Cyg pressed her knuckles into the skin of her forehead, glaring daggers at the partially assembled engine sitting propped up in front of her. She had wanted to at least get this part finished before working on the frame for the new bike.

Two wolves fought inside her: one wanted to make everything custom, from scratch, and amazing as possible, and the other remembered her old welding scars and wanted to make it easier on herself by using a stripped-down frame. Would that cheapen the gift? Isaac probably wouldn’t think so. But she couldn’t shake the thought.

Her little Petalburg garage was a few blocks away from her flat and from the flower shop. She’d spent more time here than home of late. She had to get this right. She had to.

A chime went off as her phone rattled through her coverall pockets, the alarm alerting her to the time. She sighed, wiping a smear of grease off her cheek onto the back of her hand, and stood, back cracking, legs protesting from being crouched for so long. Speak of the devil.

Stopping at home to change into some regular clothes, she scrubbed the oil and grit from her hands and face, then hopped on her swan to head to the beach. Ana didn’t really enjoy being used as a mode of transportation but somehow Cyg managed to avoid getting tossed off, even if their descent and landing was less spectacular than desired. Ana ditched them in the shallows of the sea, forcing Cyg to jump off and hit the wet silt with both feet or be dragged under.

She released her cantankerous swan to go cavort around in the water doing Arceus knows what-- probably terrorizing the local seafood population. Heading up the beach, wet up to her thighs, she saw Isaac chilling in the sand. Her shadow fell over him as she cut a silhouette in the blazing sunset behind her. She realized, belatedly, that she was nervous.

When did that happen?!

“Hey.”

Isaac Merlo

☉

Belatedly, she realized she hadn’t stopped for anything to drink before heading over. The rawness of her nerves rubbed against her skin, chafing. This is why she used alcohol to dull them. Also, when did hanging out with Isaac ever meant being nervous? She had to shut that shit down right now.

She watched him blush-- physically could watch it spreading over his skin like wildfire, because that was how red he got-- and she smiled so hard her nose crinkled. Gotcha. It was bizarre to think that she could have that effect on someone. Absolutely demolishing, the power she wielded. And oh, so terrifying.

She crossed the sand, golden granules sticking to the dampness of her feet and legs. “Oh, Splatfest,” she sang, folding onto her knees and turning over to sit next to him, sandy legs safely off the towel, “nothing like the end of the world to get people to throw a party, huh?” She leaned back on her hands, the straight line of her arm just barely brushing against his shoulder, the outside of his tricep. A far cry from how wrapped up they’d been in each other the other night.

Isaac Merlo

☉

As quickly and easily as falling asleep. That’s how it felt, being with him. Her fluttering heartbeat steadied into something less inclined to make her pass the fuck out.

“I suppose not,” she said, "it's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine and all that jazz." She was trying not to think about the implications of what ‘private party’ meant. She did, however, give him a very pointed look at the end of his spiel-- blue eyes bright, chin pointed down.

“This-ness,” she echoed, inviting him to pick that train of thought back up and continue it, add some clarity. Because at some point they were going to have to address the Wailord in the room and that was… whatever the hell they were. Whatever the hell they were doing.

She watched him lean over the picnic basket and start pulling things out, and forced herself to not stare at him when he asked if anything got her hungry and oh, why did he have to phrase it like that?

Down, girl.

“I haven’t eaten yet today,” she confessed, instead. “Whatcha got?”

Isaac Merlo

☉

It was heart-wrenchingly endearing, the way he staked the fate of the world on his own shoulders for her benefit. And notably concerning. He was the type to completely bite off more than he could chew. She had to make sure he didn’t do so on her account.

“Mm. That’s true.” They had, indeed, sworn off their below-average parentage with utmost exuberance. Her grin was wide and liquid. She was going to make some very tasteless joke about fucking dads but that was a little too tongue-in-cheek, even for her.

“I’m not sure the meteor cares as much, though,” she said, instead. "It seems a selfish lover."

She followed where he pointed, cheeks warming at the light in his eyes when he mentioned the good. This was very scary. This was amazing. “Got it.” Though she didn’t, really. It wasn’t the answer she was looking for. That was fine. They had time-- except no, they didn’t, really, did they?

Pretend you do, she thought.

“Tiny sandwiches,” she elected, stomach rolling in more than just hunger. “And I didn’t do it on purpose. I just got busy. I’m working on something big.” Which was true-- all of her projects were big, in some form of the word or another. Big in size (the Kyogre boat Rory Faust wanted) and big in meaning (Isaac’s bike).

“Mimosas are food,” she insisted, pouting. “There’s orange juice in them. That’s food. Even more if there’s pulp.” She sidled up to the cooler on her hands and knees, rising up to reach into it and grab a tiny sandwich and some chips.

She gave him a knowing look. If he’d gone all out on this spread there was little chance he’d fed his own self. She knew him that much, at least. “You need to eat, too.”

Isaac Merlo

☉

“What do you think of Dahlia’s little plan?” she asked, trying to not let the scathing disrespect she had for the commissioner color her tone. She failed to do so completely-- but it was an honest question. It was all anyone could talk about these days and, Cyg decided, she cared about what Isaac thought-- not because it had any inherent weight in changing what she felt for him-- which was a big, confusing topic at the forefront of her brain-- but because…

because she just cared, alright? She cared about him and she cared about what his opinion was on hot-button topics just like she cared about boring, mundane things, like how his day went.

“My friend Rory Faust and I are working on something big,” she said, flopping back onto the blanket with food in hand, legs crossing beneath her. “Like, super big. Like Kyogre big.” She paused a beat, a pained look crossing her face, before it faded again. “I hope we can pull it off.”

His kiss was probably the most ridiculous thing she’d ever felt and she turned as red as her freakin’ swim bottoms. What a dork. What a--- a stupid, adorable, perfect, dorky dork!

She reached out and caught his face in her hand-- he had a rather smallish head, it was quite cute-- and kissed him back, but on the lips and, honestly, the only way she knew how (which was with a little bit of force), as she stole a mimosa with her other hand while he was distracted.

“And there’s mine,” she said, low and suggestive, nose brushing against his own, before settling back with food and drink.

“How was your day?” she asked, bold and domestic and totally unaffected by what she’d just done. On the outside, at least.

Isaac Merlo

☉

Cyg nodded along with his statement. “There has to be. I cannot believe-- now that we know multiple universes exist-- that there is only one other place we could send the Meteor to.” It was absolutely infuriating.

A Cygne who was unapologetically herself had a temper that was always burning at 100 degrees. She had to be careful who she unbottled close to because they were liable to get burnt.

Luckily, Isaac seemed to be made of asbestos, thus far.

He knew how to temper her temper, turning it back and away, diffusing it with humor. And kisses, now.

“It’s going to be amazing,” she agreed, “if we can finish it before the world blows up.”

Before she could think to stop herself, she said, “You can hold tools and be pretty for me any day,” in exactly the tone of voice you’d imagine. She couldn’t keep it up, though, because she smiled so hard her nose crinkled and then she was laughing. Oh, god, they were both in trouble, weren’t they?

She tilted her head at him when he mentioned he’d been busy. The last time he’d been busy he’d gotten mauled-- and not in a sexy way like she was thinking about. “Subway work?” she asked, voice curious, mentally preparing herself to not lecture him about the dangers of his extracurricular activities.

Isaac Merlo

☉

All she could do, really, was look at him. Watch the chaos unfold. Because what was she going to say? She certainly wasn’t going to stop him. No, in fact, she’d encouraged this behavior.

She was caught somewhere between breaking out into riotous laughter and tackling him, so she did both. She cackled as she pressed into one palm and pushed up and over. Her knee caught the inside of his hip, pressing him out and back as she straddled his hips.

“Oh, really?” she said through her giggles, sliding her hands over the span of his chest, over his collarbones, pressing down on his shoulders. “Where do you work, now? I’ll have to show up and woo your boss, like you did mine.”

He talked about a meeting place for the League-critical and she paused where she was running her thumbs gently over the swell of his throat.

“That’s very… sensitive of you, Isaac,” she said, struggling to find the right words. “Very thoughtful.”

Isaac Merlo

☉