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There’s going to be some day when he confesses his love for her and they won’t be caught in the middle of battling an undead horde.
There’s going to be some day when she and he hold hands and it won’t be part of a frantic, bloody, spell-casting ritual to revive a murdered woman.
There’s going to be some day when she blows him away with her powers (we’re talking slack-jawed, awestruck, no backtalk nonsense) and it won’t be out of fear. It won’t be because she saw him felled before an enemy, moments before doom, and she won’t have unleashed a violent blast and cried out Vax! in desperation and terror.
Someday, she will cry out his name, but not in anguish. Someday, she will say his name, solid on her tongue, curiosity and gentleness flittering from every sound of that syllable. She might hold out something to him that she’s conjured—a bud, a flower, a tendril of a vine, perhaps—and she will say, Vax, look, and he knows (oh, he knows) he will not be able to stay away from her in that moment, that he will come bounding to her stupidly, stupidly in love and see with joy and jubilation what life she has brought.
Well, actually, someday, she might scream his name, but it’ll be out of pure ecstasy and desire, and it’ll make him blush to think of the others overhearing her and so he’ll gently press a finger to her plush lips, say, Kiki, love, you’re being a tad loud…and they’ll giggle naked and delighted and breathless in a heap.
Or, perhaps he won’t be so bashful, after all. Perhaps he’ll return the favor in a similar way, growling Keyleth Keyleth Keyleth and intermingling her name with those of all the gods he knows as he moves over her—in her—fingers interlacing and breath becoming one. When they finally come undone together, it will be Kiki he murmurs into her skin, and when they finally fall asleep, it will be Vax she whispers as slumber takes her.
When they wake up in the morning—a continuation of that blessed someday—they will take their time unfurling open to the day. Lying in bed, with her cheek pressed to his chest, she’ll listen to the low rumble of his voice as he tells her about all the little tucked-away things about himself and she’ll fall for him more and more. Noticing her tracing words across his collarbone, he’ll ask what she’s spelling out—and the blush that takes over her face will be furious and entirely captivating. He will chuckle and bring her fingertips to his lips for a kiss. There will not be a day when it won’t be absolutely charming, of that he’s certain. No matter that he doesn’t know what she’s tracing right then and there; someday he'll eventually find out those are names for their children—life that she will bear, life even more beautiful than the blooms and branches she produces.
They will have so long together; they will have days upon days, and nights upon nights. The seasons will pass, one after another, each of them made more lovely by the virtue of having each other. It will finally, truly, be enough. Someday, his timing will be better. Someday, they will not be in danger. Someday—someday—someday, they will have all the time in the world for woodland walks, for chortling over a particular uptight sister, for quiet moments when their kisses actually come to be. Someday, they will stop running—from monsters, from foes, from ghosts of the past.
For now, though, it’s necromantic despots and barbaric battles. For now, it’s the small moments of breath, of bliss, when their hands graze and their gazes meet in the flurry of adventuring. For now, this is what they will have: a steady and quiet love, blossoming even in these harrowing times, patient for the perfection they will eventually possess…
…someday.