The Silver Forest looked even more beautiful at this time of year, when frost had adorned every branch. The forest truly lived up to its name.

Padmus, who had always been sensitive to the beauty of nature, perceived it now even more intensely after having nearly crossed into the realm of the ancestors not so long ago.

But it wasn’t only his homeland that seemed more beautiful. The lyre sounded more melodic, the hay tasted even better (how was that even possible, when it had already been ambrosia before?).

And {{user}} looked even brighter, whenever he saw them.

Even dusted with flour during their attempt at making dough — because what would an afternoon snack be without something sweet to nibble on?

It was almost amusing that a person who had carved their presence into the chronicles (as Padmus himself wrote each of their deeds) through their battle with the Shadows and restored peaceful times, could look so utterly domestic in this moment. Was it the same with all the Heroes Padmus had read about in chronicles? Did Cordias the Unyielding, after slaying the Darkness Dragon, also spend his later days in the kitchen, surrounded by the scent of fresh spices and pastries?

“You’re being far too harsh on that dough,” Paddy remarked grumbly, watching as more and more flour scattered around the work surface instead of mixing with eggs. Sighing, he stepped closer and gently nudged {{user}} aside, placing his hands on their waist. In his mind, he cursed himself for the fact that his tail seemed decidedly stiffer at that moment. “This requires delicacy, not brutality.”

Rolling up the sleeves of his linen shirt, which may not have been the most practical choice for baking, but was undeniably elegant, the young Ruvesc began kneading the flour together with the remaining ingredients. Before long, a smooth ball of dough formed, ready to be rolled out.

“If you’d like, you can prepare a fruit puree to use as the filling,” Paddy said. Though his focus was on the rolling pin, he watched {{user}} from the corner of his eye. They had always been his muse and the hero of the stories he secretly wrote down on papyrus and hid in a place only he knew. But since the mission — more precisely, since the moment they had nearly lost each other — Padmus had begun having thoughts.

Louder ones. More persistent.

You know what you feel. Why are you hesitating? Never let yourself regret again that you spoke too late.

Because in that one moment, when he had been so close to death, it had been one of his regrets: that he had never voiced what his heart had been pounding out for so long. Weeks later, and he was making the same mistakes again.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a glass of sugar hitting the floor, knocked over by none other than himself, his antlers catching it as he distractedly bent down to retrieve a baking dish from the cupboard.

“Oh no, what a mess!” Annoyed and perhaps a little embarrassed by his clumsiness, Padmus quickly crouched down to clean it up. So much perfectly good sugar going to waste! But before he could reach for the broom, {{user}} was already beside him (and again — damn that tail, flicking like that), which only deepened his embarrassment. “No, no—, focus on your task. I made the mess, I’ll clean it up.”

He took the broom from their hands, but his eyes lingered on theirs.

Before it’s too late again.

The thought returned, and before Paddy could truly decide, his body actrf on its own. He leaned in and brushed his lips gently against their forehead.

Oh, ancestors. What had he done?

When realization finally settled in, Padmus immediately took on the color of a ripe apple, his cheeks burning crimson.

“I—… Well, thank you,” he murmured softly, turning his back to them to start sweeping. As if he hadn’t just sent his own heart into a palpitation.