Archive of Our Own

Sigrika crouched, stepping steadily closer, the leather of her sandals creaking as she moved. Her hands were primed, both her thumbs and indexes ready in an L-shape, the glowing lines of the ‘camera’ between them. The bird squawked, and she froze. It tilted its head jerkily, beady eyes staring at her, then returned to preening its wing feathers, unbothered. Sigrika crept forward again. 

There was the slightest brush of something like envy as Sigrika watched the bird settle itself, feet clinging onto the fabric of a familiar dress, white with black underneath, pink staining the edges. Denia lay sprawled along the entire length of a bench, eyes closed, arms crossed as she slept underneath the light of the Reactor Drive. For a moment, Sigrika’s hands drifted, and Denia’s face was in the center of her camera instead of the bird. Whoops! Blushing a little, Sigrika returned to snap a photo. 

…of the bird who was no longer there. 

“Oh, come on!” Sigrika whined, arms flopping downwards in disappointment. She hung her head with a sigh, then shuffled to stand back up. Her heart leapt, a swooping feeling in her stomach as Denia regarded her, one beautiful violet-blue eye cracked open. 

“Siggy. Why are you on the ground?” 

Her lips curved up into a wide smile before she realized, not that Sigrika had any intention of stopping it. Her skin buzzed pleasantly at the familiar usage of her nickname, and she shooed Denia into sitting up so she could take the spot next to her. “There was a bird, Nia! Right on top of you!” 

Denia grimaced, swiping at her dress. “Ew. You do realize that fails to answer my question.”

Sigrika sighed, leaning to rest her head against Denia’s shoulder. She was warm, artificially sun-kissed. As usual, Denia went rigid for a fraction of a second, then eventually relaxed. “I was trying to take a photo, but it flew away.”

“I didn’t realize photography required you to be on the floor.”

“I was crouching, I wasn’t on the floor! Angles are important, you know,” Sigrika corrected, briefly pulling away to pout. Denia slid her eyes over, expression deadpan, but Sigrika saw it: the tiniest quirk of her lips. She decided to continue pouting if only because she liked the way Nia smiled. “You know, I bought a new camera recently. I think it’s supposed to arrive in the mailroom today.”

“Another?” Denia arched an unimpressed brow. “How many do you have now? If you’re still so bad at taking photos despite all your hardware, it might be the photographer that’s the problem.”

“That’s not the point, Nia!” Sigrika wasn’t offended. Denia always talked like that, and besides, there was an edge to her voice when she really was annoyed. Sigrika heard it countless times whenever someone wanted her help with anything. She didn’t mind assisting, but Denia always took offense with it. It was sweet. “This camera’s special. A remake of an old model, I think. It automatically prints the photos right after you take them! Isn’t that cool?”

“Amazing. So your next bird will turn its back, or blur the image, or fly away, and a whopping five minutes later you’ll know how bad the photo is.” 

“Nia. Don’t be mean.” 

“Sorry, Siggy. A whopping four minutes later, you’ll know how bad the photo is.” 

Sigrika continued pouting, but inwardly, she was jumping for joy. Denia was in a good mood today if she was bothering to banter with her. And she was awake. Sigrika thought quickly. What was the best way to spend as much of the day with her as possible? The instant Denia got bored, back to sleep she went. She’d have to entertain her. 

“I’ll show you!” Sigrika stood up, tugging insistently at Denia’s arm. Denia allowed herself to be pulled upward without much resistance, which was a surprise and a delight. Nia really was such a sweetheart. “Come on! Let’s see if it’s arrived yet.”

“You can just check your Terminal for that,” Denia pointed out, but fell into step with her regardless. Sigrika hooked her arm into Denia’s elbow and pulled her along. 

The mailing office was on the perimeter of Academy grounds, fully open-air. Other students and faculty were taking out mail and boxes from electronic lockers, the sizes ranging from small to big enough for a Zip Zap. I.R.I.S.’s head popped up on a nearby monitor as they approached. 

“Hello Sigrika, Denia. I was just about to contact you. Your package just arrived seconds ago.” I.R.I.S. rested her chin on her arms. “Locker 34. Enjoy!” 

The locker in question whirred mechanically, clicking open softly when Sigrika pressed her Cassette to it. Sigrika reached inside, fingers closing around a small box. She tore open the cardboard with ease, prompting a swift raise of eyebrows from Denia, then held her new camera aloft. 

“It’s ugly. Why is it so bulky-looking?”

“The photo has to come from somewhere. Smile, Nia!”

“Don’t you dare—”

Click! Chkrrrr. 

Sigrika pinched the photograph between her thumb and forefinger, waving it in the air. “This one actually develops faster than its predecessors.” 

Denia remained unimpressed. “Three minutes, then?” 

The photograph slowly changed from pitch black to vague shapes, sharpening into color. Sigrika grinned, holding up the photo side-by-side to a scowling Denia. The photo itself was also of a scowling Denia, albeit slightly softened before she’d committed to it. 

Not for the first time, and certainly not the last, Sigrika absentmindedly thought Denia was very pretty. It was almost ridiculous, really. Even the downturn of her mouth was attractive. And how did anyone curl their hair so perfectly? 

“Siggy,” Denia said curtly, and Sigrika startled out of her thoughts, blushing slightly. “Rip up that photograph immediately.” 

“I will not!” Sigrika snatched her arm back, pressing the photo to her chest before Denia could grab it. “It’s mine.” 

Denia rolled her eyes. “It’s an awful photo of me.” 

Sigrika perked up. “So you’ll let me take another one?”

“No.” 

Sigrika let her face fall, and Denia wavered. But only slightly. She reached up to poke Sigrika in the forehead. “Not going to work this time.” 

“This time?”

Denia averted her eyes. “Class is starting soon, Siggy. You better head on over quick before President Lucilla docks you for attendance.” 

The nearby holographic clock did indeed read 15:56. Sigrika straightened in alarm. But…“How do you know my class schedule?”

“Someone has to, considering you keep forgetting the time.” 

Except Sigrika, understandably, knew better than anyone just how complicated her schedule was. Every day was different. Every week was different, as her time fluctuated as needed due to being a teaching assistant to Professor Mornye. Classes upon classes, research in between, self-study time that altered on a whim. In fact, the current free time she had right now was rare, a speck of calm in an otherwise whirling storm. 

Yet Nia knew it. Unerringly. In fact, as Sigrika thought about it, Denia often called her out on the time. Sometimes she was too busy, distracted by her heaping to-do lists to pay proper attention. 

Nia knows my class schedule. For some reason, the thought made Sigrika overwhelmingly warm. Her body buzzed. She wanted to hug her. 

“Your face will stay scrunched up if you keep staring at me like that, Siggy.” Denia crossed her arms, jerking her head in the direction of the classrooms. “And you’re going to be late.”

Sigrika beamed. She settled on bouncing on her toes to dispel the happy energy demanding her to embrace Denia right this instant. “You’re a sweetheart, Nia.” 

“What nonsense are you spouting?” Denia eyed her warily. 

“I’m thanking you for looking out for me.” Denia was right; she really should get going. Camera and photograph tucked carefully under an arm, Sigrika bolted off, though not before waving goodbye. She all but skipped to class, and as she sat down at her desk, the bell ringing on cue, she glanced at the photograph. 

Photo 1: A girl with pink-blue hair is frowning disapprovingly at the camera, arm half-raised, as if trying to stop the photographer from taking the shot. Her hair beautifully frames her face, her eyes mesmerizing. 

“It’s an awful photo of me,” Denia had said. As if! Sigrika ran a thumb along the edges, startling when President Lucilla rapped against the whiteboard with a pointer stick, drawing the students’ attention. 

An idea struck. Sigrika pulled out her new photo album—she’d bought it last week as preparation for her new camera—and slid Denia’s photograph in carefully. She then refocused on President Lucilla as she began lecturing, her attention rapt. 

She’d fill the photo album with other things, but Denia’s face front and center wasn’t at all a bad way to start it. 

—

It ended up spiraling a bit out of control. One photo turned into two. Then four. Then a dedicated page in the album. Then another. Eventually Sigrika decided to dedicate the entire album to photos of Denia. 

…it was selfish. But Denia always said, if not outright demanded, that Sigrika be selfish sometimes. Still, Sigrika felt a little nervous. Every time she clicked the shutter, every time the photo whirred out, shifting from black to color, guilt gnawed at her chest. 

Hopefully this wasn’t weird. Sigrika was well aware of her tiny crush on her best friend, but she was smart enough to keep it to herself. It was only natural. Nia was pretty, and surprisingly gentle, and nice, and when Sigrika got her to smile, it felt like the Reactor Drive shone doubly brighter. 

Thank goodness Denia slept so often. Sigrika was able to get away with photographing her when that was the case. Otherwise, Denia might ask why in the world she kept using all her rolls of film on just her. Though Sigrika had an excuse at the ready—ever since the photography club made Denia their model that one time, it only made sense she’d photograph someone photogenic. 

Oh no, this was weird, wasn’t it? Sigrika began panicking again. 

It’s not as if she was doing anything nefarious. Sigrika still took her usual (bad) photos of birds and anything else she found interesting. She just…put those in an entirely separate album. That was more visible. And left open in her room. Denia’s album, she kept closed securely with a leather band. And carried it on her person. At all times. Just in case. Denia visited her room often and randomly. It would be horrifying if Denia came in to see a bunch of photos of her just laid out on the table, wouldn’t it?

As long as Denia never saw the album, it was fine. And if Sigrika ever was caught, she’d apologize profusely and run away to live in Bjartr Woods forever. It would be rude to burden her best friend with a silly crush. Especially after all that Nia did for her. 

Right. Sigrika just had to make sure Denia never found out. That was doable. 

Right?

—

Startorch Academy had sparring grounds for those who wished to test either their Resonator abilities or their creations against the standard mechs. Many prototype weapons and robots met their end against the tough shielding of Mechascouts. And many Mechascouts lost their joints to overeager Resonators. 

Sigrika was one of the biggest offenders. The Department of Engineering actually had to develop and improve the durability of all mechs, given she kept accidentally destroying too many. Though that was a win for Lahai-Roi as a whole, wasn’t it?

Sigrika had a bit of time before her scheduled research outing, so she took advantage by heading to the sparring grounds in question. It was a particularly hot and humid day, and Sigrika found herself actually sweating by the time the Mechascout lay sparking and twitching on the ground. Whoops. A nearby engineer fell to his knees in despair. At least the repair mechanic next to him looked excited. 

Sigrika wiped her forehead, cheeks puffing as she blew out an exhausted breath. She turned, stretching. A few students liked to watch Resonators and/or machines duke it out with the Academy’s robots. It wasn’t uncommon to find a small crowd near the sparring grounds. Sigrika passively gazed over the crowd, immediately zeroing in on a flash of pink and blue hair. Her energy rejuvenated. She began jogging up. “Nia!” 

Denia, who had been staring at her, startled. Then looked behind her as if Sigrika was somehow calling someone else. She reminded Sigrika of a bird caught in a trap, eyes darting and body tense. 

“Nia?” Sigrika cocked her head as she stopped in front of her, now concerned. “Are you okay?” 

“Huh? Oh, uh, yes.” Denia was refusing to meet Sigrika’s eyes, looking around randomly as if searching for an answer among the infrastructure. Her face looked a little pink. Was she ill? It was hot out, to be fair. Though Denia seemed prepared for that: in her hand was a small plastic cup of some sort of dessert, though slightly crumpled as if she had squeezed it too hard. It looked like plant milk over shaved ice, topped with orange slices? A spoon was stuck in the top. 

Denia jerked her arm out, an awkward offering. “Here.”

“What is it?” It looked far too, well, good for it to be from the cafeteria. Sigrika cradled it carefully, sighing in relief as the condensation from the ice cooled her palms. She gathered some wetness onto her fingers to rub along the sides of her neck. Ah, that feels nice. 

“Hot. It’s hot!” Denia said too loudly, prompting Sigrika to frown at her. Denia snapped her eyes away. “I figured you’d want something to cool down.”

Sigrika ate a spoonful. It was refreshing and not overly sweet. The oranges were a nice burst of flavor amongst the subtle blandness of the ice. “Nia, this is amazing. Where did you get this?”

“Around,” Denia answered evasively. Which meant, of course, Denia had made this herself. Sigrika wanted to squeeze her. Instead, she gathered another spoonful and offered it up. “...You don’t like it?”

It was barely more than a twitch of her eyelids, but Denia suddenly looked worried. Aww!! Sigrika moved the spoon back and forth like it was a Jetray. “I love it, Nia, but you look hot too! Share some with me!”

Denia tilted her head away, expression snapping back to her usual standoffishness. “Uh, no. All yours. I had one earlier.”

Liar. But it was true this dessert wasn’t sweet enough for Denia’s tastes. Sigrika crunched the milky ice between her teeth, feeling her hair tickle her ears. The rude things were probably wagging again. It was honestly embarrassing how expressive her ears were; at least Nia found amusement in it. But Sigrika couldn’t help herself. Nia had gone out of her way to procure ingredients, mix them into a completely new dessert, and (somehow) found her location to walk alllllllll the way to hand it over, all in this dreadful weather. 

Heat be damned, if Sigrika wasn’t holding onto a rather messy perishable, she would’ve flung her arms around Denia right then and there. 

“Nia,” Sigrika began, after attacking another spoonful, “are you busy?”

Denia narrowed her eyes suspiciously, body half-turning away. “Busy napping. Why?”

“Hang out with me!”

“To do what?” Though her tone remained disinterested, Denia had returned to facing her fully. “Aren’t you busy?”

Sigrika tilted her head from side to side. “Mm, yes, I do have to do some on-field research, but you can tag along for that! I’ll just be observing Exoswarm herding patterns in the Etching Plains.”

“Sounds riveting.” There was a widening gap between them. Denia was trying to make a subtle getaway.

Sigrika took a step forward. “Come on, it’ll be fun! You can ride on my motorbike with me!”

“Why would I do that, exactly?”

“Lynae modified it recently! It’s got a crazy kick to it!” Sigrika spread her arms, plant milk threatening to slosh over the sides of her cup. “I rarely get any time with you, Nia! This is the perfect opportunity.”

“Uh huh. I’m sure you’ll live.” And Denia turned away, ignoring Sigrika’s protests. 

Boo. Boo! Sigrika pouted, sadly taking another bite of her shaved ice as Denia’s form was lost among the crowd of students. She sighed, deciding to finish her dessert on the way to the motorbike garages. 

Except when she wheeled her bike slowly to the Academy’s perimeter, Denia was waiting there, leaning against the entrance. “What?” Denia asked, while Sigrika’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. 

“I thought you weren’t coming.” 

“Did I say that?” Denia shrugged. “I don’t have to, if you want—”

“No! Nope!” Sigrika patted the seat behind her, all but bouncing excitedly. Her motorbike jostled. “Come on!”

“I’m not a dog, Siggy.” Denia slid on, arms wrapping carefully around her waist. Sigrika wriggled, endlessly repeating, “Yay! Yay! Yay!” under her breath. “Okay, Miss Exciteable, enough. You do realize the Etching Plains have a medium Void Storm warning level right now.”

“It does?” Sigrika revved her motorbike, and they slowly pulled onto the main roads. “Be careful then.”

“You be careful. I’m the void resistant Resonator here.”

“Don’t underestimate me! It’s cute when you’re worried, but check this out.” 

Had she thought about it for more than a moment, she probably wouldn’t have done it. But she was distracted from the high of Nia joining her, and the sugar still running through her veins, and the heat from the Reactor Drive that evaporated any proper connections of the subconscious. And the memory and adrenaline rush from destroying sparring with the Mechascouts earlier gave her the idea. 

Her outfit, designed in the traditional Royan style, was flowy and flexible enough to allow her body to cool down easily. It also allowed mobility for hand-to-hand combat. It was practical. More specifically, the slit in her outer shirt that gave her torso free movement was practical. 

It did, however, occasionally bare the planes of her toned stomach when she moved, and was also where Denia’s gloved hands were resting, albeit cautiously. 

There was a loud silence from behind. Denia went eerily still, her hands rigid. Then: “Siggy. Are you flexing?”

Sigrika straightened proudly. “See? I'm strong. I can take care of myself, Nia.”

“...Siggy.” 

Sigrika glanced at Denia’s face in the side mirrors. Her expression was unreadable, but the disapproving silence spoke well enough. Her brain finally, finally caught up to what she’d just done, and she flushed a bright red from ears to collarbones. 

“I–I, um…” Sigrika returned her gaze to the road, embarrassment washing over her like a tidal wave. What in the world did she think she was doing?! Oh, if only she could bury her face into her arms, or jump off and hide behind a grazing Ironhoof, but both options were extremely dangerous, especially with a passenger. She settled for tightening her grip on the handlebars, blushing madly. “...sorry.”

Denia muttered something quietly. Sigrika strained her ears, but all she caught was a near inaudible scoff of "Unbelievable." 

It became even worse when Denia slowly but very clearly shifted her arms so her hands rested a little more near Sigrika’s sides. Sigrika groaned inwardly. Baldur help me, why did I think that was a good idea?! 

Sigrika continued stealing nervous glances at Denia through her mirrors as they sped along. Denia kept blinking at weird intervals. It was too manual to be from the wind, and her eyes kept focusing on nothing, as if her attentions were elsewhere. Eventually, she caught Sigrika staring at her in their reflection, and Sigrika flung her gaze back to the road. 

Denia huffed. “Stop that. I’m not mad at you.” 

Sigrika chewed the inside of her cheek. 

“Siggy.” 

They reached their destination. The motorbike jumped slightly as they transitioned from paved roads to tall, waving grasses. The grass tickled at their ankles as they went deeper inland to the plains, eventually slowing. Sigrika rested her feet on the ground, activating the bike’s kickstand. She swung off, still refusing to look at Denia. 

The gentle touch of leather slid along her jaw before trapping the sides of her head in a playful grip. Sigrika protested as Denia shook her head back and forth. 

“Nia!” She whined. She reached up, pressing her hands over Denia’s.

“I said I’m not mad. Stop pouting.” 

Sigrika pouted further. “I can tell when you’re upset, Nia.” 

“Get your eyes checked, then. I was just caught off-guard.” Denia dropped her hands. Sigrika turned around to find Denia crossing her arms. “I forgot how strong you are.”

Sigrika sniffed. “I can carry you and that Reindeer over there at the same time.”

Denia closed her eyes and reopened them. “Okay—I believe you!” She almost shouted, holding out her arms when Sigrika took a step towards her. “You don’t need to prove it, Siggy. I got it.” Her face was slightly pink again. Maybe the heat was getting to her. 

Sigrika insisted Denia rest in the shade of a nearby outcropping while she gathered data. Denia rolled her eyes and called her a worrywart, but acquiesced. 

An hour passed. Sigrika turned away from the peacefully grazing Exoswarm to find Denia laying among the grasses, eyes closed, arms folded. Nearby flowers swayed in the breeze, brushing against her face. A butterfly landed briefly on her knee. Sigrika crept up, voice soft. “Nia?”

Denia didn’t stir. A couple rotund blue birds were waddling by her, wings flapping uselessly. Sigrika reached into her pouch and whipped out her camera, aiming carefully. 

Click! Chkrrrrrrrr. 

Photo 32: A girl with pink-blue hair is the only pop of color among the tall, green grasses of Lahai-Roi’s plains. She appears to be peacefully sleeping, the dappling shade wrapping her in cool comfort. There are two odd, blobby shapes of blue passing by her feet. 

“Again?” Sigrika groaned under her breath. Birds could be so impossible. At least Denia looked perfect. But that was a given. Sigrika blushed a little at the thought and carefully tucked the photo away. This was definitely going to be added to her album later. 

As she turned her back, she failed to see Denia slowly crack an eye open. “...hm.”

—

Runes, runes, runes. Calendar calculations. Mental math. Runes again. Sigrika rubbed her face, attempting to focus as the words on the page began to blur together. Her nearby clock read 17:03. Had she even eaten lunch? She couldn’t remember. 

A bubble drifted by in her field of vision. Sigrika stared at it blearily, only reacting when it popped against the tip of her nose. “What the—”

“Siggy, are you trying to research how messy your room can get?” Sigrika shifted in her chair, finding Denia standing inside her dorm’s doorway. The door slid shut as Denia entered fully. “What ever happened to organization?”

“I’m busy,” Sigrika answered half-heartedly. 

“Busy being a workaholic.” Despite her exhaustion, the familiar faux-irriation in Denia’s tone brought a smile to her face. 

“I think ‘workaholic’ implies busyness, Nia.”

“Whatever you say.” 

Sigrika yelped and flailed as her chair—and by association, her—was suddenly dragged across the floor, away from her desk. It dipped backward, and Sigrika instinctively clamped her fingers around the sides of the seat. Denia’s face peered down at her. 

“Nia!” Sigrika protested. 

“Take a break,” Denia demanded. “You look terrible.”

The chair tipped back upright. Sigrika ran her fingers along her braids and outfit self-consciously. She didn’t look that bad, did she?

As if reading her mind, Denia sighed from somewhere behind her. “I’m not saying you’re ugly, I’m saying you look tired.” She heard the snap of fingers. 

Sigrika startled as a paper puppet, cut in the shape of a person, waltzed up to the legs of her desk, followed by several more of its brethren. They created a human(?) ladder up to the surface of the desk and began cleaning. A couple began rolling crumpled up papers to push off the edge into the wastebasket below. Three were holding writing utensils over their heads and marching to a pencil cup. Another bumped up against a bound photo album—

Sigrika immediately felt for the pouch at her hip. It was lighter than usual. 

“Ah!!” Sigrika shot out and snatched the photo album up, whipping around to hide it behind her back. Denia, who was now at the complete opposite end of the room and summoning more paper puppets to fix the couch cushions, shot her a look. 

“What?” 

“Haha, uh, nothing!” 

“Okay…weirdo.” Denia returned to summoning more puppets to fix the stacks of papers adorning the coffee table. “Stop staring at me. Go rest on your couch.”

Sigrika automatically turned back towards her rune homework. “But—”

“Now.” 

In a blink, Sigrika found herself sitting dutifully atop plush cushions, careful not to squish any of the paper puppets scrambling across it. She held her hand out to one of them, who climbed up onto her palm and began dancing for her. Sigrika giggled, gently patting its head. 

“Ahem.” Denia suddenly sat at her side and flicked the puppet away. It landed and bounced off the carpet, rubbing its back. “Get back to work.” 

Though faceless, Sigrika got the sense it turned back briefly to scorn. Regardless, it ran off. 

“Aw, I liked him.” Sigrika pouted. 

Denia glared. “Clearly you’re exhausted if you’re fussing over puppets.” Sigrika entertained herself with the thought that Nia was a tad jealous. If only. “How long have you been working?”

Sigrika continued puffing out her cheeks, refusing to answer. She didn’t want to lie, but the truth would make Denia mad at her. 

Apparently silence wasn’t any better. Denia pinched her face, scowling. “Enough. No more working for today.” 

“Ow,” Sigrika complained when Denia pulled away. She rubbed at her newly reddened cheeks. “But I need to—”

“When’s the due date?”

“…two days from now. But others—!”

“Stupid students can work on their own damn assignments.” Though they were nearly the same height, Sigrika ducked her head as Denia continued glaring down at her. She felt like a scrub jay facing off a stork. “At least take a page out of my book and take a nap, Siggy.” 

Denia’s tone provided no room for argument. Sigrika, gaze still downcast, suddenly felt brave. “Okay.” If she says so…

Sigrika shifted forward a little, propping her legs on the couch, then leaned, letting gravity pull her head to rest atop Denia’s lap. The hem of Denia’s dress tickled her ear. Her skin is so smooth. Sigrika resisted the urge to trace patterns along her legs. 

“What—Siggy! I didn’t say you could make me your personal pillow.” 

Sigrika rolled onto her back, smiling up at Denia innocently. “But you’re comfy. Tell me to get up though, and I will.” She would never make Nia uncomfortable. If there was even a trace of dislike—true dislike—on her face, she’d grant her space immediately. 

Denia opened and closed her mouth, and Sigrika tensed, already primed to leave. But then Denia just clicked her tongue and settled back on the couch, crossing her arms. “Whatever. I don’t care. Do what you want.” 

“Hehe, yay!” Sigrika cheered. She pumped her arms in triumph—

Her vision turned to black. Denia had reached down and rested a gloved hand over her eyes. “You’re only allowed there if you actually use the opportunity to sleep.” Silence. “No pouting. I can still hear your brain buzzing. Close your eyes.” 

“Okay, okay.” Sigrika did so, sighing dramatically. 

Her room was quiet. Around, paper rustled like tree leaves as the puppets continued to clean. Sigrika wriggled, settling against Denia’s lap more comfortably. Her and Denia’s breathing were in sync, until it suddenly wasn’t. 

“Siggy.” 

“Yeah?”

Her hand was still over her eyes. It was honestly a comforting weight. There was a nice scent lingering on Denia’s wrist—did she wear perfume? It reminded Sigrika of fresh laundry. Or was it lavender soap?

“Why—” Denia cut herself off. She tried again. “How come—” She once more snipped the end of her own sentence. A huff, like she was frustrated with herself. Sigrika waited patiently. Eventually, Denia asked, voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear her, “Am I the only one you’ve given a nickname to?” 

Sigrika nodded. “Mhm.” She’d answered before she even thought about it, but it was true. “You’re my best friend, after all.” 

A finger tapped lightly against her forehead. “…Nivora doesn’t have a nickname.” 

True, huh? Sigrika brought a thoughtful hand up to her chin, more performative than anything. With Denia covering half of her facial expressions, she had to do something. “I don’t know. I feel like her name doesn’t really work for one.” Nothing really sounded right off the top of her head. “How about…Ni-ni?”

There was an odd sound, like a laugh had scraped the back of Denia’s throat but hadn’t fully escaped. When Denia spoke, her voice was devoid of humor. “No. It sounds too much like mine, anyway.” 

“Vora? Niv?” Both egregious, but Sigrika wanted to see if she could get Nia to laugh again. 

Sadly, neither worked. Denia tapped her forehead again, the rhythm more annoyed than pondering. “It was just a question, Siggy. You don’t need to actually bother coming up with one.” 

Oftentimes, Sigrika got the sense Denia didn’t particularly like Nivora all that much. She didn’t really understand why. They got along well enough when it was all three of them, didn’t they? Maybe Sigrika was the anchor connecting them. 

It was selfish, but Sigrika almost liked the thought: that Denia found only her special enough to bother with one-on-one. 

“What about me?”

“What about you?” Denia echoed. 

“Am I the only one you have a nickname for?”

A scoff. “Obviously. You’re the only one who practically begged me to give you one, anyway.” 

“I did not!” 

“You did.” The slightest of smiles colored Denia’s voice. Sigrika replayed the sound over and over, trying to commit it to memory. 

“Did not—”

“Alright, be quiet. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“You keep talking to me,” Sigrika pointed out. 

“I’m stopping now.”

“Aw, I like it when you talk!” 

…

“Nia?” 

…

“Oh, wow, you really are ignoring me, huh?”

…

“Why are you still covering my eyes?” 

…

“If you answer me, I’ll try to sleep. I promise.”

“I’m covering your eyes so you go to sleep,” Denia answered. 

That’s a lie. Sigrika could hear it. But she’d promised, so she shut her mouth dutifully, letting her thoughts drift off. 

When she awoke some time later, it was to the gentle touch of fingers carding through her hair. Denia jerked her arm back as if she’d been burned and looked away, though not before Sigrika caught the slight dusting of pink on her face. Later, she debated going to President Lucilla to have the memory printed, but decided against it. It felt like a breach of Denia’s privacy.

Also, though the twinge of possessiveness made her feel guilty, she wanted the knowledge of Denia’s blush to be hers and hers alone. 

—

Startorch Academy’s newspaper released an article featuring the photography club’s most popular shots. One of them included Denia, her hands creating a finger heart, winking and beaming at the camera. Sigrika vaguely remembered that she’d won an idol performance contest, or something to that effect. 

Many students ooh’d and aah’d over the photo. Denia’s popularity reached an all-time high. So, hypothetically, if Sigrika bought an article and cut the photo out to slide into her photo album, it was really nobody’s business. 

—

Click! Chkrrrrrrr. 

The arcade was loud and bustling enough to muffle the sounds of her camera, but the lighting wasn’t very good. Sigrika frowned down at the developing photo, Denia’s face blurry even in the colorful lights of all the gaming machines.

Photo 56: A girl, shrouded in dim light, plays at an arcade machine. Her expression is difficult to make out.

An incoming student shot her a weird look as they passed by, and Sigrika blushed, hastily putting her camera and photo away. The arcade wasn’t all that conspicuous. Among all the students wrestling over controls and kicking the machines in rage when they lost, a random photographer looked entirely out of place. Might as well blend in before Denia was alerted to her presence. 

The girl in question stood a short distance away, deadly focused on Lahai-Roi Blocks. Sigrika was pretty sure Nia hadn’t blinked once. Her eyes flicked from point to point on the screen, hands flying as blocks upon endless blocks fell, vanished, and smoothly fit against others. 

Sigrika sidled her way over, careful to mix with the crowd. Maybe the lighting was better over here? She had a better view of Denia’s face, more of a ¾ view than a side-profile. 

“She’s so pretty.” 

The thought had been hers, yet also someone else’s murmurings. Sigrika attempted to look around, but couldn’t find the source. There were simply too many students milling about. 

“Who? Oh, the one playing Lahai-Roi Blocks? Yeah, she comes to the arcade all the time. Her skill’s insane!”

“I oughta ask her out.”

Sigrika stopped her breathing, immediately straining her ears. Two voices, male and female. 

“Pff. You wish. She’s way out of your league, dude. I’d have a better chance.” 

“In your dreams, Mira. Didn’t you drop your Cassette into your udon the last time a girl waved at you?”

“Uh, first off, calling that disgusting dish ‘udon’ is an insult to the real thing. And no I did not! My fingers just slipped.” 

“Suuuure.”

“Anyway, stop staring like a creep. I need to beat your score in Phantasma Dreamland.”

“You were staring too!”

Her jaw ached, and Sigrika snapped back into awareness, realizing she’d been clenching her teeth. She rubbed at her jaw, though the action felt mindless. Detached. She chewed on the swirling roar deafening the pulse in her ears, and realized she was annoyed. 

And something else. But Nia wasn’t hers, so she had no right to feel the other emotion. 

Still. 

Denia’s playing faltered, but didn’t stop entirely, when Sigrika hovered at her side. “Hello, Siggy.” 

“Hmpf.” 

“Siggy?” 

It was childish, she knew, and not something a Roya bearing the weight of Successorship should do. But Nia had long since given her permission to act selfishly. Sigrika turned and wrapped her arms around Denia’s waist, resting her forehead against the ball of her shoulder. It was awkward, a non-reciprocated side-hug, ivy intertwining with a steel pole. 

The fuzzy bits of Denia’s sleeves tickled her collarbones. Sigrika breathed slowly. The familiar scent of Denia’s odd perfume reached her nose, as did something else: citrus? It was faint, like Denia had been carrying around a bunch of oranges just prior. Sigrika almost laughed. What a ridiculous thought. 

Her (unwarranted, she reminded herself guiltily) irritation slowly eased, smoothing at the edges. Her arms were wrapping around Denia tighter than she meant it to. She loosened her grip. 

The erratic, constant, click-clacking of the arcade buttons paused. Then they resumed, though at an oddly steady rhythm, as if Denia was pressing the same button over and over. The music of Lahai-Roi Blocks changed from casual to frantic, and Sigrika lifted her head in confusion as the Game Over! tune began to play. She caught a glance at the screen: 826,182 points. 

Denia faced her, a genuine frown on her features. Sigrika finally made herself step away. She’d indulged her silly jealousy enough. They were just friends. Time to act like it. 

Denia studied her carefully. Sigrika ducked her head, embarrassed and pleased when Denia reached up to pat her hair. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing.” 

“Ah, right. So you’re glaring and your ears are twitching because you’re completely fine.” 

Blushing for multiple reasons, Sigrika clasped her hands over her ears. “Mhm.” 

Denia began lightly scratching the top of her head. Sigrika’s eyelids fluttered. “Tell me why you’re mad.” 

For a brief moment, Sigrika wrestled with herself. But, no. Denia was sharp; she’d easily put two and two together if Sigrika told her why she was upset. Also, it was ridiculous. What right did she have to be mad at a hypothetical situation? What right did she have to be angry that someone else found Nia attractive? To be angry that someone else wanted to do what she had wanted to do for months? 

“I can’t.”

The hand atop of her head stopped, then pulled away. “…I see.” 

The absence of warmth nudged Sigrika towards panicking. What if Nia thought she no longer trusted her? What if her foolishness finally pushed Nia away? What if—?

A guiding hand rested against her lower back, politely near, but not on, her Tacet Mark. “Come with me.” Sigrika stumbled forward at Denia’s urging, walking…somewhere. 

They wove their way through the arcade, a difficult feat given the density of the crowds. Somehow, Denia’s hand never left her back. They stopped in front of the last place Sigrika expected: a photo booth. 

Sigrika always considered this specific photo booth dinky and of awful quality, but she held a fondness for it, like cheap, unhealthy food that tasted equally delicious and terrible. 

The cafeteria’s food did not fall into that category, but that was a different discussion. 

She’d taken her friends to this photo booth before, and they’d all shared deep belly-laughs at their faces, their poses, the awful props that looked like they hadn’t been replaced or even cleaned in three decades, and the grainy quality of the pictures. It was horrible. It was beautiful. 

And she’d never been able to convince Nia to go into one. Except…now?

Dazed, Sigrika allowed herself to be pushed inside, Denia stepping in right after. She closed the curtain, then grimaced, eyeing the touchscreen with disdain. “What exactly do we do here?”

Sigrika was still in disbelief. She only snapped out of it when Denia began tapping the touchscreen, first lightly, then forcefully when nothing happened, and the timer suddenly began counting down. 

“Nia!” Sigrika began scrambling about. “We have to—ah, hurry!” 

Three!

“Hurry? Siggy. Don’t—”

Two!

“—you dare put that thing—”

One!

“—on me!” 

Say cheese!

Click!

“Next pose, Nia!”

“Next!?” 

Click!

“How many is this going to—”

“Nia! Look at the—!”

Click! 

“Wait! Hold this!”

“Siggy, your—”

Click!

Krrrrrr. Krrrrrr. Krrrrrr. Krrrrrr. 

Picture 1: A blue-pink-haired girl, leaning away as a ginger-haired girl attempts to slide a headband of Soliskin ears atop her head. The former is scowling, the latter beaming. 

Picture 2: A ginger-haired girl eagerly wraps an arm around a blue-pink-haired girl’s shoulders, the sides of their faces pressing together. The latter has her mouth open like she’d in the midst of protesting, though there’s a suspicious blush on her cheeks. 

Picture 3: A blue-pink-haired girl and ginger-haired girl appear to be arguing. The latter has a blurry arm, as if she was pointing to the camera. 

Picture 4: A ginger-haired girl hastily holds up a sign that reads: FRIENDS, except it’s upside-down. A blue-pink-haired girl holds a sign reading: BEST. The latter is not looking at the camera, but rather at the girl next to her, an exasperated yet affectionate smile on her face. 

As the photos finished printing, Sigrika held them out for the both of them to see. 

“Hate it. Bad. Worse. Terrible,” said Denia, pointing to every single one in order. 

“Stop it, you love them.” The photos printed again, another copy, and Sigrika happily handed the strip over to Denia. “Here are yours.” 

“I will throw these away immediately,” said Denia, as she outright slid them into her sleeve. Something odd flickered across her face as she watched Sigrika carefully put her copy away into her pouch. “Where are you going to keep yours?”

“In my photo album,” Sigrika answered lightly.

“…Which one?” 

Sigrika froze. Jerkily, her head lifted, a movement in staccato. “Wh–what? Which…which one?”

Denia’s stare bored into her. Sigrika felt as if her very bones were visible. Does she know? There’s no way. Does she? Oh, Baldur, she can’t—

“You take a lot of photos,” Denia continued, and Sigrika stopped hyperventilating. “You have a lot of albums. I saw three filled ones on your desk just yesterday.” 

“Oh. Oh! Haha, yeah!” Sigrika rubbed the back of her neck, smiling nervously. “Um, I’m not sure. Probably, uh, one of them. I haven’t decided yet.” 

“It was just a question, Siggy, no need to freak out about it.” Denia whipped open the curtain, stepping out of the photo booth. She muttered something about ‘unhygienic, stagnant air.’ Sigrika followed, her legs a little wobbly. She took a deep, steadying breath. Thank goodness. 

“Alright,” said Denia, “Come on.”

“Where?”

“There was a big party on the rooftops recently, and birds were swarming all over the spilled food. I bet they’re still there.” 

“Ooh! Yay! Let’s go!” Sigrika began skipping off, arm linked with Denia’s.

“You don’t even know where we’re going, slow down.” 

(Later, new photos slid into Sigrika’s secret photo album. Four, carefully cut from the photo booth. The fifth, the blurry one she’d taken at the arcade, also rested in its new home.) 

—

Sigrika stared up at the ceiling. She refused to move a single inch. How did this happen? Denia slept soundly, her arm wrapped around Sigrika’s waist, head resting on her chest. Selfishness reared its head again. She splayed her fingers out, resisting the urge to hold her. 

She’d been laying on her back in bed, studying up on the native bird species of Lahai-Roi; surely there had to be a way to get them to stand still long enough to snap a good photo. That’s when Denia had barged in, tripping over her own feet. Sigrika rolled onto her side, peering down over the edge. “What’s going on, Nia?”

“I need to hide!” Denia hissed, climbing up the ladder to her bed. 

“You—huh? Nia?!” Sigrika stuttered inaudible protests as Denia clambered over her, quickly laying flat to hide behind Sigrika’s body. 

“Sh! I’m not here.” 

Her door slid open. A TARD-E cautiously poked its head in, then snapped a salute. Its head was strangely shiny, like someone had poured soap over it. 

“Student: Sigrika. Query: Has an unauthorized individual snuck their way into your dormitory?” 

“Uh.” Sigrika shifted, propping herself up higher. “No?”

“Understood. Query: Have you seen a student by the name of Denia?” 

“…no.”

“Understood. Apologies for the unannounced interruption of your privacy. Should you require compensation, please direct yourself to the head of Robotics Facilities." 

“Nia, what in the world is going on?” Sigrika asked as the TARD-E left. She turned onto her other side and nearly fell off the bed when she realized how close their faces were. Sigrika scooted a few inches away, if only for her own heart.

Denia, who was still laying flat, made a face at the ceiling. “I’d just walked into the dorms when that stupid TARD-E ambushed me, trying to write me up for my absences from class. I encased its head in a bubble to get it to shut up, but apparently that was another violation, and it began chasing me.” 

“Pfff.” Sigrika pressed her lips together, stifling the rest of her laughter. Denia side-eyed her severely; if looks could kill, she’d be a TD’s Echo. But the mental image of Denia running rampant through the dorms as a TARD-E flew after her, a bubble on its head…

Her next laugh was a badly-disguised cough. Denia rolled over, and Sigrika’s cheeks stung in preparation for the attack to come. Sigrika quickly grabbed her book of Lahai-Roi avians and placed it over her face. 

“Cheater.” Sigrika peeked cautiously under the pages. Denia had retreated her hand, and though Sigrika was grateful she hadn’t been pinched, there was a strange twinge of disappointment. Denia propped herself up on an elbow, reading the book’s cover. “You and your birds.”

Sigrika lay flat on her back again, holding the book over her head. “I’m trying to find a way to get them to stand still.”

“Food?” Denia offered. 

“That method is ideal, but then they move rather jerkily when pecking at it.”

“How about having better luck? How about skill? How about getting a tenth camera; surely that will change something.”

“Nia…” Sigrika puffed out her cheeks. As expected, Denia reached over to poke at them. 

What wasn’t expected was when Sigrika turned her head away as a defense, Denia slid closer. Close enough that Sigrika could feel the warmth emanating from her body. Close enough to feel Denia’s breathing, a ticklish exhale against her ears. 

Sigrika went rigid, eyes wide. She had to consciously focus on not dropping the book on both of their faces. She refused to look at her. That would be a recipe for disaster. 

Though Sigrika had no business hoping for anything different, Denia’s voice remained unbothered as she asked, “Can I stay here for a short while? I feel like that TARD-E will ambush me if I go out.”

“Of course!” Sigrika said immediately, happily. Loudly. Denia winced. “Sorry.” She lowered her voice. “You don’t have to ask, Nia. I love hanging out with you. You’re always welcome in my bed.”

In her periphery, Denia slowly turned her head. 

“I—you know what I meant!” Sigrika stammered. She hid her face inside the book again, her entire body aflame. “No smirking!”

“You can’t even see me.”

“I can hear it,” Sigrika insisted, more of a whine than anything else.

It was worth it the slightest bit when she heard Denia laugh, a short chuckle that was little more than a huff of breath. Sigrika twitched, the flush on her skin increasing exponentially as she felt Denia run gloved fingers over and along her left ear, a whisper of leather. 

“Cute.”

Huh? 

“Siggy,” Denia said, forever destroying Sigrika’s chance to unpack that word any further, “Move your arm.”

“What?” Sigrika lowered her book, resting it atop her lap. Confused, she let Denia push her left arm up, ducking under it to settle comfortably against Sigrika’s side, dropping her head down to rest on her chest. 

‘?!’ thought Sigrika, for all other words did not exist in her mind at that moment. She did not understand what was happening. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep and was now dreaming. Denia was curled on her side, pressed against her, now throwing an arm around her waist. Her hair swept across Sigrika’s arm, a cascade of pink and blue. 

Sigrika didn’t know what to do. She wanted to play with Denia’s sleeves, press the pads of her fingers to Denia’s shoulders. 

Instead, she kept her elbow locked, sticking her arm out against the sheets.

Denia shifted. “Siggy.”

“Y–yeah?” Her voice had cracked. Sigrika cleared her throat. 

“Your heart’s beating really fast.” 

Oh, crap. “I, uh, um, well—” Sigrika tried desperately to think of a feasible excuse. She failed miserably. 

“Are you stressing over some dumb project again? Who are you helping this time?” 

“Uh…” 

Denia reached over to grab the book sitting on Sigrika’s legs. Her hair caressed the side of Sigrika’s face as she did so. Sigrika’s eyelids closed automatically. 

She smells nice. 

“…ird?” 

Sigrika’s eyes flew open. Denia had settled back, now waving the book back and forth in front of Sigrika’s face. 

“Siggy.”

Whoops. “What? Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” 

Though she couldn’t see it, she sensed Denia rolling her eyes. “What’s your favorite bird? Show me.” 

“Oh! Um, okay.” 

Flipping through was awkward with only one hand. Sigrika tried to balance the bottom of the book on her stomach, slowly but steadily pushing the pages aside. 

“…what are you doing? Just hold it.”

“You’re blocking my other arm,” Sigrika mumbled. 

“You can reach around. It’s not like I’m laying on it. Oh for—here.” Denia leaned over slightly and held one end of the book. A curl of hair kept brushing over Denia’s eyes, causing her to blink unnaturally. Sigrika imagined reaching up and tucking it behind her ear. 

The book now properly balanced, Sigrika found the page she was looking for with ease. She tapped the photo—which was rather unflattering, by the way. The bird had its wings splayed, eyes a big, startled ball, feathers dripping as it stumbled through a puddle. It was an excellent shot, but Sigrika still thought the bird should’ve fired the photographer. Or maybe the editor. 

“It’s…” Denia paused, and Sigrika could tell she was trying to avoid saying something mean. “It looks interesting. I guess.” 

Sweetheart. Sigrika smiled. It would be so easy to press a kiss to the top of Denia’s head. 

Stop it. 

“I know the photo’s bad, Nia. You don’t need to pretend.” 

“I just said it was interesting, I didn’t say anything negative.” Denia relaxed, which Sigrika could only tell because the weight on her chest increased, as if Denia had been stopping herself from fully laying down. “Tell me about it. I’m going to nap.”

“…I’ll be talking a lot.”

“You talk a lot normally, Siggy. It’s fine.”

“If you’re trying to rest—”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Denia lightly flicked Sigrika’s nose. She lowered her arm back down, her sleeves kissing the skin of Sigrika’s torso. It tickled. “I know what I’m doing. I like your voice. Just talk.” 

Sigrika blushed. “O–okay. Uh, this is a hummingbird. It’s the only bird that can fly backwards, and its heartrate is…”

Sigrika continued, even when she felt Denia’s breathing even out, and her limbs loosen against her. She continued, until her well of knowledge ran dry, and her voice drifted into silence, dissipating into the quiet air of her room. 

Now she lay there, staring up at the ceiling of her bed’s little alcove, long having given up calming her beating heart. Her arm was sore. She ignored its call to embrace the girl next to her. If she indulged in her selfish whims now, she’d do something stupid down the line and tell Denia how she felt. 

…she did want to move. At least to stretch her arm a bit. She also wanted to take a photo of this rare moment. Her camera wasn’t within reach, but she still had her hands. She could be quiet.

Slowly, pausing every so often to check if Denia moved, Sigrika brought her hands up, her thumbs and forefingers extended. The rune flickered to life, the camera ready. She twitched her fingers, and the camera pointed inward. 

Click. There was no physical sound, only a flash of frequencies. 

Photo 73—

Denia’s breathing changed. Sigrika’s heart dropped, as did her arms. In her panic, her left elbow lowered and jabbed Denia right in her side. 

“Ow!” Denia winced. She jerked away instinctively, and Sigrika’s elbow hit her again, on the head this time. “Ow.”

“Ah! Sorry! I’m so sorry!” In her haste to give Denia space, she forgot she was on the edge of the bed. Something around her waist loosened. She tumbled off, landing on her ground floor with a heavy thud. 

“Siggy?!” 

More embarrassed than hurt, Sigrika looked up. Denia peered over the edge, concerned. 

“I’m fine, Nia. Sorry.” Sigrika picked herself up. 

“Your resilience is insane. Is it dark out?!” asked Denia, having turned to stare out the window set into the far wall. “What time is it?”

“18:04.” 

“Siggy. You have a meeting with Professor Mornye at 18:30. At the Research Institute.” 

Sigrika blanched. She had to leave now, or she’d never make it in time. She scrambled around her room, snatching up the papers on her desk, hooking her Cassette to her waist. “Nia, I—”

“Have to go, yes, yes. Drive safe.” 

Sigrika rushed out, nearly barrelling into her door before it opened fully. She failed to notice the uneven weight around her waist. And the photo album she’d left behind atop her bed, now being picked up by a red, gloved hand. 

—

It was the next day. It was a beautiful day. The breeze was soothing, the Reactor Drive’s light perfectly balanced, the temperature of Lahai-Roi ideal. Sigrika hadn’t been able to enjoy a single second of it.

She couldn’t find it. She’d looked everywhere. Upended her entire room. Kept patting her pouch like it would magically reappear. Traced her steps through every classroom, every research lab. She’d even asked I.R.I.S. if it’d been dropped at the lost and found. Nothing. 

She was tearing through her room again, about to rip through her couch cushions, when the doors whirred open. Denia stepped in. 

“Nia!” The last person she wanted to ask, but Sigrika was running out of options. “Have you…” she trailed off, noting the very familiar looking bundle in Denia’s hand. “…seen…”

The door slid shut. The room was silent. A high shrill of warning began sounding in Sigrika’s ears. Denia was unreadable. She took a step forward. Sigrika’s hands began trembling. Denia took another step forward. She reached the back of the couch, the only piece of furniture separating them. Wordlessly, Denia handed the album over. 

Sigrika took it. The leather binding was undone. The world sunk and swayed beneath her feet. 

“Siggy.” Denia’s voice sounded far away. The room became vague blobs, blurry colors and shapes. “You have an entire photo album dedicated to me.” 

A statement, not a question. Sigrika continued to stare at the album in her hands. An uneasy chill scattered along her skin. 

Denia crossed her arms. Raised a brow. Sigrika braced herself. “Why?” 

Sigrika didn’t answer. 

“Why?” Denia repeated. “Why do you have a photo album of me?” 

She sounded more genuine than accusatory. Sigrika tightened her grip, the photo album crinkling. 

A last ditch effort. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Siggy—” Denia huffed, running a hand through her hair. “I’m not dumb.” 

The world sunk further. Tilted. Sigrika could only stand and listen. She felt nauseous. Her stomach was in another plane entirely, far, far below. 

“Your camera is loud,” Denia continued. “Okay? That thing is loud. Do you think I don’t notice every time it loudly takes a photo, and loudly ejects it out, and when you loudly flap it in the air as it takes thirty hours to develop?”

“Ninety seconds,” Sigrika mumbled. 

“Ninety years, exactly.” Denia rounded the couch. Sigrika flinched as she moved, lowering her head as Denia stood in front of her. She stared down at the floor. “You have photo albums lying everywhere. You’ve shown some to me. Did you think I wouldn’t notice that I’m missing in all of them? I hear you take shots, over and over, and yet there’s not a single one of me anywhere to be seen. It wasn’t hard to guess.” 

Sigrika’s breathing had become uneven. The album fell from her fingers. Denia caught it, soundlessly setting it down on the coffee table. Sigrika’s voice was a raw, hushed whisper. “…Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?” Denia shot back. “You still haven’t answered my question.” 

Sigrika twisted her fingers together. She blinked, hot tears spilling out from her eyes. Her throat tightened. “I—I’m sorry. It’s creepy, isn’t it? I didn’t…it just sort of happened.”

“Siggy—”

“Don’t be mad,” Sigrika pleaded. There were two wet spots on the carpet below. Three. Four. Tears continued to fall. “Or…you can be. I’d understand. I won’t do it anymore. I can throw it away. If you don’t want to be friends anymore—”

“What? No—why are you crying?! Hey.” Alarmed, Denia slid her hands along Sigrika’s face, tilting her head up. She looked more scared than Sigrika felt. “Stop crying,” she demanded, thumb wiping away a tear. “I didn’t mean—It’s just a question.” 

Sigrika attempted to turn away. “You wouldn’t like the answer.” 

“You’re so dramatic. I…I don’t—I like you, Siggy.” Denia suddenly looked unsure of herself, expression crumpling into regret. “I don’t hate you. I’m not mad. I’m just…curious.” 

Sigrika sniffed. She wiped her face, dampening her palms. Right. Of course Nia wasn’t mad. She was nice. Kind. Even now, while in the midst of discovering her best friend had saved months’ worth of random photos of her, a surely horrifying realization, her voice was still gentle. 

She took a deep breath. Nia deserved the truth. Even if…

Even if she’d never speak to her again. 

“I, um…” Sigrika managed to meet Denia’s eyes for a fraction of a second before looking away. “I…I like you.” 

“Yes, I know,” Denia said bluntly. “You drag me everywhere and talk my ear off constantly with your interests. I’m your best friend, I should hope you like me.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Sigrika argued weakly. “I like you.” 

Denia’s brows furrowed. 

Sigrika slid her hands over her face, groaning. “Nia, you’re making this so much worse.”

“I’m not even doing anything!”

Sigrika began pacing back and forth, following the slight curve of the couch. “I like you,” Sigrika repeated, still pacing. “I want to feed you desserts and watch you smile as you taste them. I want you to sleep in my arms. I want to see you roll your eyes when I talk about birds. I want to play against you at the arcade and lose. Do you get it?”

Denia still looked confused. “What?” 

Sigrika whirled around. “I want to take you out on dates!” Sigrika yelled, voice raising with every sentence. “I want to hold your hand! I want people to look at you and know you’re taken! I want to—” Her bravery vanished halfway through, and she turned half-away, mumbling, “I want to kiss you.” 

“What?” Denia said again, her voice wavering. 

Sigrika glared. She doubted its effectiveness. She probably looked as red as a tomato. “I have a photo album of you because you’re all I think about. You’re pretty, Nia. And you’re so nice, even when you pretend you’re not, and I like the way you meticulously style your hair, and the way you dress, and your cute little scowl, and your dry humor, and your voice.” 

Denia just stared. 

“My pictures of you may be worth a thousand words, but I can’t think of a single one when you look at me,” Sigrika said quietly. “I like you.” 

Mustering up the last smidge of courage she had, Sigrika slowly trudged back over to Denia, forcing herself to look into her eyes. Denia’s eyes flicked over her face, like she was searching for a lie, like Sigrika was a puzzle she couldn’t solve. At last, she opened her mouth, and Sigrika braced for impact. 

“Okay.” 

That wasn’t what she expected. What did that mean? At least Denia hadn’t stormed away in disgust, though it was still a possibility. Sigrika moved her mouth in vague shapes and vowels, unable to come up with anything.

Except for: “Okay?”

“Okay,” Denia repeated, voice breathless for some reason. She glanced away, then back, taking a deep breath. She began wringing her hands. “Siggy.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Close your eyes.” 

“Huh?” 

Denia scowled. She slid a hand over her eyes.  Sigrika froze, blinking, her eyelashes fluttering against Denia’s glove, confusion settling in, before feeling the softest press of lips against the edge of her mouth. When she pulled her hand away, Denia was averting her eyes again, rather obviously blushing.

“I like you too, dummy,” Denia muttered. “I literally smell like oranges all the time because I carry them around for you. It’s annoying. I wash my dress constantly and I still smell like citrus.” 

“O-oranges?” It hadn’t quite settled in yet. Sigrika’s thoughts were flying all over the place. That explained the confusing mix of her ‘perfume.’ Did—

“I like you too, dummy.” 

The words slammed into her. Her ears perked up. 

Denia, meanwhile, apparently had no idea what to do in the lingering silence. She fiddled with the edges of her gloves, the cuffs of her sleeves. She scratched her cheek, an aimless movement, before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, like that was the idea all along.

All of Sigrika’s feelings coalesced into one big ball and exploded, like the birth of a bright sun. “Cute!” Sigrika squealed, barrelling into Denia as she engulfed her in a hug. “You’re so—!”

Denia began protesting, trying half-heartedly to escape her grip. “Siggy!”

“—cute!” Sigrika finished, not listening. She tightened her arms around Denia, melting into her warmth. She smooshed her face against her shoulder, smattering small, light kisses against her bare skin. Denia’s breathing hitched. 

“Okay, okay!” Denia pressed a hand against Sigrika’s face, covering her mouth. Sigrika began kissing her palm. “Siggy.” 

The scowl Denia wore was completely undone by the shy tilt of her eyes, and the rose-kissed tint to her cheeks. Sigrika smiled against the glove, allowing Denia to push her away slightly. 

Sigrika bounced up and down on her heels. “You like me.”

“…I did say that, yes.” 

“You like me,” Sigrika sing-songed, enjoying the way Denia groaned in exasperation. 

“I’m about to reverse my decision.”

“You will not.” Sigrika was smiling so wide she felt like her face was going to crack. “Nia.”

“Hm?”

“I want to kiss you.” 

“You just did.” 

“Not where I wanted to.” Denia’s blush darkened. Sigrika tilted her head. “So? Can I?” 

“You—you’re so annoying,” Denia growled. “Fine. If you want.” 

“Yay!” Sigrika held out her hand, palm-up, fingers wiggling as if to say, come here. Confused, Denia slowly extended her own hand out, intending to place it atop her palm. 

Sigrika grabbed her wrist, pulling her forward, and kissed her.

Denia startled against her mouth. Her lips were so soft. Sigrika cupped the back of Denia’s neck, hardly registering her own desires before it happened: she tugged her downwards, both of them falling back against the couch. 

Denia braced herself, hands on either side of Sigrika’s hips, who had settled against the backrest. Denia stood between her legs, face a bright red. Sigrika slid her hands behind her ears and pulled her in closer to kiss her again. 

“Siggy—” Denia gasped out, her next words muffled as their mouths met. Sigrika tangled her hands in the silky strands of Denia’s hair, urging her impossibly closer. She could indulge in her selfishishness now, couldn’t she? Experimentally, she ran her tongue along the seam of Denia’s mouth, a delightful spark shooting down her spine as Denia parted her lips, sighing into the kiss. 

Sweet. So sweet. Sigrika could taste whatever dessert Denia had eaten beforehand, and smiled. Apparently indignant by her amusement, though not knowing the source, Denia nipped gently at her lower lip, a grumble rising from her throat. 

Hm. It was all too easy to get used to this. Sigrika’s hands strayed, fingerpads rubbing the nape and sides of Denia’s neck, rewarded with a subtle shiver. 

Alright, enough. Sigrika needed to stop before she got too greedy, too early. 

With one last happy peck, Sigrika pulled away. The violet-blue of Denia’s eyes were dark, a dazed expression on her face. Sigrika wanted to commemorate it. Her fingers extended into two L’s—

“No.” Denia was still hovering over her, one knee braced against the edge of the couch. She squashed Sigrika’s face with her hands, turning it from side-to-side. Sigrika protested by lightly grabbing onto Denia’s forearms. “No more photos of just me. If you want to take a photo, it’s going to be both of us.” 

—

Photo 1, tucked carefully into a new album: Denia and Sigrika stand atop a rooftop. The camera is placed far away, implying it had been set aside to shoot on a timer. The Reactor Drive shines in the background. Sigrika presses a kiss to Denia’s cheek, who is utterly failing at pretending to be unaffected.

Between them, unnoticed on the railing, a bird preens its feathers. It’s perfectly in view.