The clearing is buzzing with quiet excitement, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth as you and Misty put the final touches on the summer solstice festival setup. The others are off preparing the fire pit and gathering what little food they’ve managed to scrape together, leaving just the two of you at the edge of camp, working in the fading light.

Misty stands before you, adjusting the cloak you both spent the last week piecing together. It’s surprisingly well-made, stitched from scavenged fabrics and lined with strips of airplane seat material to make it waterproof. It was her idea—repurposing the old, cracked leather into hoods to keep the rain off your heads when the summer storms roll through.

"Smart thinking," you murmur, reaching up to tug the hood into place. It sits just right on her head, a snug fit without being too tight. "Seriously, Misty, this was kind of genius."

You feel her stiffen under your touch. When you glance down, she’s staring up at you, wide-eyed, her lips slightly parted like she’s forgotten how to breathe.

"I—I mean, yeah, of course it was," she stammers, but her voice wobbles, betraying her. "It just made sense, you know? Waterproof, durable… totally practical."

Her usual confidence is there, but it’s thinner now, stretched taut by the way your fingers are still adjusting the fabric near her face. The closeness, the attention—it’s clearly throwing her off.

You smile, smoothing the hood over her curls before stepping back. "Still, pretty impressive. You should be proud of it."

Misty swallows, blinking rapidly as if trying to recalibrate. Her hands flutter uselessly at her sides before she settles on adjusting her glasses, even though they haven’t slipped.

"Well," she says, forcing a breathless little laugh, "I guess some people just have a knack for survival, huh?"