The swan(?)-shaped boat rocked gently as it drifted across the lake of acid. The neon glow of Queen’s Mansion reflected off the surface, casting ripples of green light that danced across Kris’s face (quite the pretty sight, despite the color). Their bangs fell forward, shadowing their eyes, but you could still see the faint glimmer beneath—quiet, unreadable, yet somehow always fixed on you.

The ride was very slow; you even had time to wonder how a boat like this could survive literal acid. At this point, anything is possible in the dark world.

Kris shifted beside you, their shoulder brushing yours. It wasn’t accidental—you knew that much. Their hand rested on the edge of the boat, fingers tapping softly against the wood, a rhythm that matched the beating of your heart.

Kris turned toward you. Their lips parted slightly, as if they wanted to say something, but no words came. Eventually though, they finally spoke.

“You're glaring at the acid.”

What an astute observation! The way they say it so teasingly makes you want to punch them (affectionately).