rubbed her eyes, blinking groggily at the early haze of light that bathed the clearing in a soft gold.
Her gaze caught on the smoldering remains of the fire, and a faint frown curved her lips. Somehow… it felt lonelier without its warmth.
Then her eyes wandered upward—and froze.
Kibo slept soundly, his back pressed against the trunk of a gnarled tree, his chest bare to the cool air. His face, so often marked by grim focus or scowling detachment, now rested in calm. His head tilted slightly to the side, lips parted just enough to hint at breath, his expression softened in sleep—unguarded, almost boyish. The hard lines she knew so well had faded into something peaceful.
Her breath caught.
Her heart stumbled in her chest, the air suddenly too still around her. Her eyes drifted to the katana near his side—a silent reminder of who he was, of everything that waited beyond this fragile moment.
But in this light, like this... he didn't feel untouchable. He felt real.
She pulled the shirt he'd lent her closer, fingers curling into the fabric that still held his warmth. It smelled faintly of smoke and pine… but underneath that, it was undeniably him. The scent made her chest tighten in a way she didn't expect.
Must've been rough on you, huh? she thought, her eyes drifting back to his face. You didn't even complain… just let me curl up like some selfish little child.
Her hand, resting on her lap, hesitated. A gentle tremble moved through her fingers—one she couldn't quite control. She stared at them like they didn't belong to her anymore.
You always act like I'm a hassle, she thought, her heart a little heavy now. Like I'm just this loud, annoying extra baggage you got saddled with. But still… you did this. You let me rest. You didn't push me away.
Her lips pressed into a faint line. A breath caught in her throat.
Then, as if some invisible thread tugged her forward, her fingers lifted—slow, almost hesitant. She reached up, barely brushing his cheek. Just the lightest touch. A whisper across skin.
He didn't stir. His breathing stayed steady.
She swallowed hard.
I shouldn't… she told herself. I shouldn't feel this way. Not when I know where your heart already points.
She looked at him—not the fighter, not the reckless idiot who always rushed into trouble. Just him. Quiet. Sleeping. Open.
If only you'd treat me the way you treat Lily… The thought surfaced without warning, too raw to suppress. Even just a little… I'd give anything for that.
Her heart ached gently in her chest—not loud, not dramatic. Just… there. A small, constant ache she kept to herself.
But I'm not her, right? she whispered in her mind. Not the girl who grew up with you. Not the one who haunts your dreams. I'm just Syl… always nearby, always hoping.
Her face hovered closer, drawn by something irrational and reckless, heart racing louder with every inch. Her lips parted, breath trembling as she stared down at his face.
Then—his brow twitched. Just the faintest motion.
His voice followed, low and dry, slicing through the quiet like the edge of a blade.
"…Syl," he murmured, not even opening his eyes yet, "I hope what you're about to do isn't what I think it is."
Syl froze—completely. Her whole body tensed like a statue caught mid-crime.
Then she yelped, the sound bursting from her like a firework. She jerked back so fast she nearly toppled over, scrambling with her hands behind her to keep upright. Her face flared crimson, ears burning.
"Y-You're awake?!" she stammered, voice rising half a pitch with each word. "N-No, no, no—I wasn't trying to do anything funny, I swear! I wasn't going to kiss you or anything, are you crazy?! What were you thinking, huh?!"
Her words tumbled out in a messy pile—frantic, breathless, chaotic. She waved her arms in front of her like that would somehow swat the moment out of existence, her hair falling across her face as she tried to retreat from both her embarrassment and her own boldness.
Kibo cracked one eye open. Then the other. His gaze found her—and held.
Calm. Still. Almost unreadable.
But the corner of his mouth might've twitched.
She stared at him, wide-eyed, breath caught halfway up her throat.
In his mind, a savage voice erupted like wildfire crackling through dry leaves.
"Look at this shameless little one, trying to steal a kiss while you're out cold! Pathetic—can't even keep her paws off you for one damn night!"
Kibo didn't react outwardly, but inside, a sigh formed.
It's not her fault, Ignis, he thought, keeping his gaze on Syl. She's just being… Syl.
"Ha! Won't blame her? Not like you've got the spine to do anything about it, you soft-headed fool! She's got you wrapped around her finger, and you're too spineless to even blink!"
His jaw tightened, hand brushing the dirt beside him as Syl continued flailing.
It's not that I can't do anything, he thought. I respect Syl. She's a wonderful person, but—
"But nothing, brat! Don't even think about starting your own harem, you greedy little shit! You've got one girl already—don't go collecting strays like some lovesick moron!"
Kibo sighed mentally, long and drawn-out.
I wouldn't even dream of that, oh wise one…
Before Ignis could snap back, a voice sliced through his thoughts—real, loud, and very much not in his head.
"...Kibo! Kibo!"
His name rang out like a bell. He blinked, head lifting slightly as he returned to the world outside his mind.
Syl was standing now, arms crossed over her chest, her foot tapping lightly against the soft earth. Her cheeks were puffed in visible irritation, and her ember eyes were narrowed with the righteous fury of someone thoroughly ignored.
"Were you even listening to me? I've been talking this whole time and you're just… zoned out!"
Her voice wobbled between frustration and embarrassment, like she wasn't quite sure if she wanted to scold him or vanish into the forest.
Kibo blinked again. Then a slow, sheepish grin tugged at his lips. He scratched the back of his neck, his voice dropping just slightly—quiet, direct, no teasing in it at all.
"…Sorry, Syl," he said, meeting her gaze. "I was just thinking how gorgeous you look in this light."
Silence.
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Then it closed.
Then opened again—barely.
Her breath caught somewhere in her chest, shoulders stiffening as color bloomed violently across her cheeks.
"W-Wha—" she finally managed, eyes wide. "H-How could you just say that?!"
Her voice was high-pitched now, almost cracking as her brain fumbled for solid ground. Her hand jerked halfway up, unsure if she should smack him, cover her mouth, or just throw herself into the nearest bush and disappear forever.
G-Gorgeous? Me?! What does that even mean right now?! What do I do with that?! Who just says that?!
He just sat there, watching her spiral with that same calm expression—like he meant it. Like it was no big deal. Like he hadn't just set her world on fire.
"Ohhh, you're gonna pay for that…" she muttered under her breath, more to herself than him, still too stunned to even sound threatening.
But before she could act, he caught her wrist gently and pulled her a step closer.
Their faces were inches apart.
The warmth between them bloomed, and the morning chill disappeared beneath it.
"Sorry, Syl," Kibo said softly. "But can we start getting ready to find Lily? We've got a long day ahead."
She froze.
His calloused fingers still cradled her wrist. She could see the small scar just above his brow. She didn't move. Couldn't.
Her heart thundered.
Then—with a sharp breath—she jerked away, standing abruptly.
"Y-Yes! We need to start—yes, Lily! Let's go find her—right now!"
She turned on her heel, flustered muttering spilling as she marched toward the stream, her back to him like she could hide the way her face still burned.
Kibo let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Hold it right there, brat!" Ignis roared. "Testing my patience with this mushy nonsense, I see! You think you can just flirt your way out of everything? You're a damn disgrace, playing with her like that!"
It's not what you think, Kibo replied, dry. I had to do it. She'd have slapped me into next week.
"'Had to,' huh? You're a spineless coward, dodging a slap with cheap tricks! Keep dancing around like that, and you'll trip over your own dumbass heart—mark my words!"
Kibo let out a soft grunt as he leaned forward, pushing himself upright with a stretch. His muscles ached from sleeping against the tree, and his joints popped one by one in quiet protest. He rolled his shoulders, still shirtless, the morning air brushing cool against his skin.
Syl was a few steps ahead, still muttering under her breath, spinning in slow, distracted circles near the edge of the clearing. Her back was to him—but she still had his shirt. She'd clutched it tighter when she stood, the fabric balled in her arms like she wasn't ready to give it up just yet.
Kibo reached down, grabbing his katana and slinging it over his shoulder in one smooth motion. He glanced toward her.
"...Hey, Syl," he called softly.
She turned, blinking fast like she'd been pulled from her spiraling thoughts.
"My shirt?" he asked, tilting his head, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips.
Syl froze. For a second, she just stared at him—then looked down at the bundle in her arms like it had just materialized there.
"O-Oh! Right! Sorry—!" She rushed toward him and thrust the shirt out awkwardly, like it was on fire. "Here! I—I didn't mean to—!"
Kibo took it with a chuckle, the warmth of her hands still lingering faintly on the cloth. He didn't say anything—just pulled it over his head in a single fluid motion. The fabric hung a little crooked at first, but he didn't bother fixing it.
He turned, gazing up at the sunlight threading through the trees. The gold had deepened now—no longer the first blush of dawn, but the true start of morning.
He let out a slow breath.
"…What have I gotten myself into?" he muttered aloud, mostly to himself.
Lily was still somewhere out there—maybe in danger, maybe worse. Syl's feelings… had cracked wide open, whether she wanted to admit it or not. And Ignis, well…
He'd never shut up.
Still—Kibo's steps were steady as he moved forward, catching up to Syl with quiet resolve. The haze of sleep had cleared from his eyes now, replaced by something clearer. A glint of purpose.
A new day had begun. And whatever mess waited ahead—he was walking toward it, not away.