Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Finn lounged back on the couch, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, the other holding an array of cards like they were barely worth the effort. The warm glow from the nearby floor lamp caught the foiled edges, but his eyes weren’t on the game.

They were on her.

Sylvia sat cross-legged on the rug, hunched intently over the coffee table. Her lips were pressed into a firm line, her gloved fingers twitching in short, indecisive motions as she arranged her cards with all the solemnity of a battlefield general.

“You don’t wanna stack too much on powerhouses,” Finn said, his voice easy, chin tilting toward her deck. “Makes you predictable. Gotta keep ‘em guessin’. A balanced build gives you more outs when—”

“Uh-huh. Balanced. Got it,” she said without looking up, tone dry as driftwood. She plucked a card from the table and held it up like she was presenting exhibit A. “Like this one?”

The card’s glossy surface winked in the light. A cartoonish kaiju wielding a hammer twice its size snarled back at him. Finn groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He leaned forward and swiped it from her grip before she could react, his fingers brushing hers on the way.

“No, not like this. This thing’s got the staying power of a sandcastle at high tide,” he said, flipping it for her reevaluation. 

Sylvia gasped like he’d insulted her entire bloodline. She snatched the card back with surprising speed and cradled it against her chest. “How dare you. This card is perfect. It’s shiny and it has a weapon. That’s synergy.”

He huffed a laugh, leaning forward on one elbow with a glint in his eye. “Shiny don’t win games, Minnow. But hey, keep stuffin’ your deck with glitter bombs,” he added, grin sharpening. “Makes it easier for me.”

“It might win if you’d stop cheating,” she shot back, gathering the rest of her cards and shielding them in the fortress of her noodly arms. “How am I supposed to build a strategy if you’re out here spying on my deck?”

“Cheating?” Finn raised both brows, hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’m handin’ out free advice here. There’s a difference. One’s criminal—the other’s charming.”

“Unsolicited advice is criminal,” she muttered, flicking through her partly-assembled deck with narrowed eyes.

“Then lock me up.” He was watching her face more than her cards now; how her nose scrunched when she was weighing options, how her whole body tensed like she was on the edge of either triumph or total meltdown. No in-between with this one.

Sylvia shuffled overhand with growing confidence, her fingers finally settling into rhythm. “Look,” she said, tone softening but still edged with pride. “I just want to try playing with something I put together on my own.”

“Fair enough.” His grin stayed in place, but something steadier stirred beneath it. Her hands hovered just a second too long before picking a card, a subtle crease appeared between her brows. She was still learning, sure, but she was in it.

And she hated feeling behind.

Her eyes flicked up, catching him staring. “What?” Her tone was half-amused, half-suspicious. “What are you scheming over there?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged, all practiced ease. “Just wondering what flavor of defeat you’ll be servin’ tonight: original, or extra salty?”

Sylvia kicked at his feet under the table, but her laughter spilled out a second later—electric, warm, fizzling through him.

“You’re gonna eat those words,” she said, sticking out her tongue, then hunched back over her cards like she was planning a full-scale invasion. She was laying the smugness on thick as she scooped her organized lineup into a single stack. “Prepare to lose.”

Her energy was infectious, and Finn found himself almost hoping that her shiny, glittery card would somehow survive—if only to see her gloat about it.

Almost.

Sylvia’s brows furrowed, her foot tapping out a rhythm on the rug as she studied her hand. The faint twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed the war between frustration and stubborn resolve.

Finn clocked it without looking directly—just felt it. That flicker of energy pulsing through the space between them, like a static charge waiting to spark. He tilted his head, feigning concern as he scanned her board. “Stacking everything behind one big bruiser again?” His voice dipped into mock sympathy. “Bold choice, Minnow. Real flashy. Almost like you want me to knock it down.”

She didn’t take the bait. At least, not verbally. Simply threw him a glare over the top of her cards, the corners of her eyes crinkling in defiance.

Then came the card. It hit the table with a satisfying flick: that gleaming, hammer-wielding, glass cannon of a kaiju. “Boom,” Sylvia declared, folding her arms as she leaned back, daring him to comment.

Finn barely glanced at the holographic beast. “Oh no,” he deadpanned. “A shiny hammer. My only weakness.”

She smirked, clearly pleased with herself. Until his next move landed clean, efficient, and devastating. Her kaiju crumbled beneath the effect.

But Sylvia didn’t flinch. “Not so fast.” Another card slid from her hand, revealed with a flourish. “Counterattack. Nice try, but your move sputters out.”

Finn blinked, caught off guard—not by the play itself, but by the satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. Huh. She had been holding out.

“Well, look at you,” he murmured, the edge of a grin forming. “You’re almost startin’ to sound like you know what you’re doin’.”

“Don’t act so surprised,” she said, smug as a cat.

Then he dropped his final card with a leisurely flutter—an answer to her counter, dissolving the kaiju with ruthless elegance.

Sylvia stared at the board. Then at him.

“Really?” she said, drawing out the word like it had teeth. “That’s how you’re going to do me in? With that sneaky move?”

Finn leaned back, arms folding over his chest. “Hey, not my fault you don’t listen.”

With a theatrical groan, Sylvia let herself flop flat onto the rug, cards scattering around her like arrows peppering a defeated warrior. “You just love crushing my dreams of victory, don’t you?”

He laughed—low, warm, threaded with something softer than gloating. “You said you had it under control,” he said, lifting a brow. “But don’t sweat it. You got plenty of bite. You’ll figure out how to use it.”

She glanced over, eyes brightening, her scowl softening. “Just you wait,” she said, already sitting up again, determination snapping back into place like a rubber band. “I’m not giving up that easily.”

“Didn’t think you would.” He shuffled his deck one-handed, a lazy flick of the wrist sending the cards into a practiced fan. “Best two out of three?”

Sylvia leaned forward, elbows braced on her knees, eyes sharp. “You’re on. And this time? You won’t even see me coming.”

Finn’s grin curved slow and deliberate. “Lookin’ forward to it.”

The next round began, cards whispering against the table, their laughter threading through the room like background music. For every jab, there was a smile. For every self-satisfied victory, a winking glare. He still had the edge, undeniably, but it wasn’t about that. Not really.

She learned fast.

Wouldn’t be long before he actually had to try.

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“How am I supposed to build a strategy if you’re out here spying on my deck?”

Chapter Text

Sylvia sat at Finn’s kitchen table, cards spread out in neat rows in front of her, each pile meticulously arranged by type. The hum of everyday sounds—Finn’s quiet footsteps, the clink of his coffee mug against the counter—made the moment feel oddly serene. It was easy to settle into the rhythm here, easy to banter without thinking too hard. She hummed softly as she worked, her fingers moving cards neatly, building a strategy that was equal parts cunning and ruthless.

“Y’know, Minnow,” Finn drawled from across the room, his tone full of teasing warmth, “for someone who only just learned this game was even a thing, you sure look like you’re tryin’ to crack some kinda code.”

Sylvia didn’t look up, her lips quirking into a smirk. “That’s because it’s a puzzle. Now stay over there. I don’t need you seeing my deck before the big reveal.” She flicked a card toward him with a sharp snap of her wrist, expecting it to flutter lazily in his direction. Instead, it sailed through the air with surprising precision, spinning like a tiny blade and grazing his arm before landing on the counter behind him with a soft thwack.

Finn blinked, his grin faltering for the briefest moment as he glanced over his shoulder at the card’s landing spot. “Well, alright then,” he said, recovering quickly as he reached back and plucked it up. “Didn’t know I was dealin’ with a pro pitcher here.”

He held the card up, tilting it back and forth as if trying to read some hidden message in its glossy surface. Then, with a deft motion, he spun it between his fingers. “You gotta treat these better,” he said with mock gravity. “Might be the only thing saving you from total humiliation.”

With a leisurely stride, he pushed off the counter, holding the card out toward her. “Want this back?” he asked, his grin widening as he wandered closer.

Sylvia’s eyes narrowed. “No, I don’t need it, thanks.”

Ignoring the warning in her voice, Finn leaned down, bracing himself on the table, his grin turning wicked. He placed the card atop her pile and loitered, the air between them crackling with playful tension. When his lips brushed hers, it wasn’t the kiss itself that stunned Sylvia—it was the unspoken ease of it, the way he seemed to know exactly how to draw her forward without hesitation. Her breath caught, her fingers gripping the edge of the table as if to ground herself. By the time she thought to respond, he’d already pulled back, his grin all confidence.

Sylvia blinked before she swatted him away, cheeks flushed. “Get out of here,” she ordered, though her voice was more breathless than commanding. “And stop looking at my cards!”

Finn laughed as he straightened up, the sound rich and thoroughly satisfied. “Alright, alright. You’re no fun,” he said, stepping back to his abandoned station by the counter. “Hope you’re not too distracted to finish that masterpiece of yours.”

Sylvia shot him a glare, though her smile gave away the act. “Distracted or not, this deck is still going to flatten you,” she said, trying to refocus on her cards. But her fingers faltered for a moment, the memory of his kiss interrupting her train of thought. “You’re such a cheat,” she muttered, more to herself than to him.

Finn sipped from his coffee, his gaze unrelenting as he watched her work. “Big talk for someone who just learned what card synergy was.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’ve been picking up plenty. You’re not the only one who learns from losing.” Her hands moved with renewed determination, flipping through cards and laying them out with confidence.

As the silence stretched, Sylvia felt Finn’s eyes on her. She glanced up, catching him with that familiar lopsided smile. “What?” she asked, a touch of defensiveness creeping into her tone.

Finn answered with a shrug, his grin turning sly. “Just thinkin’ about how much fun it’ll be to beat you after all that effort you’re putting in.”

Sylvia snorted, turning back to her cards. “Keep dreaming. This deck has synergy, strategy, and sheer brilliance behind it.” She reviewed her final selections with a nod, satisfaction clear in her voice. 

Finn leaned back against the counter, his grin easing into something warmer as he watched her shuffle the cards with focused precision. “You always get this serious, or is it just when you’re plottin’ to take me down?” he asked, the teasing lilt in his voice softened by genuine amusement.

Sylvia glanced up. “When I’m planning victory. Your defeat is just a side effect.”

He chuckled but didn’t respond right away. Instead, he swirled the coffee in his mug. “Y’know,” he said after a beat, his voice dipping into something quieter, “seein’ you all fired up like this—it’s a good look on you. Suits that sharp little mind you got.”

Sylvia faltered for a moment, her fingers hovering over the next card. “Flattery won’t save you,” she replied, sliding the card into place. She focused on the deck, but the quiet weight of Finn’s attention settled over her like a challenge she refused to rise to.

Sylvia’s shop was bathed in the soft glow of late evening light, the hum of a slow-brewing potion in the cauldron adding a steady backdrop to the quiet tension. Sylvia and Finn stood on opposite sides of the sales counter, a mess of colorful cards laid out between them. Finn leaned forward on one hand, the other spreading his remaining cards as his sharp grin gleamed in the dim light.

“Just sayin’,” Finn drawled, tapping a claw lightly against his cards, “if this deck of yours doesn’t deliver after all that big talk, I might have to start callin’ it the Minnow Special. You know—small, flashy, but ultimately harmless.”

Sylvia narrowed her eyes, her gloved fingers tightening around her hand of cards. “You’re hilarious,” she deadpanned, tapping her chin theatrically. “Remind me, how many turns ago did you waste your big finisher on my decoy?”

Finn’s grin shifted, a rueful look crossing his face. “Fair. You’re gettin’ sharper at this.”

Sylvia’s lips twitched as she lined up her next play. “More than you think.” She slapped her card down on the table with a dramatic flourish. “Boom! Mega Mantis Rampage. That’s a wipeout of all your kaiju in play.”

Finn’s jaw slackened briefly before a low chuckle escaped him. “Guess I shouldn’t have countered Pyrospikes last turn,” he muttered, shaking his head as his lineup vanished.

Sylvia leaned forward, triumphant. “And with the kaiju cleared… Alpha Gecko Mutation swoops in for the win!”

Finn sighed, dragging a hand over his face. Sylvia, meanwhile, shot to her feet, punching the air.

“Yes! Yes! Finally!” she shouted, spinning once before striking a pose. “Bow before the queen of tiny giant monsters!”

Finn looked on with a mix of amusement and mild exasperation. “Wow. Really keepin’ it humble, huh?”

Sylvia froze mid-celebration, straightened her back, and cleared her throat. She set her hands on her hips and tilted her head. “You know what? You’re right. I should be more gracious.”

Before Finn could make a smart remark, she closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around his waist and hugging him tight. “Good game,” she said, her voice warm and genuine.

Caught off guard, Finn chuckled and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer. “Now there's the kind of victory lap I can get behind.”

Sylvia leaned back just enough to smirk up at him. “I couldn’t leave you hanging, could I? You’d just sulk.”

Finn arched a brow, his grin sharp. “You moped for three hours last week after I wiped the floor with your Gamma Beetle Swarm.”

“Yeah, well,” Sylvia countered, poking him lightly in the chest, “this time, I win. So now you get to be the sore loser, fish-for-brains.”

Finn’s laugh rumbled low and easy. “Fish-for-brains? That’s the best you got? You’re losin’ your edge, Minnow.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes but smiled, letting her hands linger on his arms. “Okay, fine. How about this? I’m amazing, you’re stunned, and I’ll definitely be holding this over your head for the foreseeable future.”

Finn’s grin softened. “Alright, you can have it for a while. But don’t think I’ll let ya coast on this one win forever.”

Sylvia arched a brow, her smirk brimming with mischief. “Oh, I’m counting on it. The rematch is just another chance for me to crush you again.”

He chuckled, his thumb brushing a light circle against her side. “Bold words, considerin’ you were sweatin’ bullets on that last turn.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Please. I was calm, collected, and completely in control.”

Finn dipped his head closer, his grin sharp and teasing. “My mistake. Hard to focus when you’re over there gloatin’ like the queen of the universe.”

Sylvia tilted her head, her playful demeanor softening as she whispered, “You love it, don’t lie.”

Finn’s smirk melted into a softer smile as their lips met, the kiss lingering just long enough to seal her victory. When they pulled back, Sylvia was the first to speak, her voice light but confident.

“When’s that rematch?” 

Finn chuckled, leaning past her to collect the deck. “Anytime you want. But don’t expect me to go easy on you after this.”

“Good,” Sylvia said, her smile widening. “You’re supposed to lose fair and square.”

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Finn’s smirk melted into a softer smile as their lips met, the kiss lingering just long enough to seal her victory.

Chapter Text

Leaning on the shop’s counter, Sylvia tapped a pencil against her open notebook. The page wasn’t filled with potion formulas but a meticulously drawn scoreboard titled “Sylvia vs. Finn: The Ultimate Showdown.” A modest column of three tallies marked her rare victories, surrounded by bold doodles of fireworks and stars. Smiling faintly, she sketched a crowned stick figure and labeled it “Champion.”

Across the room, Finn lounged in her armchair, his tail flicking idly against the floor. “Three wins, and you’re already designing a trophy?” he teased, his grin sharp enough to rival his teeth.

The other column was crowded with dozens of simple marks, a quiet testament to his nearly unbroken winning streak.

“Correction—four,” Sylvia said, tapping the pencil to the paper. “I’m calling this next game mine.”

He planted his feet on the floor, leaning forward with a mock frown. “Callin’ preemptive victories? That’s bold, even for you.” Rising fluidly, Finn crossed to the counter in a few easy paces and snagged the pencil from her hand.

“Hey!” Her protest came too late, and while her eyes trailed the pencil, he swiped the notebook as well. “Hey!”

Sylvia lunged for it, but Finn simply leaned back against the counter, holding the notebook high and flipping it open.

With methodical precision, he began adding tally marks to his column. “If you can call a game you haven’t even won, I’m just savin’ us time. Let’s see… that makes seven, eight…”

“Finn!” Darting around the counter, she made a grab for the notebook, only to stop short as her boot trod on something soft and yielding. 

A jolt of awareness shot through her as the subtle give beneath her weight triggered a repulsion—too alive, not right. Finn let out a hiss, followed by a dramatic groan that cut through her confusion and made her heart lurch.

“Oh, the agony,” he cried, slumping against the counter as though the weight of his misery was too much to bear. His tail curled protectively behind him. “You’ve done it, Minnow. You’ve maimed me. My poor tail—how am I gonna recover?” He gave a pained sigh, tipping his head back like he was awaiting last rites.

“I’m so sorry!" Sylvia had already begun, frozen in dismay. "I didn’t mean—”  

The melodrama clicked, and her sympathy snapped into sharp-eyed suspicion. Her hands dropped to her hips. “You big faker.”

“Faking?” He blinked innocently, though the smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him.

She huffed, though her lips twitched with an unwilling laugh. “I was actually worried about you, you fraud!”

He grinned fully now, tail lazily carving the air behind him. “What can I say? I’ve got big feelings.”

“Next time I’ll aim for your ego,” she muttered, brushing past him to inspect the notebook. Her gloved hand skimmed over his tailfin as she went, a wordless apology hidden in the gesture. Sure enough, Finn’s column  on the scoresheet had sprouted a dozen new marks, one encircled and proudly labeled “For Style.”

Ignoring his smirk, she erased the spurious additions with deliberate precision. Finn watched with open amusement, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter.

“That’s some prime work you’re scrubbin’ out there,” he said, the hint of a chuckle in his voice.

She didn’t bother responding, though her eraser hovered briefly over the fourth tally she’d prematurely added to her side. With a quiet sigh, she expunged it as well, returning her victories to their original three.

Her gaze lingered on the stick figure. After a moment, she erased the word “Champion” but left the crown intact atop its head.

“Leavin’ the crown?” Finn shuffled his deck of cards, the motion smooth and practiced. “Guess you gotta keep the dream alive.”

Sylvia’s eyes flicked to the faint smudges on the paper; ghosts of Finn’s meddling. The crown, though? That stayed. Trophies suited her—especially when she earned them. And she would earn this one.

“Ready for a humbling?” he asked, holding up the freshly shuffled deck.

Picking up her cards, Sylvia met his gaze with a flicker of determination. “Hmm. Let’s see if I can give you a fourth opportunity to be gracious in defeat.”

* ~ * ~ *

The kitchen table was a battlefield, strewn with kaiju cards, an abandoned glass, and the crumbs of a long-forgotten snack. Finn leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression caught between disbelief and reluctant admiration. 

“I can’t believe that worked,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair. He leaned forward, elbows braced against the table’s edge, his tail lashing once behind him. “Your deck’s all risk, no safety net. You oughta lose with that kind of strategy.”

Sylvia propped her elbows on the table as well, chin cradled on her interlaced fingers like she’d swallowed the canary and loved the taste. “Maybe,” she said, drawing out the word with a teasing lilt. “But I like a little risk. Lucky for you.”

Finn watched her, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth betraying his amusement. She wasn’t just playing the game; she was owning the space around it, every calculated move undercut by the ease with which she’d dismantled his defenses. It was maddening—like watching rain fall up into the clouds.

“You know, Minnow,” he drawled, “you sure have a way of makin' this game even more unpredictable than it already is.”

Sylvia’s grin widened as she began sorting her cards into tidy stacks, unfazed by the casual jab. “That’s the nicest way of admitting defeat I’ve heard yet.” She slid another card into order, her movements as smooth as the faint shrug that followed. “Want me to give you some pointers?”

Finn leaned across the table, casting a shadow over her perfectly arranged piles. “Pointers? I didn’t counter your moves because playin’ like that’s crazy.”

“Crazy wins, apparently.” She tilted her head, one hand lifting in a small, carefree gesture. “I’m on a hot streak now, so you’d better get used to it.”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that came from deep in his chest. Reaching out, he nudged the top card of her tallest pile askew, just enough to draw her attention downward.  “One win, and you’re already talkin’ like a legend. That deck’s a fluke.”

“It’s the start of a streak,” she corrected, straightening the card with a single, deliberate swipe before standing with an easy stretch.

As she moved to reset the game, Finn shook his head, a small smile forming. Her confidence wasn’t just infectious; it was electric, a spark he could feel even without needing to name it. He grabbed the forgotten glass and plate, clearing the table with silent efficiency, then refilled her water and set it beside her.

Sylvia glanced up, her eyebrows lifting briefly in surprise, though the softening in her expression spoke volumes even before she said, "Thanks."

Finn tapped the shuffled deck against the table, squaring it with a practiced motion. “Alright, Minnow,” he said, his voice dropping into a playful challenge, “let’s see if you can make this ‘streak’ stick.”

Her smirk answered, but it was the way she leaned closer, her fingers idly tracing the edge of a card, that held his attention. It wasn’t just the pride of winning—it was the gleam in her eyes, the sheer joy of outmaneuvering him.

Finn leaned back slightly, his grin deepening as he let her bask in the moment a bit longer. He didn’t lose often—almost never, really—but watching her claim her victory like it was a challenge to the universe was a different kind of satisfaction. Somehow, that made it hard to feel too sore about the loss.

Chapter Text

The soft hum of the ceiling fan whirred lazily above Finn's living room, its steady beat a quiet contrast to the scattered creaks of the wooden floorboards. Sylvia sat at the edge of the couch, legs stretched out in front of her, her fingers gently tracing the air over the half-finished game of Itsy Bitsy Kaiju spread across the coffee table. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the warmth from the lamp on the side table, casting a golden glow over the room. 

Finn rinsed out a mug and tossed a glance over his shoulder. “You know,” he said, his tone casual but laced with teasing, “that break you called looks a lot like you stalling after your lousy hand got revealed.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. "I’ll have you know I’m strategizing," she shot back, flippantly flicking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I just didn’t want to waste your time while I plot my next move."

Finn straightened, a smug grin appearing on his face as he leaned against the counter. "Strategizing, huh? That what they’re callin’ 'losing' these days?"

Sylvia grabbed a throw pillow from behind her and tossed it up, casually balancing it on her palm. "You’re talking like someone who wants to eat pillow."

His laugh rumbled low in his chest. “What’s that gonna do? Fluff me to death?”

She didn’t answer, instead lobbing the pillow directly at him. It hit squarely, earning an exaggerated stumble and a bark of laughter from Finn. “Oh, you’re askin’ for it now,” he said, straightening, his grin sharp with intent.

Sylvia’s pulse quickened as he started around the counter. With a quick move, she grabbed up another pillow. But before she could throw it, he was already closing the gap.

Sylvia stepped forward off the couch, keeping it between them like a makeshift barrier. “Nope, no, you stay over there!” she warned, holding up the second pillow defensively as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I’m the aggrieved party here!”

“You’re the one launchin’ projectiles.” His sharp grin widened. Without warning, he vaulted over the back of the couch and reached for her in a single fluid motion. Sylvia barely had time to dodge his outstretched arm, scrambling around the coffee table.

“Stay back!” she laughed, waving the pillow like a sword. “I’m warning you!”

“Warnin’ me?” Finn teased, stalking her with slow, exaggerated steps. “You’re a little too scrappy for your own good.”

He lunged, and Sylvia twisted away, her breath coming in short bursts as she darted toward the floor lamp. The sudden movement sent a sharp thrill through her, the soft rug beneath her socks feeling slick as she tried to stay upright. She gripped the cool metal stem, using it as an anchor.

Finn, though, was relentless. He closed the space with ease, his steps deliberate. "You’re outta options," he said, his voice almost a purr, a playful growl mixed with something more dangerous.

Sylvia's mind worked in overdrive, and in an instant, she feinted left, darting toward his right in a desperate attempt to slip past him into the kitchen. Her breath hitched as Finn’s fingers brushed against the back of her wrist, and before she knew it, she was yanked backward. Finn’s arm looped around her waist in one smooth motion, lifting her clean off the ground. Her feet dangled, and she squealed, a burst of laughter escaping her lips as she twisted in his grip.

“Gotcha,” Finn said, his voice low and smug, the warmth of his body pressing against hers. His hold was firm but playful, his arm secure under her as if she were no more than a lively sack of flour.

Sylvia squirmed, her hands pushing against his chest and arm in a half-hearted attempt to break free, but his strength was effortless, unyielding. Her laugh faltered into something quieter as she realized she wasn’t going anywhere. The thought spread through her like a live wire, equal parts exasperation and exhilaration.

“Let me go, you overgrown tuna!” Her demand was somewhat spoiled by the mirth in her tone.

“Not until you admit defeat,” he said, giving her a slight jostle for emphasis.

Sylvia writhed again, the motion only pressing her closer to him, and she couldn’t fight the grin tugging at her lips. “Fine, fine! You win! Now put me down!”

Finn’s smile widened, almost predatory. “See, that wasn’t so hard,” he said, tossing her back onto the couch. The movement was quick but landed her gently among the cushions. Still, the short trip through the air left her momentarily breathless and reorienting herself.

He sat next to her heavily, pinning her in place with one arm. "You’re outclassed, Minnow," he said, his tone fond despite the teasing.

Sylvia huffed, trying to wriggle free, and Finn released her. Her breath came quick and shallow, her laughter still bubbling in the aftermath of their playful struggle. She leaned back into the couch cushions, blowing her hair out of her face, only to glance sideways and catch Finn watching her unabashedly. 

He shifted closer, their knees brushing, and reached for her hand. His fingers grazed her wrist, deliberate and lingering, sending a subtle warmth through her. Without thought, Sylvia leaned against him and let her hand rest over his chest. The thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm was annoyingly steady compared to her own.

Finn’s grin eased, his usual swagger tempered by the moment. “You okay there, Minnow?” he asked, his voice lower now, almost tender.

She gave him a lopsided smile, her fingers curling slightly. “Still plotting my revenge. Just… taking a breather first.”

He chuckled, shifting just enough to slip an arm behind her. “Take your time. I’ll be here, undefeated.”

Sylvia tilted her head toward him, her smile warming. “I'm not starting a scoreboard for this.” She leaned up, pressing her lips to his in a quick kiss, and felt his chest rise beneath her touch. When they parted, she stayed close, her temple resting lightly on his shoulder.

“What if I give you a head start next time?” he murmured into her hair.

Sylvia laughed softly, the sound low and intimate as she shook her head. “It’s not a real contest. I don't actually want to get away.”

Finn let out a contented breath, his arm wrapping around her as they relaxed further into the cushions. Their banter faded into comfortable quiet, the little space between them filled with unspoken understanding.

* ~ * ~ *

Finn dropped into the chair across from Sylvia, a grin curling at the edges of his mouth. In one hand, he clutched his freshly crafted deck. “Ready for the big leagues?”

Sylvia narrowed her eyes at him, immediately suspicious. “What did you do?”

“Me?” He spread the cards in a ribbon before her like a magician revealing his trick—only the trick was a devastating arsenal. “Let’s just say I’ve optimized. This ain’t the kiddie pool anymore.” 

She groaned but began shuffling her deck, her resolve flaring. “Alright. Let’s see how long you can keep that smug look on your face.”

The first few rounds were brutal. Finn’s heavy hitters swept the table like tidal waves, tearing through her kaiju before she could establish any footing. 

Sylvia’s jaw tightened as Finn leaned back in his chair, his grin growing with every turn. “You’re makin’ this too easy, Minnow. Didn’t you say you were getting better?”

She shot him a glare sharp enough to flay. “Maybe I’m just lulling you into a false sense of security.”

Finn laughed at her feisty response, but Sylvia wasn’t joking. As he drew up to the hand limit for his next move, she hunched forward, one elbow on the table and her knuckles pressed to her mouth. Her fingers drummed on top of her deck as she analyzed the battlefield. He could almost see the gears turning behind her eyes. 

Her next turn was a masterstroke of counterplay, deploying a combination of cards that slowed his assault and forced him to rethink his options. The tide wasn’t turning yet, but she was building momentum.

As the game progressed, Sylvia’s moves grew sharper. Each play chipped away at his advantage, dismantling the foundation of his overwhelming strategy piece by piece. 

Finn shifted his weight forward without realizing it, his arms braced on the table and his grin tempered by genuine focus. Across from him, Sylvia was a study in determination, her eyes scanning the board like a general surveying troop placements. The way she bit her lip in concentration or tapped her gloved fingers against her cards made him pause. He wasn’t just enjoying the game—he was enjoying her.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he said, the encouragement in his voice making Sylvia glance up. “Keep it up and I might actually start to sweat.”

“As if you aren’t already.” Her smirk was all fire, and Finn knew he’d underestimated her. Again.

By the final rounds, the tension was palpable. Sylvia had all but leveled the playing field, her inventive plays forcing Finn to dig deep into his deck for answers. When he finally managed to wipe her Mega Mantis off the board with a devastating combo, the victory felt less like a triumph and more like a narrow escape.

He sank back, exhaling with relief. “And that’s how it’s done,” he said, his grin returning. “Not bad, though. You had me on the ropes there for a bit.”

Sylvia didn’t look disappointed. If anything, her eyes sparkled with excitement. She was already gathering his cards, flipping through them with an intensity that crackled in the air. “Yeah, yeah, you won. But you won’t next time.”

“Oh?” Finn raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Got somethin’ up your sleeve already?”

“More like a blueprint.” Sylvia held up one of his key cards, her gloved fingers tracing the stats as if she were already mapping out how to swat it down. “This deck is ridiculous, but it’s not invincible. I just need to figure out the right counters.”

Finn leaned forward, his chin resting on his hand. “Take your time, Minnow. I’m in no rush. Watchin’ you figure it out is half the fun.”

She shot him a look, but the playful warmth in her expression blunted her usual challenge. “You’re going to regret teaching me this game.” Then she dove into his collection, undoubtedly searching for the cards she had decided were instrumental to her victory.

Finn’s smirk curled lazily, an undercurrent of something tender beneath his teasing tone. “Not a chance.”

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

His hold was firm but playful, his arm secure under her as if she were no more than a lively sack of flour.

Chapter Text

Morning sunlight streamed through the cafe’s large windows, pooling over the polished wood of their corner table. Sylvia reclined in her chair, fork poised midair with a flakey triangle of pastry impaled on the tines. Across from her, Finn sipped his coffee lazily, one elbow propped on the table.

"You ever gonna stop mooching off my cards?” he asked with the easy cadence of someone who didn’t expect a serious answer. “Maybe make a deck that’s actually yours?”

Sylvia took her time chewing, her expression one of exaggerated thoughtfulness. “Why should I? You’ve already got more cards than you know what to do with. Seems wasteful to start a collection of my own.”

Finn raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “That’s one way to look at it. Or you’re just freeloading.”

“Freeloading?” She gasped, her hand flying to her chest in faux offense. “I’m bringing invaluable flair and entertainment to every game we play. Besides, I don’t even know where to find cards.”

“You bring chaos,” he corrected, his smirk fully formed now. “But it’s entertaining, I’ll give ya that.”

Sylvia’s retort was cut off when Finn added, casually, “There’s a hobby store a couple blocks over. Sells cards, collectibles—the works.”

Her fork drooped in her hand as she sat up straighter, eyes alight. “What? Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Probably because you spend about ninety percent of your life in your shop.” Finn leaned back, amusement flickering in his gaze. “Want to check it out after this?”

Sylvia didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.” Her fork pointed at him accusingly. “And that’s not true! I must spend at least eleven percent of my time at your place.”

"Really splittin' hairs there, Minnow."

The hobby store was filled with quiet energy, its walls alive with color and motion. Sylvia stepped inside and froze, her eyes wide as she drank in the rows of shelves towering above her, each brimming with vibrant boxes, card packs, and collectibles.

“This place is incredible,” she murmured, turning in a slow circle. The hum of players deep in their games filled the air, punctuated by the shuffle of cards and the roll of dice.

Finn wandered ahead, his hands in his pockets, letting her take it all in. He glanced back when she darted toward a nearby shelf where rows of decorative figurines were arranged in neat lines. 

Sylvia picked one up, examining the little kaiju closely—a Mega Mantis, its tiny claws raised in a silent roar.

“Look, it’s your favorite!” she called to Finn.

He gave the figurine a dismissive glance before rolling his eyes. “Your favorite,” he said dryly. “And an absolute pain to deal with in-game.”

Sylvia grinned, her gloved fingers spinning the tiny kaiju around to catch all its angles. “Maybe that’s why I like it so much.”

He huffed a quiet laugh and nodded toward the back of the store. “Come on, let’s check out the good stuff.”

The glass counter was a treasure trove of single cards, their glossy surfaces displayed under bright lights. Some had elaborate, full-art designs, while others shimmered with foil details extending to the text. Finn leaned over the counter, tapping his finger lightly against the glass.

“That one’s a real looker,” he said, nodding toward a particularly striking card. The artwork depicted a massive sea monster emerging from a tsunami, its fins glinting with iridescent blues and greens.

“Tidalfin Leviathan,” Sylvia read aloud, admiring the card. “It’s stunning.”

“Yeah. Don't really have a decklist it fits in, but still,” Finn said, his voice thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll pull one in a booster someday.”

Sylvia noted the way his posture shifted—subtle, but telling. She smiled to herself, simply enjoying his appreciation for the beauty of the card, until her attention was snagged by a bright flyer pinned to a bulletin board behind him. She moved closer, tilting her head as she read it.

Her excitement bubbled over almost immediately. “Finn!” she said, waving him over. “Look at this!”

Finn lifted his gaze and strolled closer. “The Itsy Bitsy Kaiju tournament?” he asked. “They do one every month. Pulls a decent crowd.”

Sylvia’s eyes lit up as she scanned the rest of the text. “It says there’s a doubles bracket! That means two versus two, right? Finn, we have to.”

Finn’s smirk flickered wider, but he paused, studying her. “You sure ‘bout that, Minnow? Some of these players are… well, let’s just say they take the fun out of it.” He shifted his weight back slightly, a casual edge to his voice. “Winning’s all they care about.”

Sylvia waved off his warning with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Then we’ll just have to take it seriously too. Come on, it’ll be fun! And I’m pretty sure we’re unstoppable together.”

He chuckled. “Alright. Let’s see if you can carry your weight.”

“Excuse me?” She gave him a playful shove. “I’m going to carry both of us.”

Finn’s laughter followed her as she turned back to examine the rest of the store’s offerings.

Sylvia pushed the glass door open, the little bell jingling above them again as they stepped out into the bright morning. The sun warmed her face, and the fun of the hobby store put a bounce in her steps. Finn walked beside her, his gait as easy as ever.

For a moment, they walked in companionable silence. Sylvia’s gaze was unfocused, her mind already racing with potential strategies for the tournament. But then something tugged at her thoughts—a tiny itch she couldn’t quite ignore.

“I'll be right back,” she said abruptly, spinning on her heels.

Finn stopped mid-step, one eyebrow raising in question as he watched her dart back through the door, disappearing into the colorful chaos inside. He waited, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. It didn’t take long before Sylvia reappeared, the door swinging open as she stepped out, holding something aloft with unmistakable glee.

“Ta-da!” she declared, presenting the little Mega Mantis figurine like a prize. Its vibrant paint glinted in the sunlight, its legs posed rampant in victory.

Finn’s expression said everything, a combination of humor and judgment. “Really?”

Sylvia bristled, clutching the figurine closer to her chest. “What? It was too cute to leave behind.”

“Cute?” Finn repeated, his smirk widening. “This from the gal who keeps lecturing me about delayed gratification?”

Her cheeks flushed faintly, but her grin didn’t falter. “I’ve actually been living a little since paying off my debt, thank you very much.”

He gave an exaggerated sigh, feigning deep concern. “Great. First a figurine, next thing I know you’ll be buying all sorts of fancy snacks and whatnot. Keep treatin’ yourself, and you’ll be muscling in on my territory.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes, but her smile softened; the affection in his words wasn't lost on her. “I guess you’ll just have to get creative.”

Finn chuckled, falling into step beside her as they continued down the street. Sylvia cradled the figurine protectively, her joy persisting. He shot her a glance and shook his head with a grin.

“Mega Mantis, though?” he said, his tone light.

“Don’t start,” she warned, unable to keep the laughter out of her voice. She opened her satchel and gently placed the figurine inside, then furrowed her brow in mock confusion.

“What’s this?” she asked, her tone full of exaggerated puzzlement.

Finn glanced at her. “What’s what?”

She mimed fumbling around in her bag, her movements theatrical as she dug through its bottomless contents. After a moment, she pulled out the Tidalfin Leviathan card with a triumphant flourish. 

“Oh, how did that get in there?” she asked innocently, her grin growing as she watched Finn’s expression shift from startled recognition to bemusement.

“You didn’t,” he said, his voice low.

“I did,” Sylvia said, her tone playful but edged with sincerity. “You could hardly take your eyes off it.”

Finn took the card from her gently, turning it over in his hands. There was something deeply satisfying about seeing him like this—unhurried, unguarded, caught off-balance by a gesture he clearly wasn’t expecting. Just seeing him hold the card with that quiet reverence was enough for her.

“You really are somethin’ else,” he murmured after a pause, his tone carrying more weight than the words themselves. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, lingering long enough for her to feel the gratitude behind it.

Sylvia smiled, her heart light as they resumed their walk. “Hey, after teaching me the game and putting up with my so-called chaos, it seems only fair. I’m just making up for lost time.”

Finn slipped the card carefully into his pocket, a slow smile curving his lips. “You keep this up, Minnow, I might start thinkin’ you’re playing the long game.”

Her laughter bubbled up easily, bright and unrestrained, as the two of them disappeared into the hum of the bustling city streets.

Chapter Text

The tavern brimmed with New Year’s Eve revelry, its lantern-lit corners spilling golden light across a crowd of laughter and clinking mugs. Streamers in Rafta’s signature blues and golds cascaded from the beams, and the air hummed with the joyous din of music and voices raised in celebration. Sylvia leaned back in her chair, her cider warming her hands through the mug. Finn’s arm rested lazily across the back of her seat, his warmth grounding her amid the vibrant chaos.

Muktuk stood tall, raising his drink high as he finished a rousing toast. “To ironclad perseverance and the wisdom of the anvil!” he declared, his booming voice earning a mix of cheers and laughter from the table.

Xid tilted her glass in a half-salute, her sly smile catching the lantern light. “You’ve missed your calling as a bard.”

Muktuk placed a hand to his chest as though making an oath. “Dear Xid, the art of speech is no less vital than the craft of blade or brew!”

Luna, tucked quietly between Xid and Sylvia, toyed with the hem of her sleeve. “It’s inspiring,” she said earnestly, though her gaze dropped halfway through. “I mean, I don’t think I could ever... um, never mind.”

Finn leaned forward, his grin sharp yet easy. “Luna, you’d crush a toast. But I’d put my money on Xid for most dramatic delivery. She’d probably sing hers.”

“Only if you book me,” Xid quipped, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Before the conversation could spiral, a server appeared, setting a small bowl of shimmering shells on the table. “Echo Shells! Don’t wait too long—you don’t want to be scrambling at midnight,” he announced before moving to the next cluster of patrons.

Luna straightened in her chair, her smile hesitant but bright. “I’ve always loved this tradition. It’s a little nerve-wracking, though—putting your thoughts out there.”

Muktuk picked up a shell, turning it reverently in his massive hands. “It is no small thing, to take stock of the year’s lessons and carve a promise from them. This is not mere reflection—it is renewal.”

Sylvia’s curiosity piqued. “I’ve heard about the shells before from my uncle, but this is my first New Year’s on Rafta. How does it work, exactly?”

Muktuk set the shell down carefully. “Simple, yet profound. Write a memory, a lesson, or a vow on a slip of paper and place it inside the shell. At midnight, it whispers back to you, binding it to the wind as a promise for the new year.”

Xid plucked a shell from the basket, turning it over in her fingers. “I like it. Reflective, but not too heavy.”

“Yeah.” Sylvia traced the edge of her mug thoughtfully. “It’s really lovely.”

Finn nudged her shoulder, his voice low and teasing. “Better make it good, Minnow. Don’t want the wind judging your life choices.”

Sylvia tilted her head toward him, her smirk softening into something more playful. “Coming from you? Pretty sure the wind’s still recovering from what I can only assume was last year’s vow to be insufferably charming.”

The table chuckled as everyone reached for their own shells. Xid playfully declared, “Dibs on the pink one,” while Luna chose hers with careful deliberation. The conversation naturally quieted as they each turned to their slips of paper, their laughter replaced by quiet focus.

Sylvia stared at the blank slip in her hand, her mind swirling. Slowly, she wrote: Your next move doesn’t have to be perfect—it just has to be yours.

When she looked up, Finn was twirling his pencil with a grin that didn’t quite mask his concentration. He caught her eye and clicked his shell shut before she could even think to catch a peek. “No spoilers,” he said with a wink.

Sylvia rolled her eyes but smiled, the warmth of the moment settling over her like a soft blanket. Around her, the tavern buzzed anew as midnight approached, the energy rising like a tide.

At the stroke of midnight, the room erupted in cheers. Echo Shells shimmered in every hand, their magic activating as they whispered promises back to their owners. Sylvia closed her eyes and brought her shell to her ear. The words she had written echoed softly, resonating deeper than she had expected. A quiet resolve bloomed in her chest, steady and comforting.

Opening her eyes, she found herself locked in Finn’s gaze. The teasing glint was gone, replaced by something gentler, warmer. He leaned closer, his voice soft enough to be just for her. “What’d it say?”

Sylvia hesitated, then smiled. “A reminder to trust my instincts. What about you?”

Finn rubbed a thumb over his spent shell and leaned back with a smirk. “Oh, mine said I should go easy on you in Itsy Bitsy Kaiju. Real inspiring stuff.”

Sylvia laughed, her voice light as she elbowed him. “Sure it did.”

Across the table, Xid broke the moment, lifting her shell dramatically. “For the record, mine rhymed. Think I’ll get bonus points for creativity?”

The group dissolved into laughter, the bubble of intimacy around Sylvia and Finn gently bursting back into the camaraderie of friends.

Finn laced his fingers with Sylvia’s, his hand firm and steady against hers as another cheer rose from the crowd. The breeze from the open windows carried the scent of the sea, as if ushering their promises with it.

“Happy New Year, Sylvia,” Finn murmured.

“Happy New Year,” she replied, her smile soft as she squeezed his hand.

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Chapter Text

Sylvia lounged sideways on Finn’s sofa, her legs draped lazily across his lap as she flipped through a deck of cards. The remnants of their latest match—yet another for Finn’s towering column of victories—were scattered across the distant kitchen table. She wasn’t particularly bothered about her defeat, though she might have pretended otherwise. Right now, her focus had shifted to a far more pressing issue.

“Okay, this has gone on long enough,” she declared, setting the cards down on the coffee table and pointing dramatically at Finn. “You have to tell me your secret.”

Finn arched a brow, the card he’d been idly twirling between his fingers coming to a stop. “My secret for what? A winnin’ streak longer than your arm?”

“For that,” Sylvia said, gesturing with both hands at his head. “Your hair. It’s perfect—lush, voluminous, effortlessly wavy. What kind of sorcery is at work here?”

Finn sat up straighter, smirking as he raked a hand through his hair in an exaggerated gesture. The movement made it look only more gorgeous, which was both impressive and mildly infuriating.

“Hate to disappoint,” he said, his tone easy, “but there’s no big secret.”

Sylvia’s eyes narrowed, suspicion sharpening her grin. “Oh, come on. You’re telling me that hair just happens? There’s not some secret potion recipe I’m missing out on, or some.. I don't know, ancient blood rite?”

“Nah,” Finn replied with a shrug, clearly enjoying her theatrics. “I wash it when it needs it. That’s about it.”

Sylvia groaned, slapping a gloved hand to her forehead in mock agony. “You’re kidding me. That’s it? That can’t be it.”

“‘Fraid so.” Finn’s voice took on a dramatic thoughtfulness. “Unless you count the ocean. I swim a lot—salt water might be the trick.”

“The ocean?” Sylvia repeated, flopping back against the armrest with a dramatic sigh. “Salt water? That’s your secret? That’s absurd. Criminal, even! I can’t get volume like that no matter what I try, and all you do is dunk your head in the sea?”

Finn chuckled, leaning forward to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. “Your hair looks great. No need to get so salty about it.”

Sylvia glared at him, though her smile gave her away. “Salty? Really? Now you’re just being cruel.”

“Hey, if the pun fits…” Finn’s gaze was warm as he rested an arm across the back of the couch. “Besides, you’re makin’ too big a deal out of it. You’ve got plenty of volume—only, y’know, more in the rant department.”

Sylvia gasped in mock outrage, sitting up straight again and jabbing a finger at his arm. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Mister ‘We’re not going to be friends after this.’”

“You’re never gonna let that go, are ya?” Finn tilted his head, his smirk stretching into something smug as he moved in closer, his voice dipping into that familiar, taunting rumble. “And I was right, anyway. Not exactly ‘friends,’ here, Minnow.”

Her lips curved into a sly crescent as she leaned forward, her tone light but deliberate. “Fair point,” she said, catching a lock of Finn’s hair between her fingers. She gave it a playful scrunch, watching as it bounced effortlessly back into place. 

“It’s like it has a mind of its own,” she mused, fingers threading through the blue strands. “Witchcraft. And I would know.”

Finn tilted his head slightly, enough to press into her touch just before she began to pull away. His smirk softened, though the teasing glint in his eyes remained. “You sure it’s not just good genes?”

“Genes don’t explain how it always looks like you just stepped out of a shampoo commercial.” Sylvia flicked her fingers lightly against his hair one last time. “It’s suspicious, that’s all I’m saying.”

Finn’s hand came to rest lightly on her knee. “You’re a riot when you’re all worked up, you know that?”

“It’s going to lose its charm pretty quickly if you try firing me up on purpose,” Sylvia said, cocking her head toward him. “But I guess I can forgive it. This time.”

Finn chuckled, dipping his head to rest his forehead against hers for a brief, playful moment. “Good to know. I’d hate to get on your bad side over somethin’ as trivial as hair.”

“Not trivial,” Sylvia said, her voice muffled as she tucked herself into his side. “But you’re safe for now. Just don’t start gloating, or I’ll bring the full force of my righteous fury down on you.”

Finn chuckled softly as he reached for the deck of cards she’d set aside earlier. “Guess I’ll have to keep that in mind,” he said, the words more a gentle admission than a quip.

Sylvia hummed in response, shifting just enough to settle against him more comfortably. Her gaze drifted to the deck as Finn handed it back to her.

“Y’know,” he said, his tone dipping into something casually contemplative, “you could always come along for a swim sometime. See for yourself if the water’s really doin’ the trick.”

She blinked, her eyebrows lifting as her lips parted in surprise. For a moment, she studied his face. “Wait, you’re serious?” she asked, skepticism flickering in her voice. She could already picture it: her floundering next to Finn’s agile grace in the water. “I think I’d just slow you down,” she added, her thumb tracing the corner of the deck as her lips quirked into a faint smile. “I’m not sure I’d survive the embarrassment.”

“Slowin’ down once in a while’s ain’t such a bad thing,” he said, his tone light but his gaze steady. “Ya gotta admit the idea’s got legs: fresh air, good exercise… gettin’ you into a swimsuit.” 

“There it is,” Sylvia said, swatting lightly at his arm. “The secret plot comes out.”

“Silver lining,” he corrected with a chuckle, his fingers brushing her shoulder. “But hey, I’ll even throw in some pointers free of charge. You won’t drown—probably.”

She rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth curling upward. “I guess I could take my chances,” she said, her voice softer. “If I have a lifeguard.”

Finn’s hand shifted, his thumb tracing an easy circle against her arm as she leaned into him. “Just somethin’ to think about.”

The room settled into a quiet cadence, the rustle of cards punctuated by the faint creaking of the couch when she shifted and the soft exhale of Finn’s breathing. Sylvia’s fingers brushed the crisp edges of the sleeved deck, the motions slowing as she sank deeper into his warmth. Occasionally, she held up a card for him to examine, her unspoken inquiries answered by the gentle nudge of his hand over hers. The minutes unfolded leisurely, one after the other, shared and unhurried.

* ~ * ~ *

Finn shuffled his deck by rote, the cards slipping between his fingers in a practiced rhythm. Across the coffee table, Sylvia was a study in concentration, her gloved hands precise and methodical as she prepared her own deck. Her smirk, however, was pure trouble.

“Alright, big guy,” she said, her tone light. “Let’s raise the stakes a bit. Winner gets to pick what we’re watching tonight.”

Finn leaned back on the couch, his arm stretching lazily over the backrest. He raised a brow at her, a slow smile pulling at his lips. “You sure about that, Minnow? Puttin’ your precious documentaries on the line against me?”

Her glare was immediate, but he caught the glimmer of levity in her eyes. “You mean my educational programming, as opposed to your trashy reality TV about people yelling at each other on yachts?”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you’ve watched a full season,” he fired back, baring his teeth in a broad, unapologetic grin. “Drama, betrayal, plenty of water—it’s practically art.”

Sylvia’s eye roll was dramatic, involving the tilt of her head, but her smile lingered. “I don’t need another minute of that nonsense. Besides, I’ve been working on a new deck. You’re going down.”

Finn let out a low chuckle, shifting forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Oh, I’m quakin’ in my fins.” 

The game began with deliberation, both of them testing the waters; a surprising display of caution on her part. Finn moved methodically, cycling through his options and keeping his power cards close to his chest. He watched Sylvia do the same—or so he thought, at first. But as the match progressed, her moves grew more unpredictable than even her usual fare. She leaned forward, her brow furrowing as she placed her next card. Her tells were subtle but familiar: the slight press of her lips while she considered a risky move, the faint flicker of satisfaction when she landed exactly where she wanted. But it wasn’t just her focus that caught his attention; it was the mayhem.

When Sylvia played a dicey combo that wiped most of his board, she leaned back, success lighting up her face. Finn tried not to laugh at his own predicament. She was getting really good at this.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Minnow got your tongue?”

Finn’s hand hovered over his cards, his grin sharpening into something more feral. He tapped a card against his teeth, his gaze locking onto hers. “Funny. I was just decidin’ whether to end this quick or let you squirm on the hook a little longer.”

He snapped his trap card over with a flick of his wrist, and Sylvia froze, watching as her setup was devoured before her eyes.

“Disgusting,” she muttered, her tone grudging but impressed. “How do you have a counter to everything I try, even when I don’t know how my card’s going to play out?”

“What can I say?” Finn leaned back again, arms spreading wide in a gesture of mock humility. “I’m only warmin’ up.”

Sylvia recalibrated, her eyes scanning the board with fierce determination. Finn marveled at her scrappy counterattack, torn between a mild irritation at her ingenuity and the pride he felt watching her get so wrapped up in the game—focused, relentless, refusing to back down. 

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she said, her tone sharp but her lips twitching toward a smile.

“Guilty as charged,” Finn replied, his voice dropping into a low drawl. “D’you think it’s the winning streak, or the part where your heart rate keeps shootin’ up?”

She scoffed, feigning indignation. “It’s my new strategy. You’ve heard of a poker face, right? This is the opposite. I just put all the emotions out there at once so your stupid electroreception can’t tell what’s what.”

Finn’s laugh was sudden and genuine, shaking his shoulders. “Can’t hide when you’re this into it, Minnow.” He tapped his temple once for emphasis.

Sylvia’s lips curled into a challenge. “Oh, I see how it is. Well, in that case, maybe I’ll go ahead and concede now—just to throw a wrench in it.”

She folded her hand of cards into a neat stack with a flourish, daring him. Finn leaned forward as his voice dropped into an affectionate murmur. “Nah, you wouldn’t do that. You love makin’ me work for it.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes, but her smile remained as she fanned out her hand once more.

The game reached its climax with the board state nearly even. Sylvia’s fingers hung over her final card, her movements purposeful but reluctant. Finn tracked every flicker of hesitation, his senses attuned to the electric spike of her anticipation. When she made her final play, a risky maneuver, she looked up with hope in her eyes.

Finn let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Not too shabby.”

Her grin widened instantly. “Does that mean…?”

“That I win?” His final card landed with an anticlimactic flop. “Yeah, it does.”

Sylvia groaned, slumping forward dramatically onto the coffee table. “Ugh. Fine,” she muttered, her voice muffled by her crossed arms. “But I’m vetoing that ridiculous yacht show. Please. I have my limits.”

Finn laughed as he began gathering the cards into a neat stack. “I was thinkin’ something classier tonight. Maybe the one with all the high-end real estate and backstabbing.”

Sylvia snorted, extending her arms languidly across the coffee table, her fingers inching closer to the remote with theatrical nonchalance. “Oh yeah, much better. Just as long as nobody’s punching walls.”

Finn schooled his expression as he noticed her extravagant stretch. He didn’t move to stop her—yet. “No guarantees,” he said, pretending to focus on squaring up his deck, though his eyes flicked to her creeping hands.

When she finally lunged for the remote, Finn moved faster, snatching it away with a triumphant laugh. He leaned back, holding it out of her reach. “Nice try, Minnow. Subtle as a breaching whale.”

“Well, it was worth a shot,” Sylvia said with a chuckle. She pulled herself to her feet, ambling around the coffee table and pausing a second to stretch her back before she plopped down onto the sofa next to him with a resigned smile. “You know, if I get hooked on this garbage, it’ll be all your fault.”

Finn’s laugh was loud and warm, his arm hanging casually over the back of the couch. “Don’t blame me when you’re beggin’ to watch the next episode. I’ll be right here, just waitin’ for your inevitable, ‘But what happens next?’”

“In your dreams.” Sylvia scooted closer, her voice dropping into mischievous determination. “Next time, I’m winning. And we’re watching something with facts. Or at least a storyline that doesn’t make me want to yell at the TV.”

She dug a hand into his side, drawing a sharp flinch from him when her fingers met his ribs. Before she could retreat, he wrapped an arm around her, pinning her against him and neutralizing her without much effort. “Lookin’ forward to it,” he said, his tone lazy and teasing.

He felt Sylvia tense briefly in a quick squirm beside him, her playful energy crackling like static. But as the opening sequence of the real estate drama rolled—a glossy montage of opulent mansions and impeccably dressed agents wielding champagne flutes and filigreed pens like weapons—she stilled. Her body softened into his side, relaxing, one knee tucked beneath her. She tilted her head just enough to glance up at him.

“So, what’s the angle here?” she asked, her tone warm with teasing. “Are they battling over square footage or just trying to out-smirk each other?”

Finn's grin deepened, a sharp flicker of amusement in his eyes. He leaned closer as his voice dropped into an exaggerated, deliberate cadence. “Observe the alpha broker in its natural habitat. Watch how it circles the potential rival, looking for signs of weakness before goin’ in for the kill.”

Sylvia let out a laugh, soft and easy, her gaze flicking back to the screen. “Wow, it feels just like I’m watching a nature documentary. Is this supposed to take the sting out of my defeat?”

“Figured it might soften the blow a little,” Finn replied as he shifted to rest his arm more comfortably along her shoulders.

Her lips parted, ready to volley back, but her gaze snagged on the screen as two agents began a heated argument over a cubic monstrosity with floor-to-ceiling windows. Her brow furrowed, her fingers brushing absentmindedly against his knee. “Why does she think marble countertops are going to fix that mess?” she muttered, her voice carrying a thread of genuine puzzlement.

Finn bit back a chuckle, watching her lean forward subconsciously, her eyes narrowing at the unfolding drama. She barely moved, rapt as the episode raced to its melodramatic conclusion, and when the credits began to roll, her hand scooped up the remote with no hesitation.

“Not a word,” she warned, her voice clipped but her eyes flashing with warmth as she clicked for the next episode.

A deep laugh rumbled low in Finn’s chest as he sank further into the cushions, more engaged with her commentary and the feel of her settling back against him than the spectacle unfolding on the screen.

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Genes don’t explain how it always looks like you just stepped out of a shampoo commercial.”

Chapter Text

Sylvia leaned forward, balancing on the edge of her chair. Her boot tapped out a steady rhythm against the leg of her kitchen table as she fanned her opening hand, a sly smile playing on her lips. Her bangs hung low over her eyes, veiling whatever scheme she was cooking up.

Across from her, Finn shuffled his deck with fluid precision, the cards slipping together like the rustle of leaves. His gaze flicked up, curiosity glinting beneath his lazy grin.

“You plannin’ to switch it up this time?” he drawled, cutting the deck with a sharp flick of his wrist.

Sylvia’s fingers toyed with the edges of her cards, the picture of canny calm. “Where’s the fun in giving you a heads-up?” she said, her tone light but brimming with challenge. “But if I were you, I’d brace myself.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” he said, his voice low and edged with amusement. “Sounds like trouble.”

As the game began, Sylvia’s approach was uncharacteristically sensible. Her moves were deliberate, each card laid down with the precision of a puzzle piece clicking into place—but the pieces didn’t form a bigger picture. Finn’s strategy came together like a net drawing tight, and she neither flinched nor rushed to counter it.

“What’re you plottin’, Minnow?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he laid down another card. “You’ve got somethin’ up your sleeve. Don’t think I can’t tell.”

"Well..." Sylvia’s fingers hovered over her hand, her eyes alight with a mix of mischief and restraint. “I might have a little surprise in store.”

Finn cocked his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Let’s have it, then.”

With a flourish, Sylvia slid a card onto the board. “Say hello to Potionzilla.”

Finn blinked, his brow furrowing slightly as he leaned forward to inspect the card. The amateurish art depicted a hulking monster made of potion bottles and cauldrons, its toothy grin thrown into relief by chaotic lightning and flames. He tilted it under the light, his expression shifting from confusion to something closer to incredulity.

“Did you make this?” he asked.

“Maybe.” Sylvia shrugged as though the memory was just now coming back to her, tugging one glove higher. “Just a little side project I was playing around with.”

Finn squinted at the absurd stats scrawled in her looping handwriting. “This thing’s busted. You gave it defense like a fortress and an attack that’ll clear the board.”

“Potions are versatile.” Sylvia’s eyes sparkled with barely concealed laughter. “It’s not that bad.”

Finn held the card at arm’s length like it might bite him. “This thing could chew up half the meta and eat the rest for dessert. You can’t just throw this into a game!”

“Why not?” She tilted her head, her expression wide-eyed and far too innocent to be genuine. “I paid the energy cost.”

“The cost you gave it?” Finn dragged a hand over his face. “You coulda warned me before droppin’ a bomb like this.”

“I can be full of surprises, too,” she said breezily, sporting a smile as sharp as the teeth of her homebrewed abomination.

“You’re full of somethin’, alright.”

Sylvia simply settled back into her chair with satisfaction.

As he moved to set Potionzilla pointedly aside, something caught his eye—a glint of the card underneath it. He peeled Potionzilla out of its sleeve and shook his head with a hint of relief. "You shoved this over Mega Mantis?"

"I’m not so depraved that I’d run both in the same deck. Some lines shouldn’t be crossed."

Finn snorted, sliding the card back into its sleeve and tossing it onto her board. "Suppose that’s one bit of mercy in this harebrained scheme of yours."

"See? I’m still thoughtful, even when I’m planning something diabolical." Sylvia batted her lashes with mock sweetness.

"Yeah, thoughtful enough to only halfway break the game. Alright, then,” he said, sitting up straighter and cracking his knuckles. “Let’s see what this overpowered monstrosity can do.”

Potionzilla hit the field like a wrecking ball. Sylvia narrated its every move with the dramatic flair of an announcer commentating a championship match, her voice rising with each kaiju Finn sacrificed trying to contain it. Despite his best efforts, his board crumbled under the abomination’s relentless assault. When Potionzilla obliterated three of his strongest cards in a single turn, Finn let out a long breath.

“This thing’s insane,” he muttered, eyeing the remains of his kaiju. “It’s a death sentence in a card sleeve.”

“Maybe you should’ve brewed some sort of tonic,” Sylvia said, her chin propped in her hand as she surveyed the unfolding carnage.

Finn shot her a wry look. “You’re lucky I’m lettin’ you play with that card at all. Any more kaiju outta you and the match is off.”

“No way. I’m sticking with Potionzilla,” she said, grinning as she gestured to the devastated board. “If she had ground support, it wouldn’t even be sporting.”

“Sporting, huh?” Finn’s lips twitched in a reluctant grin. “Tell that to the kaiju graveyard over here.”

Eventually, with a carefully timed combo and most of his deck butchered under Potionzilla’s onslaught, Finn managed to take down the beast. Sylvia let out an exaggerated groan and slid down in her chair until only her head poked above the table’s edge.

“Okay, fine, you win,” she said, waving a hand in lazy surrender. “Potionzilla was just here for fun anyway.”

Finn tipped his chair back on two legs, stretching his arms over his head. “Fun? Pretty sure you just shaved a year off my life puttin’ me up against that thing.”

Sylvia popped upright, plucking Potionzilla from the discard pile and holding it aloft proudly. “She’s amazing, though, right? Imagine her in an official match.”

“Imagine her banned,” Finn said flatly, though his tone was light.

Sylvia separated the slip of paper from Mega Mantis and set it next to her mug. “Alright then, no scorekeeping this round. Technical foul: Unsanctioned kaiju.”

Finn gave her a skeptical look. “You’re tellin’ me you weren’t gonna take the win if she’d wiped me out?”

Brushing her bangs aside, she laughed. “No comment.”

“Thought so,” Finn said, shaking his head. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Minnow.”

Sylvia beamed, already shuffling her deck for another round. “You’re lucky I’m cute.”

* ~ * ~ *

The doorknob jiggled twice before the apartment door creaked open, bringing with it a whoosh of fresh, slightly salty air. The faint crinkle of paper bags and a familiar shuffle of heavy footsteps filled the otherwise quiet space. Sylvia, cocooned in a nest of blankets on Finn’s couch, didn’t bother lifting her head. The heating pad that felt like her only tether to the world of the living shifted, and she let out a low, wordless grumble before nudging it back into place on her abdomen with a weary hand.

“That you, Finn?” she called, her voice scratchy and half-lost in the fabric.

“Nope,” came his answer, warm with irony. “Just some other guy haulin’ a week’s worth of snacks.”

Sylvia tilted her head on the armrest just enough to peer past the back of the couch. Finn kicked the door shut with his heel, balancing several grocery bags in his arms.

“What, did you clean out half the market?” she asked, her lips twitching upward despite her discomfort.

Finn grinned as he strode toward the kitchen. “They didn’t put up much of a fight,” he said, deadpan. Setting the bags on the counter, he began unloading them with exaggerated flourish. “Tea, crackers, chocolate, a health potion. Oswald didn’t believe it was for you, by the way—had to buy it off ‘im, so enjoy that tidy bit of profit comin’ to ya courtesy of my wallet.”

He turned toward her, holding up two tubs of ice cream like trophies. “And can't forget these beauties: coffee chip and double fudge. You’re welcome.”

Sylvia blinked at the haul, her surprise softening into appreciation. “You really went all out.”

“Course,” he replied with a shrug, already pulling the kettle onto the stove. “Can’t have my damsel in distress sufferin’ without the proper supplies.”

Sylvia gestured vaguely at the mound of blankets engulfing her. “Yeah, this is the fairytale dream,” she said, though her expression gentled as her eyes followed him. Finn rifled through the groceries with purpose, his presence filling the room with a reassuring energy. The periodic clink of ceramic and rustle of wrappers added to the apartment’s cozy atmosphere.

The kettle began to hiss as Finn rummaged through the cabinets. He returned a moment later with a plate of crackers and chocolates, crouching beside the couch with a familiar, waggish smirk.

“So… shark week, huh?”

Sylvia groaned, dragging a blanket up and over her head. “Wow, leading with that? Brave choice.”

“What? Too soon?” he asked, holding up his hands in mock innocence. His grin broadened. “Fine, no jokes about blood in the water. Just pure, top-shelf care for my favorite little morsel.”

Her laugh was half a wheeze, muffled under the woolen folds. “I don’t know what’s worse—the cramps or your puns.”

“Gotta be the cramps,” he said, tugging the blanket down just enough to reveal her face again. 

She glared half-heartedly. “It’s like my uterus is staging a coup. A violent, vengeful coup.”

Finn tilted his head, feigning grave concern. “Think we need backup? Maybe call in the Heroes’ Guild?”

“I’m not sharing these snacks with a rescue party.” Sylvia waved a hand weakly. “Just… I don’t know, maybe rub my feet or something.”

“That’s the spirit.” He tapped her nose lightly before sliding onto the sofa, lifting her feet to rest in his lap. His thumbs pressed into her arches through the fluffy socks she wore, drawing a soft, involuntary sigh from her. The dull ache in her lower back faded from focus as his touch worked methodically, soothing and persistent.

“Okay,” she mumbled, her volume dropping further. “That’s actually helping more than I expected.”

“Y’know, I’ve got a knack for handlin’ tiny monsters,” he said, his tone light but his movements deliberate. He adjusted pressure whenever her breathing hitched or her toes twitched.

“Tiny?” she said, her voice muffled by the blanket. “I’m a full-blown kaiju, thank you very much.”

Finn chuckled, glancing up to catch the faintest hint of a smirk on her face. After a brief silence, Sylvia let out a breathy sound of disbelief. 

“Oswald actually made you pay for that health potion? Ugh, I could’ve grabbed one before I left this morning if I’d realized I was going to be laid out today.”

“Don’t lose sleep over it, Minnow. What’s he gonna do, hand out free potions while you’re off dyin’ on a couch somewhere? Can hardly blame him for makin’ me cough up.”

Sylvia snorted, tugging the blanket higher as if to hide her mirth. “Good point. If he started giving them away, I’d probably have to let him go.”

“Gettin’ an old man fired?” Finn chuckled, his hands kneading into the balls of her feet. “Can’t have that on my conscience.”

Her expression turned sly, one eye cracking open. “Pretty sure you could.”

“Ya got me,” he said, his voice carrying a gruff warmth that softened the jab. “But only if there’s a decent severance package. Fella’s just lookin’ out for you.”

He kept at the massage until her tension sloughed further, the corners of his mouth lifting whenever her expression eased completely.

When he eventually stood, she opened her eyes into reluctant slits. “Where are you going?”

“To grab the ice cream,” he said over his shoulder. “Unless you’ve decided you’re too good for these primo flavors?”

“No, no. I’ll take both, please,” she called after him. 

“Knew you would,” he replied, returning moments later with two tubs and a pair of spoons. He held one out to her with a theatrically deep bow. “First bite’s all yours.”

“A true knight in shining armor,” she said with excessive veneration to match, accepting the tub of coffee chip. “Thanks.”

“You’re startin’ to lean into this whole ‘damsel in distress’ thing, aren't you?” he teased, lifting her feet out of his way before settling down on the sofa again.

Sylvia smirked, poking at her ice cream with the spoon. “Hey, I didn’t ask for all this. I was going to go home. You volunteered to play nurse.”

“And doin’ a bang-up job, if you ask me.”

“An unbiased source,” she said, her tone dry. After a beat, she nudged his knee with her socked foot. “Still. Today was supposed to be fun. I’m sorry we’re just rotting on the sofa instead of… I don’t know, going out and doing something.”

Finn’s grin softened, his gaze flicking briefly to the cord of the heating pad tucked under the blanket. “Hey, relax, wouldja? We’ll have plenty of time for activities some other day.”

Sylvia blinked, her apologetic look wavering into something closer to a smile. “Thanks for being so flexible. And for all this.” She gestured weakly to the snacks and cocoon she was swaddled in.

“You can owe me.” Finn gave her ankle a light squeeze. “Next time, we’ll do somethin’ real wild—like walkin’ more than ten steps.”

Sylvia chuckled softly. “Deal. But I’ll still complain about the bad jokes.”

Finn’s laugh rumbled low and warm. “I’ll take it. Now eat your ice cream before it melts, or I’m gonna have to confiscate it.”

For a while, the room was quiet save for the bubbling kettle and the faint buzz of the reality show playing on the TV. Sylvia’s snarky commentary came in fits and starts, each remark earning a chuckle from Finn. When the drama on the screen hit a new low—a contestant’s decision to wear full armor on a beach date—Sylvia groaned, setting down her mug of peppermint tea to throw an arm over her eyes.

“Do they even know what saltwater does to metal?” she said, her voice dripping with derision.

“Pretty sure they know what it does to ratings.”

She peeked at him from under her arm, her glare tired. “I can’t believe I’m still watching this. It’s like a trainwreck. You can’t look away, even though it’s awful.”

“Exactly. Figured hollering at these clowns’d be better than crampin’ in silence.” His fingers brushed a few stray strands of hair from her face as her head lolled against the throw pillow. The touch was brief, almost absentminded, but it lingered in her awareness. 

“You're not wrong,” she conceded with a small yawn.

As the episode dragged on, Sylvia’s sharp observations began to fade, her words softening into murmurs. Eventually, she fell silent. Finn glanced down, his hand resting lightly over her shin. She’d curled deeper into the cushions, her face relaxed and peaceful.

Finn lingered as her breathing evened out. The usual spark in her was muted, but the rare stillness of her drew his attention anyway. With a quiet huff, he eased her feet off his lap, adjusting the heating pad just so when it slipped. “You really know how to trash a place, don’tcha?” he muttered lightly to himself as he rose to tidy up the scattered remnants of her long, embattled morning—snacks, half-finished tea, silverware. The show’s low chatter covered the sound of his movements, leaving the room steeped in an easy kind of hum.

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“I can’t believe I’m still watching this. It’s like a trainwreck. You can’t look away, even though it’s awful.”

Chapter Text

The store was alive with energy, the hum of conversation and the clatter of cards creating a vibrant thrum. Tables were set in neat rows for the tournament, players hunched over their games, some leaning forward with intensity while others sat back, exuding quiet confidence. Sylvia and Finn sat across from their first opponents, two men who looked like they’d played more matches than Sylvia could count.

“Gideon,” said the man with salt-and-pepper hair, his handshake firm and warm. His neatly trimmed beard gave him an air of precision that mirrored his calm demeanor. Beside him, Jesper, sandy hair streaked with gray at the temples, wore laugh lines that came to the fore as he introduced himself with a grin.

“I’m Sylvia,” she replied, shaking Jesper’s hand.

His eyes flicked briefly to Finn, amusement dancing in their depths before returning to Sylvia. “I know, dear.”

Sylvia blinked, taken aback. Her gaze shifted to Finn, who leaned back with an unrepentant shrug, his arms crossed in a way that radiated smug satisfaction. She sighed, already piecing together the story.

“Let me guess,” she said dryly, her lips quirking upward, “Finn’s been talking me up?”

Jesper chuckled, releasing her hand. “Let’s just say the hype train made a stop at our table.”

“Looking forward to the match,” Gideon added, his tone warm but appraising. “From what we hear, you’re something special.”

A faint blush crept up Sylvia’s neck, though she managed a smile. “No pressure or anything. Thanks a lot, Finn.”

Finn’s grin widened, and he gave her a lazy wave. “Pressure’s where you shine, Minnow.”

As the game began, the sounds of the store melted into the background. Sylvia’s fingers hovered over her opening hand of cards, her brow furrowing in concentration. She glanced up briefly at the board, calculating her first move. She could play it safe… or she could throw down something brazen and see what happened.

She smirked to herself. Safe wasn’t her style. With a quick movement, she placed a card that shifted the board, setting up an aggressive play.

Gideon leaned forward, studying the table. “That’s a bold move,” he remarked.

“Let’s see if it pays off,” Jesper replied, his tone laced with good-natured skepticism.

Finn chuckled under his breath, adjusting his cards. “It will,” he said simply.

Sylvia shot him a sidelong glance, catching the faint gratification in his expression. 

The match unfolded in tense, strategic exchanges. Sylvia’s high-risk plays kept Jesper and Gideon on their toes, while Finn’s steady contributions reinforced her momentum. Every now and then, she’d glance up at the board, her mind racing. They were countering hard, which offered her the options of pulling back to regroup or doubling down.

She made her choice. A decisive card hit the board, opening up a critical advantage for Finn.

Jesper arched an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “Alright, I take it back. Bold definitely works for you.”

Gideon chuckled as he played a measured counter. “She’s got us working for it, that’s for sure.”

Sylvia grinned, her confidence growing as the game unfolded in her favor. Next to her, Finn stretched back slightly, his arms resting on the edge as he watched her with a quiet intensity. His eyes gleamed, the curve at the corner of his mouth giving away his pride. There was something steady in the way he moved, his hands gliding over his cards as if on autopilot, while his focus never wavered from her. Sylvia could feel the weight of his gaze, warm and sure, and it only fueled the spark of determination she carried.

In the end, Sylvia’s relentless attacks and Finn’s careful execution left Gideon and Jesper unable to recover. The final play hit the board with a satisfying whisper, wiping out their opponents’ last defenses.

Jesper let out a laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, I can’t say we weren’t warned. Good game.”

“Good game,” Gideon agreed, extending his hand again. “You two make a strong team. Save some trophies for the rest of us, won’t you, Miss Potion Master?”

Sylvia shook his hand, a genuine smile spreading across her face. “No promises, but thanks for a great match. That was so much fun!”

As Jesper and Gideon packed up their cards, Finn leaned closer to Sylvia, his voice carrying just enough of a teasing lilt to make her roll her eyes preemptively. “Told ya I wasn’t overselling you.”

Sylvia began gathering her own cards, shaking her head as her grin softened. “I can’t believe I have a reputation to live up to before I’ve even debuted. They’re not the lousy sports you warned me about, though.”

Finn stacked his deck with deliberate care, his expression sobering momentarily. “Not yet. Enjoy the good ones while they last, ‘cause the next pair might not be so friendly.”

Sylvia glanced toward Jesper and Gideon, who were chatting and laughing as they walked away. She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Still, it’s nice. Makes it easier to enjoy the game.”

Finn smirked again but softened it with a nod. “Long as you’re still planning to wipe the floor with the rest of them.”

“Oh, absolutely,” she said, her confidence undimmed. “But I’m going to have fun doing it.”

Finn’s grin shifted into something gentler, his voice low. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Her laugh was warm and bright, carrying them into the next match with ease.

Sylvia sized up their next opponents with a quick glance. The taller one—a moth with sleek, sharp features and an overinflated sense of self—lounged in his chair, wearing a patronizing grin like it was part of his wardrobe. His companion, a younger, round-faced man with a friendly but nervous demeanor, fidgeted with his deck as he introduced them. The slight tremor in his voice and the quick glances he shot at his partner told Sylvia everything she needed to know about their dynamic.

“Well,” Sylvia said to Finn as she slid into her seat, her tone dry, “this should be fun.”

Across the table, the moth—Leopold, according to the introduction—tilted his chair back precariously, one pair of arms crossed behind his head and the other folded in front of his chest. “Fun for us, maybe,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “But don’t take it personally when you lose. Not everyone’s cut out for this game. It’s just experience, you know?”

“Uh, Leo,” his friend interjected, his voice tinged with discomfort. “Maybe tone it down a bit? I like coming to this shop, and you’re kind of—”

Leopold waved him off dismissively. “What’s wrong with a little brutal honesty, Owen? It’s just a friendly game. We’re all adults.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes and leaned toward Finn, her voice low. “I’ll keep it friendly if you do.”

Finn didn’t respond verbally, but the faint twitch of his lip betrayed his amusement with her hidden request: no guard dog. His focus shifted to his deck, the subtle tension in his movements as he shuffled giving away his irritation. Sylvia took note, resolving not to give Leopold the satisfaction of getting to her, for Finn’s sake as well as her own.

The hobby shop bustled quietly around them, with the hum of conversations and faint claps marking the end of other matches. The setting was cozy, familiar—but Leopold’s arrogance sucked the air out of their little corner.

He wasted no time flaunting his self-proclaimed expertise once the game began. Leopold overexplained basic mechanics, adding unnecessary commentary on every move Sylvia made. “Interesting choice,” he said as she played a mid-level kaiju. “But it’s not optimal. You’ll see why in a second.”

Owen chuckled nervously at Leopold’s antics, his fingers twisting the corner of one card sleeve. “You don’t have to explain everything, Leo. I’m pretty sure she knows how to play.”

Sylvia shot Finn a sidelong glance; he leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing at Leopold’s running commentary, jaw tightening by degrees. She let the moth’s words roll off her, flipping through her cards with exaggerated nonchalance. “You sure talk a lot for someone who hasn’t won yet,” she said, her tone sweet but pointed.

Leopold scoffed. “Knowledge is the key to confidence, sweetheart. It’s a lesson you’ll learn—eventually.”

Sylvia’s gaze flicked to Finn’s hands as he drew his cards, the tightness there betraying his rising aggravation. “Relax,” she murmured behind her cards, her tone light and teasing. “He’s not worth an aneurysm.”

Finn exhaled through his nose, tension easing just slightly. “You’re too patient,” he muttered, though the faint flicker of humor in his voice told her he recognized that she had things under control.

As the match progressed, Sylvia keyed into Leopold’s strategy. The Vastwing Woodpecker was his ace, a card designed to bypass most kaiju and deal direct damage. Worse, its ability to exhaust and destroy insect kaiju upon entering the field meant she couldn’t risk playing her precious Mega Mantis. Owen, meanwhile, guarded the Woodpecker with low-energy kaiju, clearly more invested in propping up his friend’s strategy than asserting his own.

Midway through the match, Sylvia leaned closer to Finn, ostensibly strategizing as she reviewed the cards he held. Her eyes lit up when she spotted Earth Slumber. She tapped a card in her hand—a bumblebee kaiju—speaking just loudly enough for Leopold to hear. “What do you think? I should play this one, right?”

Finn caught on instantly, his lips curving subtly beneath his feigned disapproval. “If I were you? No way. Terrible move.”

“You were supposed to agree with me. Well, I’m playing it anyway.” Sylvia huffed and slapped the card onto the table, directing her next words at Leopold with defiance. “Big Bumble—my perfect, flying tank. Have fun sending your Woodpecker into its stinger.”

Leopold chuckled, his tone as grating as ever. “Do you actually retain any information between turns? Your boyfriend’s right—you might stand a chance if you listened to him. Not that it matters now.”

Finn’s fingers twitched against the edge of his cards, but Sylvia didn’t miss a beat. Her knee nudged his, grounding him. “Aw, shoot. Guess I’m still figuring out how to keep up,” she said, her tone light, the faintest smirk tugging at her pretend frown.

The Vastwing Woodpecker swooped in, destroying Big Bumble as it exhausted, and Leopold reached across the table to flick Sylvia’s card back at her. It tumbled into her lap, and she bristled, the casual veneer cracking as real heat entered her voice. “Hey! Worry about your own cards.”

Finn straightened beside her, his eyes sharp. “Extra hands makes extra handsy, huh?” His voice was even, but the undercurrent of menace was unmistakable.

Owen raised his hands, alarmed. “Guys, c'mon! It’s just a game—Leo, cool it, okay? You’re making this way too personal!” His gaze darted between them, desperate to defuse the tension. “Maybe let’s just keep it fun?”

Sylvia exchanged a glance with Finn, her brow arched with calm assurance. Leopold's fate had been sealed the moment he exhausted his kaiju to destroy hers. They just needed to get through Owen’s turn.

On his next turn, Finn played Earth Slumber with deliberate precision. “Exile all exhausted kaiju,” he announced, his tone deceptively mild. “Thanks for walking into it.”

Sylvia tilted her head onto Finn’s shoulder, her grin sharp and satisfied. “Oh man, that’s rough. What a shame.”

Leopold’s antennae vibrated as he stared at the board now bereft of his linchpin card, clearly grasping for a comeback. His wings opened slightly before snapping shut again. After a moment, he scooped his cards with jerky motions, the scrape of his chair loud enough to turn a few heads in the shop. He stalked off without a word, mercifully silent for the first time since the game began.

Owen lingered, his grimace deepening as he picked up his own cards. “Sorry about him,” he said quietly. “Nice play, though.”

As the door jingled shut behind Leopold and Owen, Sylvia leaned back in her chair with a sigh, stretching her arms behind her head. “Well, that felt good. Think they’ll come back for a rematch?”

Finn shook his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Doubt it. Talks big, folds the second things don’t go his way.” He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “Gotta say, Minnow, you’re excellent bait.”

Sylvia arched an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Bait? Is that what I am now?”

“C’mon, you played it perfectly.” He gestured to the table. “Got him riled up, kept him overconfident, and you were settin’ him up for the sting the whole time.”

She pretended to consider. “I suppose I do make a pretty convincing damsel in distress.” Her grin widened as she leaned into his arm with the back of one hand pressed dramatically to her forehead. “But let’s not forget who struck the killing blow. You didn’t even give him time to panic.”

Finn leaned closer, his volume dropping. “What can I say? Sharks know when to strike.” His arm brushed hers as he gathered the cards, the brief contact rough but steadying. “But you knew exactly how to handle him without letting him get under your skin. Not bad, considering I heard you just picked this up yesterday.”

Sylvia laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I have a good partner.” She nudged his side playfully. “Besides, someone had to keep you from flipping the table on him.”

Finn rested his forearm on the table, claws tapping the wooden surface. His tone turned thoughtful. “You know, servin’ up just desserts is real fun tag-team.”

Sylvia’s laughter rang out again, drawing a few amused glances from nearby players. She reached for her deck. “Come on, partner. Let’s see who else here is brave enough to take us on.”

Finn grinned, his earlier frustration replaced by a relaxed confidence as he nodded toward the other tables. “After you, bait.”

Their next match couldn’t have been more different. Across the table sat two kids—a boy no older than ten, fidgeting with excitement, and his older sister, who must have been about thirteen but carried herself with quiet assurance. Sylvia smiled at their earnestness, already liking the easy energy they brought to the table as they introduced themselves with adorable politeness as Cassie and Milo.

Her gaze flicked toward Finn, curious about his take on their new opponents, and caught the faintest twitch of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. Following his line of sight, Sylvia noticed Milo stealing glances at Finn, wide-eyed with a mix of awe and trepidation.

Sylvia bit back a grin, musing over what it could be that consistently sparked that reaction in people. Maybe it was the aura of confidence he carried, so effortless it seemed woven into his every movement. Or there was the way he didn’t simply walk into a room but seemed to fill it, commanding attention before he even opened his mouth and let his charm shine.

But it was probably the teeth.

When Milo’s gaze lingered too long, Finn snapped his jaws lightly in the boy’s direction. Milo squealed, giggling as he ducked behind his cards, the uncertainty melting into laughter.

Sylvia leaned forward conspiratorially with a hand cupped beside her mouth, her voice dropping to a stage whisper. “Don’t worry, Milo. He’s just a big softie. But keep that between us, okay?”

Finn raised an eyebrow, his expression caught between a smile and chagrin. “You’re really not gonna let me keep a shred of dignity, huh?”

“Who, me?” Sylvia asked, her eyes gleaming with mock innocence. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Milo peeked out from behind his cards, emboldened by their banter. “I knew you weren’t scary!” he announced, grinning broadly.

Finn gave a good-natured sigh, his lips twitching toward a smirk. “Don’t let her fool ya, kid. I’m terrifying.” He flexed his claws for dramatic effect, earning another round of giggles from Milo, which in turn elicited a fond eye-roll from Cassie.

“Focus, Milo,” Cassie chided with a small smile. “We’ve got a game to win.”

The match was lively and full of surprises. Cassie set up traps and lures with impressive finesse, while Milo’s unpredictable plays kept everyone on their toes; largely hit-or-miss, but landing spectacularly when they worked. 

As Sylvia and Finn clinched the victory, Sylvia found herself grinning at the siblings’ enthusiasm. She helped clear the table, giving them an approving nod. “That move with the Terrain Shift card? Genius,” she said to Cassie. “You almost had us.”

Cassie beamed at the praise, nudging Milo, who puffed up with pride. “Thanks! We’ve been practicing a lot.”

Watching the kids’ excitement, Sylvia’s gaze flicked briefly to Finn again. He was still shuffling his deck with casual precision, his smirk lingering as Cassie peppered him with questions about which cards she should consider cutting from her decklist. For all his bluster, he had a knack for making people feel at ease despite appearances. 

As the children finally left the table, Sylvia remarked, “I underestimated them a bit. They were so creative!” 

The two ran up to a woman who had been reading in the corner and began an animated conversation with her, pointing back at Sylvia and Finn while she packed her book away and pulled a bag onto her shoulder. She caught Sylvia’s eye briefly as she walked them out, smiling warmly. Sylvia offered a small wave.

“Don’t underestimate ‘cute,’ Minnow,” Finn said, his voice light. “Learned that one the hard way.”

Sylvia nudged him with her elbow. “Oh, really? Care to elaborate?”

“You’re too sharp to play this dumb,” Finn replied, his smirk widening as he deftly shuffled the deck for the next round.

Chapter Text

The semi-finals began with a surge of excitement, the room filled with a cacophony of card shuffling, lighthearted banter, and the steady murmur of a crowd eager for the last matches to unfold. Sylvia eyed her opening hand, her mind already racing through potential strategies, trying to keep her focus steady. Across the table, Corin and Dren moved effortlessly through their setup.

Corin’s broad shoulders and sun-bleached hair gave him an air of natural fortitude, his smile quick to surface as his sharp eyes darted between his cards, Finn, and Sylvia. There was an easy camaraderie in the way he held himself, as though accustomed to both feuding and fits of laughter. Beside him, Dren was a quieter contrast—lean and deliberate, with neatly combed black hair. His steady gray eyes moved with analytical rigor, the faint curve of his lips suggesting a reserved but cutting sense of humor.

Finn leaned back in his chair, his smug grin firmly in place. “You fellas ready to get reeled in?”

Corin lurched forward with a sharp snort. “Bold talk for someone who’s about to flop harder than a flying fish.”

Sylvia chuckled nervously at the words, trying to shake off the creeping sense of déjà vu from the match with Leopold. She shot a questioning glance at Finn.

“Relax, Minnow,” he said, his tone light. “These two talk big, but they’re harmless.”

Corin gestured at Finn with his cards. “Yeah, we’ve tangled a few times one-vee-one. Though I can't recall him winning often, so I don’t know where he’s getting ‘harmless’ from.”

Finn’s teeth flashed, composure unruffled. “Selective memory’s a dangerous thing, Corin. Want a refresher on how the last one went?”

“Let’s try focusing on the current match.” Dren’s voice was calm, with a hint of wry enjoyment. “This isn’t a history lesson.”

Sylvia tittered despite herself, the knot in her chest loosening as the easy rapport between Finn and their opponents settled her nerves.

“If they wanna talk smack,” Finn said with a wink toward Sylvia, “you’ve got the go-ahead to set ’em straight.”

Corin’s smile only grew, tipping his head. “He’s right. You dish it, you take it. Just don’t take it too seriously.”

Sylvia sat up straighter, the flicker of a competitive spark igniting. “In that case…” She shot Finn an impish look askance, her lips curling. “I guess I’ll have to do the heavy lifting here. Don’t worry, I’m accustomed to overachieving.”

Finn raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “You know, usually, you trash-talk the opponents, not your partner.”

“Why trash-talk them,” she teased, “when you give me so much more material to work with?”

Corin laughed, his shoulders quaking. “Ouch. Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

Finn straightened, his grin sharpening. “Nah, she’s just warmin’ up. You’re the ones who oughta be worried.”

Dren shuffled his cards smoothly, his movements calm and precise. “We’ll make this quick and painless.” He let his smirk persist a moment longer. “Well, maybe just quick.”

The match opened explosively, Sylvia launching a splashy play that made its presence felt on the board. A murmur of approval rippled through the audience, and Finn let out a low whistle. "Now that's how you make an entrance."

“Not bad,” Corin admitted, though his confidence was unaffected.

Dren responded with a calculated counter, flipping two cards with deadly precision. “Flashy moves are a nice opener. But can you keep it up?”

Sylvia narrowed her eyes, scanning her options. Her heartbeat quickened, the weight of the crowd’s gaze suddenly pressing down on her. “Just don’t complain when I flip this thing around on you,” she shot back, her confidence solidifying.

Her repartee earned a snicker from Corin, but Dren’s response came in the form of a shrewd maneuver that left her reeling. As the game wore on, Corin and Dren’s teamwork came into sharp focus, and Sylvia’s frustration bubbled. Their calculated plays and web of card interactions dismantled Sylvia’s gung-ho style piece by piece, leaving her struggling to regain ground.

“Seriously?” she muttered under her breath. “Who even uses that card?”

Corin tipped back in his seat. “People who like winning.”

Sylvia’s teeth clenched as she reached for another aggressive card, determination blazing, but Finn’s fingers lightly brushed hers. “Whoa there, killer,” he said, his voice smooth with a teasing edge. “You’re not takin’ the bait, are ya?”

Her competitive instinct flared, the card flashing in her grasp like a challenge she couldn’t ignore. Pride urged her to push through, to prove she could wrest control of the match on her own, prove that she was capable. But when her gaze flicked to Finn, the defensive fire in her chest lost its fuel. His eyes held no judgment, just silent assurance—sharp, steady, and anchored in trust. He wasn’t stepping in to overshadow her; he was reminding her to channel her energy where it mattered most.

She exhaled, the pulse behind her eyes fading. “No,” she said, a grudging smile tugging at her lips. “So what’s the plan?”

Her grip on the game steadied, frustration giving way to focus. Finn shifted the tempo with precise strikes, carving subtle pathways through their opponents’ defenses that paved the way for the decisive moves Sylvia favored.

“This one,” Finn said, tapping the Feral Hydra in her hand, his tone low and deliberate. “We set it up right, they’ll never see it comin’.”

The pieces clicked into place, her drive igniting as she drew the card closer. Sylvia’s eyes narrowed in faux suspicion. “Are you sure you’re not just setting me up to take the blame if this tanks?”

“Trust me,” Finn said, his look teasing and sharp. “I’m takin’ the credit either way.”

As they fell into sync, their teamwork started to unravel Corin and Dren’s complex setup. It was like a puzzle, each move revealing the next, each card they played pushing them closer to victory.

Corin groaned as another one of his combos unraveled. “Oh, come on. Why would you target Atomic Hatchling?”

“That’s the problem with complicated interactions,” Finn said, his tone casual. “Too many movin’ parts. Take one out, and the whole thing starts sinking.”

Dren raised an eyebrow. “Lucky for you, your partner’s keeping things steady.”

“Steady?” Sylvia tilted her head. “I’m just trying not to rock the boat too badly.”

By the final turn, their synergy was peerless. Sylvia finally deployed the Feral Hydra, weaving her aggressive playstyle seamlessly into Finn’s meticulous groundwork. The board shifted irreversibly under their combined effort, a perfect storm of strategy and instinct. The crowd erupted into applause, but it was the sense of shared accomplishment that made Sylvia’s heart race.

Corin sighed, throwing up his hands. “Alright, alright. We concede. Your bite’s as bad as your bark.”

Sylvia glanced sideways at Finn, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Let’s not inflate his ego too much—it’s already a threat to the structural integrity of this table.”

“Hey, I just carried us to victory,” Finn said, his tone playful. “Least you could do is say thanks while you’re climbin’ down from my shoulders.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes, a smile forming on her lips. “Oh, I thought you were joking when you said you were going to take all the credit.”

As they cleaned up their decks, Corin exchanged a glance with Dren, both of them clearly amused. "How long until she gives him a reality check?" he asked. 

Dren shook his head. "Not going to happen. We’re looking at a vicious cycle of mutual admiration and one-upmanship." 

Sylvia and Finn, too engrossed in their post-game teasing, didn’t hear a word of the commentary. The win might have been secured by Finn’s tactical maneuvering, but the true victory was in how they worked together—interwoven and undeniable.

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Rhea said, twirling a card between her fingers, “but I’m feeling lucky.” Her short, choppy hair framed an expression brimming with puckish confidence. She flicked the card into her deck as she tipped her chair back on two legs.

Lucien’s movements were slower, more deliberate, each card handled with precise intent. His unruly curls and rumpled shirt made him look like a wild card himself, but his keen, steady gaze indicated otherwise. “Luck is a dance you either lead or get trampled by.”

Sylvia flexed her fingers in her gloves, the worn leather creaking softly, grounding her amidst the surrounding noise. The hobby store all but buzzed, the hum of conversation and anticipation filling the space. Spectators crowded near the table, craning in as the final match began.  

Finn’s lips curved into a slow, serrated grin as he shuffled his deck with the ease of muscle memory. “Philosophisin’ is cute and all, but you’d better bring more than that to the table if you wanna stand a chance.”

Rhea’s smile widened as she drew her first hand, her fingers fanning the cards with a showy flourish. “Oh, don’t worry about us, hon. We’re always prepared.”

Sylvia arched a brow at Finn, their shoulders brushing as she leaned in just enough to catch his eye. “Only prepared? We’re downright dangerous.” Her tone was playful, but there was a spark of challenge behind it. 

The corner of Finn’s mouth twitched upward. “Dangerous, huh? Now you’re speakin’ my language.”

Sylvia exhaled once through her nose as she turned her attention back to the board. Her excitement hummed in her chest as the table became a battlefield. She opened with an aggressive play, slamming down high-value cards that established an imposing presence on the board. She cast a quick glance at Finn, seeking his reaction.

“Keeps the pressure on,” he said, his voice low and approving. “But if we don’t force a stall next turn, we’re gonna fall flat.”

Sylvia nodded, adjusting her next move with his words in mind. “I’ll keep a few kaiju in reserve, then.”

Finn smirked, his eyes gleaming with anticipation as he placed his card on the board. “I set ‘em up, you knock ‘em down.”

Rhea tilted her head with a mischievous air, spinning another card in her fingers before dropping it onto the table with theatrical flair. “Big moves right out the gate? Very daring. Let’s see if you get the payout you’re looking for.” Her Mammoth Mole scurried into play, triggering an avalanche of effects as she began playing cards sight unseen from the top of her deck.

Sylvia grimaced as the chain reaction unfolded, her bruisers falling one by one under Rhea’s chaotic barrage. It wasn’t just devastatingly effective—it was magnetic. Rhea continually turned pure anarchy into advantage, her delighted laughter and inviting gestures making even her wildest gambles look intentional. There was a wild, carefree joy in her approach, the kind of abandon Sylvia couldn’t help but envy.

“That Mole is a menace,” Sylvia hissed under her breath. 

Finn chuckled beside her, scuffing her elbow with his. “Don’t sweat it. We’re just gettin’ started.” His grin, sharp yet playful, coaxed a flicker of confidence back into her. 

Sylvia nodded, her resolve hardening. She countered Rhea’s latest kaiju with a strong offensive, stabilizing her side of the board. Across from her, Lucien’s seemingly careless posture belied his razor-sharp instincts. He slouched forward, an almost lazy motion that did not align with the calm precision with which he played. One deft move swapped a low-cost decoy for Finn’s prized Apex Angler, which he promptly sacrificed to neutralize any chance of recovery.

“Balance,” Lucien said smoothly, his gaze skimming the board as if he weren’t entirely invested. “Take what you need. Leave the rest.”

“Yeah? You’re real generous with the garbage,” Finn retorted, his smirk unwavering despite the growl creeping into his tone.

Lucien’s eyes glimmered with humor as he shrugged. “One man’s trash…”

The match escalated, every turn raising the stakes. Finn adjusted their defense, layering his plays to force Rhea into riskier wagers, while Sylvia timed her strongest cards to slip past Lucien’s relentless control effects. The crowd murmured in growing excitement, their energy spiking with every audacious play and counter.

When Sylvia finally unleashed Mega Mantis Rampage, obliterating Rhea’s board in one devastating sweep, Finn clapped her on the shoulder. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, Minnow!”

“Team effort,” she said, mirroring his grin.

But Rhea wasn’t fazed. She flipped the next card from her deck with a flourish, her smile bordering on manic. “Jackpot!” she declared as the card’s effect reanimated her entire discard pile. A cascade of kaiju and attacks erupted onto the board, turning the tide in an instant.

“Go big or go home, right?” she added, winking as the board descended into beautifully orchestrated pandemonium.

The crowd’s cheers surged as Rhea’s spontaneous army sealed their defeat. Sylvia stared at the board. For a moment, the din of the room faded, leaving only the rhythmic drum of her pulse in her ears. Her mind raced to analyze how she might have averted this outcome; if she’d been more aggressive in the mid-game, if…

Finn’s chuckle cut through the haze of disappointment. “Well, ain’t that a mess,” he said, his hand falling from her shoulder but leaving its reassurance behind.

Rhea leaned back with a satisfied sigh, lacing her fingers together and stretching her arms in an exaggerated motion. “That was a blast. Good game, you two.”

Lucien gave a small nod, methodically organizing his deck. “You played it well. No critical errors. Just needed a little more luck on your side.”

“No kidding.” Sylvia forced a breath, her lips quirking into a wry smile. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or outraged with that card. The World’s End? Very fitting.”

“Both are fine by me,” Rhea said brightly, beginning to gather her bevy of cards. “But hey, you gave us a real run for it. Doesn’t usually come down to the wire like that.”

Finn leaned back, drumming his claws once on the table before stilling them. His smirk turned a shade sharper, a hint of defiance in his tone. "Good game. But next time? You’re gonna wish you kept a few tricks up your sleeve."

The sting of defeat still burned, but Sylvia fed the flicker of determination rising in its place. She glanced at Finn, catching the same spark in his eyes. Losing wasn’t the end—it was the promise of a rematch.

Sylvia and Finn walked side by side through the winding streets of Rafta. The noise of the hobby shop still rang in Sylvia’s ears, but it was fading with every step. 

Sylvia couldn't help but beam at how far they’d gotten in the tournament, even if the final loss clung to her thoughts. It was hard to shake the memory of Rhea’s top-decked card—like a brick wall crashing into them at the last second. “I swear, if she hadn’t pulled that exact card…” Sylvia began, but then a resigned laugh bubbled up, shaking her head. “You know what? I can’t even be mad. She gambled, and it paid off.”

“Yeah, I’ll give ‘em that. Strats like hers sure don’t pay out that big in normal matches. Guess that kinda madness works better in doubles.”

Sylvia turned toward him, arching a brow. “You guess? Don’t tell me you’ve been faking your way through doubles this whole time.”

"S’pose I’ve been swimmin’ solo for a while.” Finn shrugged, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips. “Didn’t realize how much of an adjustment it’d be, playin’ with someone else. But you? You made it pretty easy."

Sylvia’s surprise deepened. “Me? Seriously? You made it look effortless. You had Corin and Dren on the ropes as soon as I started following your lead. Every move felt like you had them figured out before they even played their hand.”

Finn’s grin widened. “But you were brilliant, Minnow. Baiting Leopold like that, makin’ him look like a clown? Top-notch trap.”

“Couldn’t resist,” Sylvia said. “He just kept running his mouth. But apart from him, everyone was pretty nice. Milo and Cassie were adorable. Jesper and Gideon? Their tactics were solid. I think I didn’t quite get the full picture of them. Rhea’s style, though—now that was a rush."

Finn snorted. “You're gettin’ way too excited about her chaos strategy.”

“I mean, think about it,” Sylvia said, eyes lighting up with imagination. “No holds barred, just completely cutting loose with luck and instinct. What a thrill.” She looked up at Finn. “Maybe we could try something like that next time.”

He glanced back at her, eyes glinting. “You don’t wanna see me cut loose. But I can be the ballast. We woulda creamed her without Lucien snatchin’ up our cards.”

Sylvia’s eyes shone with a pensive edge as she considered their match. “It’s about finding that balance—not only making the deck work against everyone, but keeping the game alive, you know? It’s another puzzle, and the best part is that it’s fun to figure out.” She glanced at him with a faint, almost imperceptible smile, as though gauging his reaction. "There’s something satisfying about a game where the challenge doesn’t wear you down."

Finn chuckled, his hands resting casually on his suspenders. "Already plannin' the next bout? You don’t let up, do ya?”

“The cauldron queen never rests.” Sylvia gave him a playful nudge. “You know that.”

As they rounded a corner, the glow of the ice cream parlor poured onto the cobblestone street. Finn gestured toward it with a flourish. “Maybe ya don’t, but you do get the consolation prize: ice cream. Almost as sweet as victory, right?”

Sylvia groaned, though the curving of her lips gave away her pleasure. “Okay, okay, you’re onto something there.”

Finn’s expression warmed as he watched her cross into the golden light spilling from the shop. He held the door open for her, the chime of the bell above greeting their entrance. Inside, the scent of fresh waffle cones enveloped them, and the cheerful hum of a freezer filled the air.

As they stepped to the counter, Sylvia’s focus lingered on the chalkboard menu. “Hmm... I can never pick just one flavor. Maybe birthday cake with coffee and... oh! Banana sorbet.”

Finn raised an eyebrow, leaning closer with a teasing grin. “If that ain’t a wild mix. Can’t say I’d expect any sorbet to show up in the same cone as coffee.”

When it was Finn’s turn, he ordered a classic salted caramel. “Gotta stay the course while my partner loses her mind,” he said, gently hip checking her.

They found a table near the window, the quiet chatter of other customers murmuring in the background. Sylvia dug into her ice cream and savored the unusual combination of flavors as much as their individual contributions. She turned her head slightly at the sound of the bell jangling behind her, and Finn took a deliberate chomp from her cone.

His face twisted in dramatic revulsion. “Tastes like a wreck.”

Sylvia’s lips quirked with a sly curl, her gaze sharp but fond. “Serves you right, thief.” She brought the cone back to her mouth, casually smoothing over the gouge in the ice cream with her tongue.

Finn’s chuckle rumbled low as he returned to his own, more sensible choice. “Y’know, celebration ice cream woulda been a cut above. But… it’s still alright.” He took another bite, his gaze sliding back to Sylvia with a small, crooked smirk. 

“Yeah.” She let out a soft breath, then slowly lowered her cone. “I mean, obviously winning is great. I think we both agree on that. But this…” Her voice was quiet, thoughtful. “I think this might be better.”

Finn raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. He leaned forward just a touch, pretending to be genuinely puzzled. “What, the ice cream?”

Sylvia shook her head, her laughter warm. “No. The fun. Being on the same team.” Her voice held an affection in the last words, the plain truth of it landing between them.

Finn looked at her, his grin softening as he reached out, his thumb brushing a streak of ice cream from the corner of her mouth. The gentle scrape of his skin against hers was a subtle reminder of how they fit together, complementary. His touch lingered just a beat longer than necessary before pulling back, his gaze warm and steady as it met hers.

“Always are, Minnow.”

Sylvia’s answering smile was content; a quiet acknowledgment. Her eyes stayed on him, soft and bright as she took another bite of her ice cream, savoring the simple comfort of the moment.

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

   
His face twisted in dramatic revulsion. “Tastes like a wreck.”

Chapter Text

Sylvia’s eyes narrowed as she made her move, playing a card that sent one of her kaiju rampaging through his defenses. "You’re toast," she announced, triumph flaring in her expression.

Finn brushed his fingers along his cards, a chuckle escaping him. "Not bad. You’ve got teeth today." His voice was light, but his next moves were already sliding into place in his head. She might have landed a solid hit, but he could weather her storm and come out ahead. That was how he usually won: keeping steady, waiting for her to run herself out of steam and stop thrashing.

Sylvia’s confidence didn’t waver, even as his counterattack dismantled her advance with ruthless precision. A flicker of defiance sparked in her eyes. “Oh, come on!” she protested, though the delight in her tone gave her away. Losing didn’t seem to bother her much. Not here, anyway.

For someone who ran the rest of her life like a game of strategy—forging alliances, building her shop up from shambles, always hedging her bets—she’d sure picked up a reckless streak when it came to Itsy Bitsy Kaiju. It was like watching a daredevil on a tightrope, swinging for the fences every time. She'd stolen a page from Rhea’s book, embracing the wild gambling mechanics she’d admired during their tournament bout. Her deck now incorporated several key cards that thrived on randomness, creating moments where luck and strategy collided in ways that were difficult to counter. 

And maybe this was her version of cutting loose; failing where it didn’t sting. The urge to keep an eye on her, to have her back before she even thought to ask, settled in at the thought like second nature. Not that he’d bring it up. She’d just wave him off, accuse him of trying to sweet talk her, and tell him to quit staring unless he wanted to lose.

“You were saying’?” Finn asked, cocking an eyebrow as he reinforced his defenses. 

Sylvia shot him a mock glare. “Hm? I wasn't saying anything. Nothing about toast, that’s for sure.”

The wager hung in the air between them. She’d upped the stakes again, pitting his casual aquarium trip suggestion against a picnic in the botanic gardens: winner take all.

A quiet part of him wanted to see her win. Not enough to throw the game, because she’d never let him hear the end of it, but enough to feel a flicker of anticipation every time she closed the gap. She had this look when she won, fierce and unshaken, like nothing in the world could touch her in that moment. And hell, he liked seeing that.

Sylvia leaned back in her chair, studying the board with fierce concentration. Her lips pressed into a determined line, but the skin around her eyes crinkled. 

“Okay,” she said, her tone full of playful bravado. “Here goes nothing.”

Finn thunked his elbows onto the table as she put everything she had into a risky, all-or-nothing gambit, launching herself at a victory she knew might slip through her fingers. Maybe she just wanted to see what would happen.

“Well,” she said with a laugh when the maneuver fizzled, “I guess it’s fish tanks today.”

Finn shook his head, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. “You really thought that’d work?”

“It almost worked,” she shot back, crossing her arms but smiling all the same. “And it’ll get you next time.”

“Sure it will, Minnow.” He scooped the cards, stacking them with the efficiency of muscle memory. “But hey, the garden’ll still be there next week.”

Her eyes softened at that, and she reached across the table to flick one of his cards askew. “You just want another tally for your side of the scoreboard.”

Finn adjusted the card she’d knocked out of alignment. "Can ya blame me? It’s startin’ to look real impressive. If this goes on long enough, I'm thinkin’ it'll make nice wallpaper."

"Your reign is coming to an end,” Sylvia said, standing and stretching before grabbing her satchel. “Next time, I’m coming in with tactics so sharp, you’ll need plate mail."

"That’s rich, comin’ from the gal who just dove off a cliff without checkin’ if it was high tide first.”

"Hey, boldness is its own kind of strategy," Sylvia countered. 

"I’m just sayin’—we don’t have to keep betting everything on cards.” He opened the door for her, shaking his head with good humor. “The garden’s a solid option, no stakes required."

Sylvia cast a sly look over her shoulder as she stepped past him. “That sounds like chicken talk to me.”

Finn snorted, following her out and locking the door behind him. “Nah. I just play smart. I like my odds no matter where we end up.”

She huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes even as her smile stretched wider. Leaning in, she nudged his arm with her elbow, her voice playful. “Sweet talk won't save you, Finn. Just so you know, I’m picking out the most outrageous souvenir in the gift shop—and you’re buying.”

His teeth flashed, his tone as casual as the arm he slipped around her shoulders. “You drive a hard bargain, Minnow. But ya got yourself a deal.”

Sylvia hovered at the edge of the touch tank, scanning the water with curiosity and wariness. Her gloved fingers twitched at her sides as she watched the rays drift lazily through the shallow water. Their wings flapped gently. A small, hesitant frown tugged at her lips as she leaned closer, gripping the edge of the tank.

Finn, on the other hand, looked like a kid in a candy store. He was already elbow-deep in the tank, submerged without hesitation. “What’s the holdup, Minnow?” he asked. “Afraid they’ll mistake ya for lunch?”

She shot him a skeptical glance. “No, I’m just considering my odds of walking away unscathed. You’re over there like you’ve got diplomatic immunity.”

“Pfft.” Finn swirled his forearms through the water, creating ripples. “They don’t sting unless you give ’em a reason. They’re just… hangin' out.” He gave one of the rays a gentle pat, which caused the creature to glide smoothly away, unperturbed. “See? No muss, no fuss.”

Sylvia hesitated for a moment longer before craning forward, glancing down into the water. “I don’t know. What if one of them takes a swipe at me?”

“You’re bein’ paranoid,” Finn said as he gave her a sideways glance. “They’re sting rays, not stab rays.” He wiggled his fingers in the water, beckoning her closer. “Besides, I’m here, aren’t I? If one of ‘em wants to mess with ya, they’ll have to go through me.”

With a theatrical sigh, Sylvia tugged off her gloves, stuffing them into her bag. “Fine. But if I do get stung, you’re carrying me out of here.”

Finn gestured grandly at the expanse of water with one arm, casting droplets back into the tank. “Deal. Now get in there.”

Sylvia leaned closer to the water, her fingers hesitating just above the surface. One of the rays drifted by, its velvety wings stirring the water into a gentle swell. Finally, she lowered her hand, barely brushing her fingers against the ray’s back. For a moment, she braced herself, half expecting a jolt of pain or a sudden splash, but nothing happened. The texture was unexpected—a mix of sleek and gritty, like sandpaper covered in a thin layer of mucus. It was oddly familiar.

“Huh. You know, this feels a bit like you. If you were slimier.” She tilted her head, pretending to consider as her fingers trailed over another gliding stingray. “And less smug.”

“Now you’re just hurtin’ my feelings,” Finn said, a silent laugh shaking his shoulders. “C’mon, admit it. You’re havin’ a blast.”

As she shook her hands dry, flicking water vaguely at Finn, Sylvia glanced back at the rays. “Fine. That was... moderately exciting,” she said, playing up dragging out the words like they physically pained her. “I’m just glad I made it out in one piece.”

“About that,” Finn said casually. “Their stingers are removed before they even hit the tank, y’know.”

“You mean I’ve been psyching myself out for nothing?” Sylvia demanded. 

“Pretty much,” Finn said, his grin widening. “But hey, look atcha. You went for it anyway. That’s real gutsy.”

Sylvia shook her head, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Yeah, but I’m your jerk,” he said with an encouraging nudge.

She snorted, looping her arm through his as they moved away from the touch tank. 

Sylvia held a light grip on Finn’s arm as they wandered through the aquarium, her gaze catching on a sleek shark slicing past on the other side of a floor-to-ceiling panel of glass. Several smaller fish clung to its sides, their movements deliberate as they stayed close to the larger predator. Her gaze sparkled with mischief as she leaned closer to Finn, her shoulder brushing his arm. “Hey, look at that. It’s us—a perfect symbiotic relationship.”

Finn turned to the exhibit, the corners of his mouth lifting as he tilted his head in mock deliberation. “You’re sayin’ you’re the remora in this situation, right?”

“Obviously,” Sylvia said, her tone breezy. “I make decks with all the cards you aren’t using, keep you out of trouble, and I’m a cute accessory to boot. It’s a win-win-win.”

Finn raised a brow, his grin developing a teasing edge. He tapped a finger against his jaw in exaggerated thought. “Maybe I should start callin’ you ‘Remora’ instead of ‘Minnow.’”

Sylvia gasped, her eyes narrowing as she grabbed his forearm in faux betrayal. “You wouldn’t.”

Finn leaned down slightly, his voice carrying a low, taunting cadence. “Why not? Remora’s got a ring to it. Little fish always hangin’ around, keepin’ close, playin’ it safe.”

Sylvia crossed her arms, pulling away just enough to glare at him, though the twitch of her lips threatened to betray her. “Absolutely not. ‘Minnow’ is cute and endearing; it's got history. And ‘Remora’ definitely doesn’t roll off the tongue.”

“Fair enough. You’ve got more of a ‘Minnow’ aura anyway—dartin’ around, full of energy.” His voice dropped into a gentler tone, almost musing. “And it’s not like you’re hangin’ around for survival. You pull your weight, Sylvia. More than your weight, really.”

Her pretend indignation faltered at his words. “That’s... surprisingly sweet for someone who was about to rebrand me.”

“You made the comparison first. Don’t blame me for takin’ you at face value.” He chuckled, looping an arm around her shoulders to draw her close again. “But alright, Minnow. No rebrands. Besides, you’re stickin’ close no matter what I call you.”

They stood in front of the moray eel exhibit, the dim blue light casting a gentle glow over their faces. A dusty-looking, mustardy eel poked its head out from a crevice in the rocks, its jagged mouth opening and closing as if absently practicing an ominous grin.

Sylvia squinted at the eel, her head tilted as she studied its movements. “You know,” she began, her tone contemplative but with the telltale edge of impending humor, “some people think moray eels are a symbol of romance.”

Finn raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a skeptical curve. “Yeah? With a mug like that?”

Sylvia glanced up at him, her expression deadpan but her eyes sparkling with amusement. “It’s obvious, Finn. Just think about it. When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie…” She paused dramatically, her voice dropping into a singsong croon. “ That’s a moray.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, with a groan that sounded more fond than exasperated, Finn covered his face with one large hand. “Minnow, that’s terrible. Absolutely terrible.”

Sylvia burst out laughing, utterly pleased with herself. “Come on, you know it’s good! You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.”

Finn dropped his hand, pulling his other arm out of her grip and stepping back. “Mad? Nah. Just don’t think I can be seen with you if you’re makin’ jokes like that.”

Sylvia gasped, feigning outrage as she grabbed for his arm again, attempting to shake him and having marginal success. “Oh, so you’re the only one who gets to make fish puns? Is that it?”

Finn let her pull him closer but refused to allow her the last word. “My puns are gold. You’re just jealous you can’t reel in the same laughs.”

“Oh, I’m reeling something in,” Sylvia muttered, looking pointedly at him. “Mostly regret.”

“Can't fool me. You’re havin’ the time of your life.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her with an upward turn. “Watching eels look like they’re plotting their next heist? Sure, this is the height of entertainment.”

Finn chuckled, propping himself casually on the railing in front of the glass. “I thought you liked educational stuff. You’re learnin’ all about my distant relatives.”

Sylvia’s laughter surprised her. “Okay, I’ll give you the teeth, but unless you’re hiding some shocking family secret, I think the resemblance stops there.”

“You’re missin’ the bigger picture.” Finn jerked a thumb at the glass, his grin sly as he nodded toward the eel weaving in and out of its rocky hideout. “Look at that attitude—mysterious, calculating, biding its time. You sure you don’t see it?” His expression shifted into a caricature of conniving, brows arching and lips curling into a devious smirk. He steepled his fingers with theatrical flair, the faint click of his sharp nails punctuating his affectation of villainy.

Sylvia folded her arms, unimpressed. “If that thing starts cracking rotten puns, I’ll buy the relation. Until then, no dice.”

“Oh, so you’re an expert on sea life now?” Finn said, the scheming look shedding away as his grin brightened. “‘Cause I recall someone thinkin’ the stingrays were about to go full assassin back there.”

“Hey, they had the potential to be dangerous, you were just withholding critical information. The eels have you beat on menacing, though. I mean, look at those snaggleteeth. That's pure nightmare fuel.”

“Sure, sure,” Finn said, shooting her a sideways glance. “But I’ve got a bit more style.”

Sylvia shook her head, her laughter bubbling up again. “Oh, well, if we’re going by style, of course you’ve got the edge.” She held up her hand, fingers a hair's breadth apart. “Just barely.”

“Barely?” 

Sylvia tilted her head toward the tank. “You can file your complaints with the moray. It seems pretty agreeable.”

The sound of Finn’s chuckle was warm and leisurely as he took her hand in his. “I’ll get right on that. But don’t be surprised when it takes my side.”

“Fine by me.” Sylvia squeezed his hand as they moved to the next exhibit. “As long as I’ve got a particular fish in my corner, I think I’m set.”

Finn slowed his pace as they stepped into the jellyfish tunnel, letting Sylvia drift ahead. The space seemed to hum with tranquility, the glass archway overhead curving into a seamless wall of water that felt almost homey. Neon tendrils pulsed softly in the darkness, bioluminescent halos casting their glow over Sylvia. She came to a halt mid-step, her head tilting upward in awe.

All her restless energy funneled into quiet focus. Her lips parted as if she might say something, but no words came. Instead, her hands moved slowly, gloves brushing against the glass as though she could reach through it to touch the jellyfish floating by on the other side.

Finn leaned against the railing, the cool metal grounding him as he watched her. Even without seeing her face, he could feel it: Sylvia’s wonder humming like a live current. The sensation pulled at him, like a signal he couldn’t help but pick up.

“Don’t see you speechless much,” he said, his voice low to match the atmosphere.

Sylvia glanced back at him, a faint, distracted curl on her lips before her gaze returned to the water. “It’s hypnotic. I mean, look at them. They don’t even look real.”

Finn followed her gaze, studying the languid pulse of the jellyfish as they drifted, their ruffled tendrils trailing beneath them like ink. “Not bad for somethin’ that packs more wallop than anything else we’ve seen today.”

Her brow furrowed faintly. “You’re saying these are more dangerous than the stingrays and sharks?”

“By a long shot,” Finn replied, straightening up to gesture at one of the larger jellyfish spotted with dots of light along its pink tendrils. “A handshake from that one’d ruin your week, easy. And that one,” he added, pointing her toward a nearly-invisible mass hovering behind its smaller, glowing brethren, “has a toxin that’ll turn your blood into sludge.”

Sylvia’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, her playful tone slipping back into place. “You’re just trying to spook me again.”

“Nah, you were plenty spooked earlier,” he said, arm dropping back to his side. “Never seen you scurry away from somethin’ as fast as you did with those rays.”

She turned fully now, resting her hands on her hips as she shot him a glare that didn’t quite reach down to her smile. “First of all, those stingrays move like they have motive. These guys?” She nodded toward the jellyfish. “They look like they’re made of tissue paper.”

“I’ll give ya that. They’re not known for headbuttin’ through walls.”

Her posture relaxed again, and she pivoted back to the glass, the glow of the jellyfish casting light over her hair and shoulders. Finn’s grin softened as he watched her lean closer, her breath fogging the glass slightly. There was something entrancing about the way she let herself fall headfirst into things that caught her eye, her curiosity drifting in directions he couldn’t predict.

“You’re really into this stuff, huh?” he asked, quiet and easy.

“I am.” Sylvia craned her neck to observe the jellyfish above as she answered. “It’s just so... peaceful, I guess.”

Finn let that sit for a beat, then shifted just enough that his arm brushed hers. “Until you get stung, anyway.” It wasn't much—just a quick remark, usual fare—but in the hush of the tunnel, it landed off-kilter.

Sylvia let out a quiet huff through her nose. “Thanks for that, Finn. Way to ruin the moment.”

His quip sat heavier than expected, like a rock dropped in a still pond. Smirk slipping a fraction, his thumb instinctively found the smooth surface of a ring to worry at. 

Sylvia turned slightly, catching the movement. Her brows knitted for half a second before smoothing, a soft smile curving her mouth. “Hey,” she said, her tone laced with warmth as her fingers twined with his, “I’m just teasing.”

Finn blinked, her words settling, unspooling the moment's weight. He let out a quiet chuckle. “Good to know, Minnow. Was startin’ to think I’d sunk the whole ship there.”

Sylvia snorted softly, shaking her head at the overstatement. She turned her attention back to the luminescent tendrils on the other side of the glass. Her free hand skated along the railing, but the other remained in his, her thumb brushing his absently and arresting its unconscious circling.

Strolling beside her, his gaze traced the jellyfish as they pulsed and floated like living lanterns. The glow bathed the tunnel in rippling shades of blue and pink, the silence broken only by the faint sound of their breathing. Finn exhaled, letting the seconds stretch, weightless and easy.

Sylvia wandered into the aquarium’s gift shop just ahead of Finn after finishing their tour, the lingering glow of bioluminescent exhibits still fresh in her mind. Rows of colorful trinkets, ocean-themed merchandise, and a wall of plush sea creatures filled the bright space. As Sylvia’s eyes adjusted, she spotted a rack of hats shaped like marine animals.

“What do you think?” she asked, perching a bright orange crab hat on her head. Its claws bobbed precariously as she adjusted the fit.

Finn leaned against a nearby display and crossed his arms, grinning. “I think you’d better take it off before it pinches what’s left of your dignity, Minnow.”

She stuck her tongue out at him but replaced the hat on the rack. A few steps later, she spotted a novelty shark-head mask. She grabbed it and jammed it onto her head without hesitation.

The foam teeth jutted out comically, giving her the look of a cartoonish predator. From inside, her view was reduced to blurry shapes through the black mesh behind the jaws. She turned toward Finn, her voice muffled but brimming with mischief. “Okay, now you know what it's like for me every time you lean in.”

Finn tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over her in mock appraisal. “Geez, it’s a wonder I ever get any sugar from you at all, with a view like that.”

Sylvia laughed, the sound muffled but audible. “You’re right, this thing lacks a certain charm that you seem to have in spades,” she said, her tone playful. She tapped the foam snout, pressing it in and then allowing it to pop back out into a point.

He chuckled before peeling the mask off her head. Its jaws worked as he held it up between them like a sock puppet. “Alright, wise guy. Try again.”

Her hair was tousled, and she smoothed it down faintly with a quick pat. Undeterred, Sylvia reached for an elegant bottle of glitter-filled water labeled Siren Tears. She held it up as if it were a rare treasure. 

“What about this? Very magical, very on-brand for a potion maker.”

Finn snorted. “Magical’s one word for it. Gimmicky’s another. Don’t think you actually go in for bric-a-brac like that.”

“Ugh, you know me too well,” Sylvia said, sighing in surrender as she returned it to the shelf. But then her gaze landed on something that made her gasp.

She darted across the store and pulled a giant plush stingray from a bin, holding it up with glee. It was enormous—wider than she was tall—comprised of soft, velvety fabric and floppy fins that drooped when she hugged it close. “Okay, this is happening. Look at him! He’s perfect!”

Finn had one brow arched in bemusement. “Perfect for what? A circus tent?”

“Keeping my centipus company!” she declared, slinging the stingray onto her back like a cape. Its wings draped over her arms, and she gave them an exaggerated wiggle for emphasis. “They’ll be best friends. Plus, it’s basically a blanket. Multitasking.”

His chuckle was low and indulgent, paired with a shake of his head. “You did a real one-eighty on these guys,” he remarked, his tone casual but tinged with curiosity.

Sylvia paused, fingers tracing the plush fabric as she considered the truth in his observation. “Well, I know better now,” she said, her voice softening. “Turns out, they’re actually pretty cuddly if you give them a chance.”

Her words had more a sense of gravity than she meant them to, but Finn either didn’t notice or simply didn’t comment. Instead, he stepped forward and took the stingray from her arms, its tail trailing like a lazy streamer. He didn’t bother searching for the price tag. 

“Alright, Minnow,” he said, his tone as light as ever when he caught her eye. “You sure this is the outrageous thing you want?”

“Yep,” Sylvia replied, her grin breaking free again as he carried it to the counter.

She followed behind him, but the bounce in her steps bled away as he shifted the stingray under one arm to pull his wallet from his pocket. She tilted her head. “Wait, aren’t you getting anything?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder before giving the room another quick once-over. “I’m good. Nothin' here’s really got me hooked.”

“It’s a gift shop! You’re not supposed to leave without something slightly pointless.”

Finn huffed out a quiet laugh. “Like what? Some chintzy keychain?”

“Exactly,” she said, pointing to the rack near the register crowded with tiny trinkets and souvenirs in the form of sea creatures sporting googly eyes and glittery accents.

Finn sighed, his expression one of appeasement. He plucked a keychain from the display: a little pink jellyfish with a goofy smile and dangly rubber tentacles.

“This good enough for ya?” he asked, holding it out for her inspection.

Sylvia bit down a laugh, her eyes sparkling. “Perfect. Matches your whole vibe.”

His shoulders rolled back in a gesture that was half a shrug, half a surrender as he set the keychain on the counter and paid for the lot. 

When they left the gift shop, Sylvia eagerly reached for the plush and draped it around her shoulders once more. Its fins flailed with each step until she tugged it snug.

“You’re really committing to this, huh?” Finn asked, taking her in with a mix of humor and resignation.

“It’s called accessorizing,” she replied. She held the ray tighter, its soft fabric bunched under her fingers as if it could shield her from Finn’s teasing. “Some of us have vision.”

“If ‘vision’ means lookin’ like you got tackled by a stingray, then sure, you nailed it.”

Sylvia shot him a look, tilting her chin up slightly. “You’ll see. It’s going to grow on you.”

“Sure. Like a barnacle.”

Sylvia didn’t respond right away, letting the quiet settle between them as they walked. “This was super fun,” she said, glancing over at Finn. “Great suggestion.”

He gave a casual shrug, but there was satisfaction in his expression. “Figured you’d get a kick out of it.”

“I did. The botanic gardens are going to have a hard time topping this.” 

“Hey, don’t count ‘em out yet. Bet they'll have somethin’ that grabs ya. Though I’m guessin’ it’s not gonna involve walkin’ out wearing the exhibits.”

“Jealous?” She bumped his arm and laughed as the plush cushioned the nudge.

“I’ve got my own souvenir,” he said, his dry tone blunted by his crooked smile. “Just don’t trip over that thing, alright? Hard to explain comin’ back from the aquarium with your teeth knocked in.”

“Please, he wouldn’t betray me like that. We’ve bonded,” Sylvia declared, though she still pulled the fabric higher around her shoulders, clear of her feet.

They walked in easy silence for a minute before she glanced at him. “You know… losing these wagers isn’t so bad.”

“Oh yeah? You were gunnin’ for the win pretty hard.” 

Sylvia shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “It gives me a reason to try things I probably wouldn’t pick if I were left to my own devices. Broaden my horizons. And with you, it’s actually pretty fun.”

Finn didn’t answer right away, and Sylvia could sense his attention shift, though he didn’t turn his head. When he did respond, his tone was more casual, almost deflective. “If broadening your horizons means a few more wins for me, I’m game.”

“Nice try, but I won’t be putting any less effort into taking you down.”

His smirk sharpened slightly at her declaration, clear and self-assured. He gave her a knowing look she recognized all too well. Like he was already anticipating the moment she'd have to back up her words.

“Countin’ on it,” he said, his voice low and laced with humor.

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Her hands moved slowly, gloves brushing against the glass as though she could reach through it to touch the jellyfish floating by on the other side.

Chapter Text

Sylvia stepped into Finn’s apartment, letting the door swing shut behind her with a soft click. “Hello?” she called.

From the kitchen came a startled grunt and a solid thump, followed by a muttered curse. Peeking around the corner, Sylvia caught sight of Finn rubbing the back of his head as he emerged from a lower cabinet, looking distinctly unimpressed.

“You’re still welcome to knock, y’know,” he said, straightening up. “Especially if you're showin’ up outta the blue.”

Sylvia crossed her arms, feigning indignation. “You said I could drop by anytime.”

“Sure, but I gave you a key, not an open invitation to sneak in and ambush me. You’re not a vampire.”

“Still not how vampire rules work,” she replied, a quiet laugh threading through her voice. “Invitations don’t compel them to show up.”

Finn opened his mouth, paused, then exhaled through his nose. “Not the point, smart aleck.”

With a sly tilt of her head, Sylvia stepped closer. “This is still nothing compared to when you ‘borrowed’ my spare key for Saffron.”

“That was for a good cause!” Finn spread his hands, his grin quick and disarming. “I mean, come on—a thoughtful surprise? Totally different ball game.”

Lifting her eyebrows, Sylvia pulled a colorful, tissue-stuffed bag from her satchel and set it on the counter. The rustle of paper filled the pause between them.

Finn blinked at the bag, then at her, before a warm laugh rumbled out of him, filling the room. “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“You kinda did,” Sylvia agreed, sliding the bag toward him with a playful push.

Their fingers brushed as he picked it up, and behind him, his tailfin gave a small flick. “What’s the occasion?”

Sylvia wrinkled her nose, baffled by the question. “Why do I need an occasion to get you something? You don’t.”

“Fair enough.” Finn’s teeth flashed in a quick, eager smile as he pulled out a neatly wrapped stack of booster packs for Itsy Bitsy Kaiju. “Oh, you’re spoilin’ me, Minnow."

Leaning against the counter, Sylvia watched him with satisfaction. “Maybe I just wanted to see that look on your face.”

He let out a short laugh, already tearing into the first pack with quick, practiced movements. “Let’s see if you’ve got a knack for pickin’ winners.”

Sylvia didn’t answer right away, content to watch his anticipation build. His smile sharpened as he sifted through the cards, fingers moving with the precision of someone who’d done this hundreds of times before. When he finally pulled a holographic card from the pack, his expression lit up.

“Coral Colossus,” he announced, flashing the card. “Looks like ya just gave me the upper hand.”

“Oh no, what a tragedy. How ever will I cope?” she deadpanned, plucking another pack from the counter. “Mind if I do one?”

Finn cast her a sidelong glance, lazy but sharp. “Sure, but don’t go pullin’ anything better than me. That’d be downright rude.”

With meticulous focus, Sylvia worked through her pack. Midway through, her eyes brightened, fingers stilling. A quiet gasp escaped her, lips curling with mischief as she pulled a card close to her chest.

He tilted his head, suspicion creeping in. “Whadja find, Minnow?”

“Nothing,” she said, voice dripping with false innocence.

“Uh-huh.” Finn’s brow furrowed. “C’mon, lemme see.”

Sylvia stepped back, pressing the card against her sternum like a precious treasure. “Finders keepers,” she said with a jovial shake of her head.

“Fine,” he groaned, throwing his hands up in exaggerated defeat. “Just tell me what it is.”

Grinning, she held the card aloft. “Mecha Mantis.”

Finn squinted. “What? Mecha Mantis? This is just a straight-up upgrade to Mega Mantis! Same energy cost, better stats!”

“Looks like I’m trading up, then,” she teased, delight radiating from her as she admired the card.

Finn’s mouth curved, sharp and knowing. “Oh, it’s goin’ up, alright,” he said, deceptively casual. In a flash, his hand darted out, swiping the card from her fingers with ease.

“Hey!” Sylvia gasped, her hand snapping at empty air.

Finn held the card high above his head. “Can’t use it against me if you can’t put it in your deck, can you?”

Sylvia stretched onto her tiptoes, her fingers falling hopelessly short as Finn leaned back, sharp teeth catching the light in a gleeful display.

Crossing her arms, she glared up at him. “Don’t you ever get tired of using your height against me? Because I sure am.”

“Not when it works so well.” He flicked the card lightly between his fingers, his smirk triumphant. “Besides, you’re always sayin’ not to take it easy on you.”

Her eyes narrowed. The corners of her mouth twitched toward a smile despite herself. Stepping closer, she feigned another reach. Finn chuckled low, lifting the card just a fraction higher.

“That all you got?” 

Sylvia didn’t answer. Instead, her hand shot out, latching onto the fin at his elbow. Her fingers gripped tight and, with one sharp tug, she yanked his arm downward.

A decidedly undignified croak of dismay escaped Finn as he stumbled, his arm dipping just enough for Sylvia to snatch the card from his hand.

For a beat, he froze, blinking as if his mind was catching up to events. Sylvia stepped back holding Mecha Mantis high like a trophy, jubilant.

Finn flexed his arm, the motion slow and exploratory, testing how she’d managed to pull him off balance. Behind him, his tail flicked sharply, cutting through the air in a restless arc, working through the shift in momentum. His mouth twitched, the barest hint of a grin creeping in before it spread fully, as though ignited from within. 

“Huh,” he murmured, his tone almost appreciative. “You got me.”

Sylvia laughed, a warm, victorious sound as she spun in a small circle just out of reach. “Guess you’ll have to try harder next time.”

Her words hummed in the air, a charge that Finn couldn’t quite shake. It buzzed under his skin. A sharp, electric awareness that pulled his focus entirely onto her. He shook his head, exhaling a low, rough laugh as he leaned back against the counter.

Fingers twitching at his side, curling unconsciously, the moment replayed in his mind—the grip of her hand, the quick force behind it. It had caught him off guard, not just physically, but in a way that landed deep and visceral. Like a jolt to a nerve he hadn’t known he wanted struck.

Sylvia tilted her head, her sharp eyes catching the shift in his demeanor. “You alright over there?”

He blinked, recovering his teasing grin. “Yeah. I’m just—” He shook his head again, as if clearing it. “Didn’t think you’d play dirty, Minnow.”

“It’s not dirty,” she countered, smug and unwavering. “It’s clever. Helps level the playing field a bit.”

Finn settled further against the counter. He eyed Sylvia, anticipation curling at the edges of his thoughts. “Guess I’ve gotta watch my back around you.”

The sharp edge of her triumph mellowed. “I don’t know. I think you like a challenge almost as much as I do,” she mused, her tone shifting to something lighter, playful.

Finn’s chuckle came slow, rolling low in his chest. He didn’t look away. The pause between them stretched a bit before he spoke again, a hint of something thoughtful lurking behind his words. “Yeah, well… most folks aren't exactly chompin’ at the bit to give me one.”

Sylvia’s gaze softened at that. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, but it passed quickly, replaced by a slow, warm smile. She raised the card again, her eyes dancing with an inviting glimmer of mischief as she stepped closer.

“Good thing you’ve got me, then. Wouldn’t want you getting bored.”

* ~ * ~ *

The hidden cove along the edge of the bay lay steeped in stillness, the only sound the gentle whisper of waves meeting the shore. Clouds masked the moon, leaving the night cloaked in deep shadows that turned the beach into a study of silver and black. At the water’s edge, Sylvia stood with her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the inky stretch of ocean, its surface shifting with each faint ripple beneath the veiled sky.

“This was your idea,” she pointed out, throwing Finn a look that carried more amusement than accusation. The night air prickled against her skin, and she made no move to step forward. “Don’t expect me to hop straight in.”

Finn’s smirk widened, his easy confidence as unshakable as ever. “You’re the one who keeps makin’ bets.” He gestured toward the water with a lazy sweep, as if revealing a grand prize.

“Yeah, but—”

“You don’t seem so eager to ‘broaden your horizons’ this time,” he observed, his voice laced with easy ribbing.

Sylvia scoffed, though without much conviction. “Not when it looks like the start of a horror story. Seriously, all that’s missing is the eerie violin music.”

“It’s just water,” Finn said, his grin shifting into something gentler, tempered by a quiet encouragement.

She raised a skeptical brow, her voice dry. “And if I drown?”

Finn took a step closer, his shadow merging with hers. When he spoke, his voice dipped into a conspiratorial murmur. “I’ll make sure your funeral’s real classy. Somethin’ tasteful. Maybe a choir.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. Without thinking, she bopped her fist against his side. “Nice to know you’ve already got a plan.”

The moment hung there, teasing but not unkind. And before she could second-guess herself, Sylvia took a step forward. The damp sand gave underfoot, cold creeping up through her soles. When the first lick of seawater touched her toes, a shiver shot up her spine, and she hesitated, looking to Finn with renewed foreboding.

Finn, already wading in past her, turned back and held out a hand. “Come on, Minnow.”

The ocean stretched out before her, vast and unknowable, its depths swallowing what little light trickled down through the clouds. Not only was this not her turf, it wasn’t turf at all. She glanced at the horizon, endless and black, then back at Finn. His confidence didn’t waver. More than that, there was something steady, something certain in the way he held out his hand—an unspoken promise that nothing would happen to her.

Sylvia exhaled. Trusting Finn felt natural, like instinct, even here, where everything else felt foreign.

She took his hand.

The cold clenched around her ankles at once, putting teeth to her nerves. Each step deepened the chill, lapping at her shins, then her thighs. Finn’s grip stayed firm, anchoring her against the animal urge to back out until she hit dry land. Finally, she dug her heels into the seabed, tilting her head back to glare at the sky, as if blaming the clouds for her predicament.

“I can’t make myself do it,” she admitted, throwing up her free arm in frustration. “It’s too dark. Anything could be in there.”

A spark of mirth flickered across Finn’s face. “D’you think there might be a shark?”

The roll of her eyes ended with a glare.

His laugh came low and warm. “Tell ya what,” he said, stepping closer, his free hand settling around her waist. “I’ll make it easy.”

Her pulse stuttered. Finn’s grin gleamed faintly in the dark, sharp-edged with amusement.

“You’re going to throw me in, aren’t you?”

“Thought about it.” His voice was rich with humor. “But nah. Too predictable.”

Before she could demand clarification, he moved. One moment, her feet were planted in the sand; the next, she was weightless, caught in his arms, one braced under her knees and the other steady at her back.

“Finn—” It was half-warning, half-plea. Her body curled inward before she could stop herself, bracing for the inevitable plunge.

“Relax,” he said, his voice a soothing undercurrent. “I’ve got you.”

And then he dove.

Water rushed around them in a cold, muffled cascade, swallowing sound, swallowing light. Sylvia gasped, her arms tightening instinctively around him as bubbles spiraled past. Against her fingertips, his skin turned velvet-smooth underwater, a surreal contrast to the rough warmth she was used to. For a moment, everything held still—the ocean, her breath, the distant world above.

Then Finn surfaced, laughter spilling out as they broke through the waves.

“A little warning next time?” Sylvia sputtered, pushing soaked hair from her face. 

He grinned, utterly unrepentant. “Time to think about it was kinda your problem.”

Before he could gloat further, she sent a burst of water at him, catching him square in the face. Finn barely flinched. Instead, his smirk sharpened, and he retaliated with a sweeping splash that sent her diving under with a squeal.

She surfaced a few feet away, breathless with laughter.

Above them, the clouds finally parted. Moonlight spilled over the waves, painting silver across the water’s surface. For a moment, Sylvia simply floated, her laughter softening as she took it all in: the quiet beauty of the night, the slow rhythm of the sea. 

Finn swam toward her smoothly. “How we feeling?” His voice matched the steady pulse of the tide.

Sylvia tilted her head, glancing from him to the luminous water. A faint sparkle lingered in his eyes, mirroring the easy curve of his mouth. Warmth curled through her chest.

“It’s not all bad,” she admitted, her tone deliberately casual as she sent another quick splash his way.

Finn let the water hit without so much as a wince. “High praise.” His fingers brushed hers beneath the surface, just long enough for the current to weave them together.

Sylvia studied him for a beat, then looked around again, as if searching for something. “Okay, so… now what?”

A spark of mischief flared in Finn’s expression. “How ‘bout a game of tag?”

Her brows lifted. “Really? You mean so you can show off how impossible you are to catch and I can be ‘it’ forever?”

His grin widened. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s a chance to prove me wrong. Y’know, get creative.” He let go of her with an easy shrug before gesturing grandly to the open water. “Your call, Minnow.”

Sylvia’s laugh bubbled up again, her competitive drive stoked. “Oh, you’re on.” She struck out into the silver-lit expanse. "But I’m getting a head start."

She focused on the measure of her strokes as she swam off, the ocean cool against her skin. Gentle waves lapped at her, a rhythmic pull and release as she put distance between them. When she glanced back, Finn was right where she’d left him, arms crossed, a bemused smile tugging at his lips. Just as she was about to ask if he was going to wait forever, he vanished beneath the surface.

"Oh, come on," she muttered, though there was no real complaint in it. Slowing her kicks, she spun in place, scanning the water, already bracing for what came next. A faint ripple below betrayed him a moment before his hand encircled her ankle, tugging her down just a smidge before letting go.

She turned fast, sending a sharp splash into his face as soon as he surfaced. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re it.”

Sylvia groaned, but the chase had begun. “You have to stay visible. It’s tag, not hide-and-seek.”

“Deal.” Finn was already retreating with powerful strokes. “Don’t think it’ll help ya much, though.”

He was right. No matter how hard she kicked forward, he remained just out of reach, taunting her with brief pauses before slipping away again. The water seemed to welcome him through and then seal itself shut in front of her.

Sylvia faltered for a beat, simply watching the way he moved—effortless, natural, the sea carrying him like it knew he belonged. Then an idea struck, sharp and sudden.

She flailed forward with a yelp, limbs jerking as she sank beneath in an exaggerated tumble.

Finn stopped instantly. “Sylvia?” His voice bounced across the surface of the water, his easy amusement replaced with sharp concern.

The moment he turned back, she surged up from below, both hands slamming against his chest. “Got you!”

He blinked, confusion flashing across his face before understanding set in. Then, a deep, resonant laugh rolled out of him. “That was evil, Minnow.”

“Creative,” she corrected, grinning and entirely unrepentant. “As requested. But I’m retiring from tag now. There’s no way that move works twice.”

Still chuckling, Finn rubbed the spot she’d tagged, mock disbelief coloring his tone. “You think you’re gettin’ off scot-free after that?”

Her laughter shifted into something lighter, more playful, but she remained alert. His teasing rarely came without follow through. Before she could float away, his hand brushed against her wrist, closing around it with an easy grip. The water rocked gently as he pulled her in, his other arm slipping around her back, securing her with little effort.

His eyes searched hers, and for a moment, the teasing edge faded. His brow lifted slightly, voice dropping enough for the words to carry only between them. “Don’t go pullin’ that kinda stunt too often, yeah?”

Sylvia’s mouth scrunched in a fleeting frown. “Aww, you big softie,” she replied, her voice carrying sincerity beneath the light mockery. She pecked a quick kiss to his lips, conciliatory. “Alright, I’ll try to keep the death throes to a minimum. No need for you to keep that funeral choir on retainer.”

Finn sighed, but laughter softened the sound. “Thanks for thinkin’ of me.”

Shifting slightly, she turned until her shoulder rested against his chest as she bobbed. One hand settled lightly over his forearm, fingers curling just enough to keep her tethered. Beneath her, his presence was steady, solid, an anchor against the slow drift of the tide. Finn let himself lean back as well, his breaths unhurried, floating effortlessly.

Above them, the stars shimmered in the inky vastness, their reflections scattered across the surface like the sky had spilled into the sea. Depth and distance blurred, the black above and below stretching into something boundless.

Sylvia’s voice was quiet when she spoke. “Do you ever stop and look at the stars, Finn? Like, really look?”

His gaze flicked downward, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as he glanced at her. “Honestly? No.” His voice was lower, touched with rare reflection. “But I get what you mean. Feels different out here.”

She tipped her head back slightly, catching a glimpse of his face as her free hand floated lazily on the water. Her voice softened. “It’s kind of humbling, isn’t it?”

“You wouldn’t say that if you saw what all’s beneath the surface,” he teased. “That’s where the real mystery is. But I’ll bite.” He pointed toward a dense cluster of stars halfway down to the horizon, and Sylvia’s gaze followed the line drawn by his arm. “You see that one over there? The Giant Anglerfish.”

Sylvia narrowed her eyes playfully. “That sounds fake.”

“Landfolk,” he sighed, thick with exaggerated disappointment. “Look. That bright star at the top? The lure. And that curve? That's the toothy maw. Practically textbook.”

She tilted her head, skeptical but interested. “I guess I can see it. But I think that’s Corvus, The Crow. We covered it in a divination elective I took. It symbolizes cunning and the power of foresight. The bright star is the coin in its beak.”

Finn hummed, drawing her a little closer, intrigued by the way her voice softened when she spoke about it. “Cunning, huh?” His tone was teasing, but something warm lingered underneath. “Fits both, if you ask me. I’ll stick with the anglerfish, and you can keep your dusty old bird.”

Sylvia snorted, shaking her head, but the laughter in her eyes was unmistakable. “Fine, what about that one over there?” She pointed to another small scatter of stars off to the left, tracing several long lines with her finger. “That’s clearly The Mantis. A symbol of—”

“Creepy arms and cheap tactics?” Finn interrupted.

She poked him in the ribs, sending out a small ripple. “Wrong. Precision, power, and terrifyingly awesome battle cries.”

With a triumphant grin, she sat up slightly, raising a fist as though rallying an invisible army—only to immediately shift her center of gravity. Water surged up around her and she flailed, instinctively grabbing for Finn.

“Easy there,” he said. His hand found her back and lifted her up to the surface again.

Sylvia eased herself closer, her movements cautious, until their shoulders touched once more. The feeling of his arm curling around her from beneath stabilized her, and she let out a small chuckle. “Whoops. Forgot where I was for a second,” she admitted with a sheepish grin.

Finn smirked, his voice wry but touched with affection. “Noticed that. Guess you’re finally gettin’ cozy out here.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile remained as she settled against him once more. “It’s better when the sun’s out,” she said, “but this is pretty nice, too.”

They drifted in easy silence, the rhythm of their breaths matching the water’s gentle sway. Overhead, the stars shimmered, endless and quiet, their reflections threading through the dark. Sylvia let herself float, her gaze tracing constellations as a quiet hum of connection thrummed between them, steady as the tide.

Chapter Text

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

The shop smelled faintly of ogre and amphithere shadows, seeping into every surface from the past few days spent relentlessly brewing fire tonics of all qualities. It was closer to a feeling than an odor; a dry, cold scent, like an ancient wind twisting through crumbling ruins, and it stood in sharp contrast to the enchanted ribbons glowing on her sales counter. Beyond the closed door, Rafta hummed with the flurry of festival preparations, but inside, all was calm. The lanterns cast golden pools of light, stretching long shadows as Sylvia stood at the counter, a length of fiery fabric flickering in her grip like embers caught in a draft.

She tilted her head, considering the decorations. “Okay. It’s definitely over-the-top, but so is the whole festival, so it works. People eat this stuff up—the cheesy traditions, the fire metaphors, the magical ribbons symbolizing connection. It’s all very… heartwarming, or whatever.”

Finn leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his tail swaying lazily behind him. A flicker of amusement played across his face, the dim light sharpening the angles of his grin. “Heartwarming, huh? Sounds like someone’s feelin’ the holiday spirit after all.”

Sylvia turned, wry but unbothered. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. The Emberweave Festival is extremely corny. But it’s also a huge deal, and ignoring it would be a terrible business move. Everyone’s going to be lighting fires and swapping gifts, which means fire tonics are going to be the must-have potion of the day.” She tossed the ribbon back onto the pile and grabbed up a bundle. “Not leaning into the theme would just be boneheaded.”

Finn pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “Lucky for you, leanin’ in is one of the things you're best at.” His voice carried a teasing warmth, and he tugged lightly at the end of a ribbon in her grasp. “But you don’t gotta explain the festival to me, y’know. I’m not fresh outta the water. I know what it’s about.”

Something in his stance shifted; barely noticeable, but enough for Sylvia to catch. She nudged his arm with her elbow, her tone softening. “Oh, you’re a fan of this stuff, aren’t you?”

“Don’t knock it,” he said, leaning closer with a smirk. “A holiday about keepin’ close to the folks who matter? Sounds pretty solid to me. But if you’re dyin’ to show off that you’ve done your homework this time, then hey, don’t let me stop you.”

She snorted. “Please. I always do my homework. And for your information, this shop is about to become the Emberweave hotspot. Ribbons like threads of fire connecting everything, shimmering lanterns for ambiance—people will line up to buy tonics just to be part of the aesthetic.”

“Guess I’ll have to stick around and see if you pull it off,” he said, fingers drumming a familiar rhythm against the countertop as he looked around the shop.

“I’m not pulling it off alone.” She shoved a bundle of ribbons against his chest, her smirk unfazed. “You’re enlisted in decorating by default. And that means helping me with these.”

Finn chuckled, wrapping one ribbon loosely around her wrist before taking the rest. “Fine, fine. Where am I hangin’ these up, boss?”

Sylvia gestured to the rafters, sweeping her arm in a vague circle. “Everywhere. I’m using your height for something productive for once instead of just holding things over my head for kicks.”

“C’mon, you love it when I keep you on your toes,” he said, stepping onto the short stool she’d dragged over.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” She crossed her arms, surveying the space. “Now, make it look like it’s weaving through the room. It needs to feel... cohesive.”

Finn festooned the rafters with glowing ribbons, pausing when Sylvia called out adjustments from the doorway—higher, lower, a little to the left—her instructions a playful dance between them. Occasionally, he’d overshoot a placement just to earn an exasperated laugh from her, but otherwise, he wove the strands carefully, letting them flow like cinders caught midair.

“A little lower near the window,” Sylvia said. “The light should catch it as the sun sets.” 

Finn glanced down, one brow arched. “Gettin’ real particular, aren’t ya?”

She shrugged. “The whole festival is about connection. The ribbons should reflect that.”

“Cheesy symbolism,” Finn mused, though he tied the final ribbon without protest. “You’re takin’ to it pretty naturally.”

“Cheesy sells,” she replied, standing back to admire his work. The ribbons arched gracefully across the shop, glowing softly, and the shelves gleamed with neatly arranged tonics. Her gaze flicked to him. “I mean, the whole ‘warmth and connection’ thing isn’t a bad idea for a festival. It just shouldn’t be, I don’t know, isolated to a one-day event. Bonds should be celebrated all the time, in small ways.”

Her words lingered in the quiet, lighter than air yet settling deep. Finn’s hands stilled on the ribbon he’d just fastened. For a moment, he only looked at her.

Then, with an easy roll of his shoulders, he exhaled. “Didn’t know I was workin’ under a philosopher tonight,” he teased, though his voice was quieter now, edged with unspoken thought. He stepped down from the stool, landing with a solid thud.

Sylvia sidled closer and nudged him with her elbow. “Enjoy it while it lasts. I’ll be back to going on about margins and potion grades the day after tomorrow.”

“Sounds about right.” His hand found the small of her back and settled there, his thumb tracing an arc through the fabric of her tunic. “Still, you make a solid point. Shouldn’t take a festival to make a thing count. But havin’ an excuse to go overboard once in a while doesn’t hurt.”

She glanced up, her smirk easing into something almost fond. “That sappy side of you is really stepping it up for the festival, huh?”

Finn rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile curving his lips. “Don’t make me regret sharin’ my insights, Minnow. Besides, you’re the one sayin’ we should be celebrating in little ways around the clock. Sounds pretty sappy if ya ask me.”

“Maybe.” She grinned, looping her arms around his waist as she leaned into him. “But I’m allowed to be. It’s my shop. Vampire rules.”

He let out a snort, but his arms closed around her easily, wrapping her in warmth. They stood like that for a drawn-out moment, neither rushing to move. Eventually, Sylvia gave him a final squeeze and stepped back, her attention drifting to the shop around them. The space shimmered—ribbons glowing like captured firelight over the vibrant bottles of tonic. 

She turned back to him, her eyes alight with satisfaction. “We did a good job here.”

“We?” Finn raised a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Pretty sure I did all the actual work.”

Sylvia laughed. “Under my expert direction. This is going to be the best-decorated shop in Rafta. No one will be able to resist.”

Finn leaned a hip against the counter, arms folding. “Sounds like you’re gearin’ up for a pretty busy day tomorrow.”

“I hope so. But I’m not working all day. There’s no way I’m missing out on the festival night itself. That’ll be too much fun, cheesy or not.” She tilted her head, her tone falsely airy. “I just hope I can find someone to drag along with me…”

“S’pose I might fit the bill.” He leaned down, brushing a kiss against her temple. “So, what’s next, Minnow? We done here?”

Her smile softened as she tilted her head to meet his gaze. “Maybe you could help me pick out what to wear tomorrow? Something festive, but not so over-the-top that it screams ‘walking fire hazard.’ I trust your fashion sense way more than mine.”

He chuckled, tugging her closer for a moment before releasing her. “I dunno, you make practical wear look awful cute. But sure, I can lend my expertise. Just don’t wear me out before the real fun starts.”

“No promises,” she shot back with a wink, her steps light as she moved toward the back room. The shop glowed softly in their wake, its fiery decorations a perfect prelude to the warmth and energy of the festival to come.

The chime of the shop door broke through the muffled buzz of festival preparations outside, and Sylvia glanced up from the ledger where she had nearly finished closing out her sales for the day. People were already bustling down the lantern-lit streets, their laughter and chatter spilling through the cracks of her front windows. But the sight in her doorway gave her pause.

Finn stood there, his usual sharp style of dress whetted to a razor’s edge tonight. His shirt was cleanly pressed, suspenders hidden beneath an immaculate crimson vest, and—most startling of all—his bowtie was tied. Perfectly.

Sylvia braced both hands on the counter and rose to her feet, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re closed for the day. I’m just waiting for my boyfriend to arrive. You see, he’s this roguish fellow who never does up his tie. So if you’re looking for potions, I’m afraid you’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

Finn’s grin spread slowly, his sharp teeth glinting in the light. He tipped an imaginary hat. “Aw, don’t sell me short, doll. Heard the drop-dead witch who runs this joint is a master of her craft, and bound to be gettin’ sick of that boyfriend of hers by now. Figured I’d shoot my shot.”

Snorting, Sylvia fought to keep a straight face. "Well, I appreciate the compliment, but I won’t fall for any old flatterer who walks through my door.”

“Figures you’re sharp like that,” Finn said, stepping inside with an overplayed swagger. “But think about it. I’m dressed to the nines, got these devastating good looks.” He lifted a hand, resting his chin in the crook of a finger gun, flashing a grin—tilted just right, because of course he knew his best angles. “Probably better at cards, too.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes, stepping around the counter to meet him. “Alright, I'm not going to stand here all night pretending to be wooed. We’ve got a festival to get to. We can play ‘handsome stranger’ another time.”

Finn laughed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bundle wrapped in crimson silk. “Might take you up on that. But before we get going, got somethin’ here for you.”

Sylvia let out a small squeak as she took the sachet, her excitement bubbling up. She pulled out a bracelet woven from fiery threads, gold accents winding around dark beads that seemed to smolder like burning coals where they caught the light. One bead—a tiny red apple—made her fingers still.

She stared at it, a flicker of recognition brushing the edge of her mind. Then, like a lantern sparking to life, the memory surfaced: the candy apple he’d handed her, the insufferable smirk that had come with it. She hadn’t thought too much of it at the time, but looking at it now, she could trace a thread from that first “investment” to this moment.

Her voice was quieter when she finally spoke. “Finn…” She ran her thumb over the apple bead, something catching in her throat before she could put words to it. “This is gorgeous.” The weight made her pause again. “You made this?”

“Hand-made’s kinda the whole Emberweave deal, isn’t it?” Finn’s tone was light, but there was something in his expression—something more intent. His eyes flicked between her face and the bracelet, tracking her reaction. “And off-the-rack doesn’t cut it for you, anyway.”

Sylvia huffed a soft laugh, but she brought the bracelet to her chest, holding it close. “Thank you,” she said, sincere and solid. “I love it.”

She caught the slight movement of Finn’s hands lifting to tug at the end of his bowtie, only to waver upon finding it tied and unavailable. His fingers curled for half a second before dropping, one hand drifting to the back of his neck instead. The usual bravado that came with his smirk didn’t quite land, like he wasn’t certain what to say next. His tailfin flicked, subtle but restless.

The sight sent a squeeze through her chest. She had to bite back a grin, because he’d been nervous.

Before the silence could stretch further, she set the bracelet down on top of the silk bag and reached under the counter, bringing out the package she’d prepared earlier. “Your turn.”

Finn blinked, shoulders loosening as curiosity took over. He turned the package over in his hands, then shot her a look. “Thought you didn’t go in for this cheesy holiday.”

“I’m not heartless.” She tilted her chin up, mock-offended. “It’s not like I’m going to be withholding just because it’s festival day.”

His smile twitched at that, but he didn’t press, just peeled the paper away until he revealed a hand-painted wooden deck box. Fiery motifs danced across the smooth surface, almost alive in the lantern light.

“This is real sweet, Minnow,” Finn murmured, his thumb gliding over the painted surface with a slow, deliberate motion. When Sylvia gestured expectantly at the box, he flipped open the lid. Red velvet lined the interior, empty but for a single card propped against the fabric. Sylvia watched as his fingers hesitated just a second before plucking it out. 

A shark-like kaiju loomed in her cartoonish artwork, smaller fish safely nestled among the spiny plates bristling down its back. The name, Depth Guardian, gleamed in bold letters above the image.

Finn let out a short breath, lips quirking as his thumb skated along the edge of the card. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head with a fond sort of exasperation. “This thing’s overpowered. Not enough to go toe to toe with Potionzilla, but still.”

“He’s not supposed to,” Sylvia said. “They're meant to be in the same deck. Depth Guardian protects kaiju with lower defense, and I gave him more defense than Potionzilla. See?”

“Oh yeah, that was Potionzilla’s problem. Too many weaknesses,” he said, tone rich with playful reproach. He lifted the card slightly, angling it as if weighing its stats with real scrutiny—but Sylvia could tell he wasn’t really complaining. Not when his gaze lingered on the artwork, his mouth pressing briefly into something almost like a smile.

“I thought it fit,” Sylvia said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she studied his face. “You’re always looking out for people.” Her voice dipped slightly. “For me.”

Finn exhaled through his nose, a quiet laugh that dropped the curve of his tail a notch. His fingers tilted the card absently, eyes flicking over the details once more before settling on the name again. “Hell of a thing, gettin’ called out by a piece of cardstock.” 

His grip on the card lingered a beat longer before he slid it carefully back into the box. As soon as it was safely tucked away, he reached for her. 

“C’mere.”

Accepting the invitation without a second thought, Sylvia stepped into him as his arm curled around her waist. The movement was fluid, practiced—like he’d done it a dozen times before, because he had. She needed only a moment to register the intent in his eyes before his lips met hers. Soft at first, until his other hand found the base of her skull, anchoring her close.

Heat sparked beneath her fingertips as they slipped up the slick fabric of his vest. Finn hummed against her mouth, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, flooding her senses until the room, the moment, everything started to blur. She wasn’t sure how long she floated in that hazy space before a thought surfaced, vague but insistent.

"Festival," Sylvia mumbled against his lips, the word unsteady.

Finn hesitated at that, just for a beat, his breath ghosting over her skin. He didn’t pull away completely. It was enough to give her room, his gaze steady, expectant.

"I thought you were the one all excited about the festival?” Her voice was playful, light, a tiny nudge. “It feels like I’m the only one actually trying to get us there.”

“No point rushin’ out the door if you’re only humoring me.” He offered up a crooked smile, but Sylvia detected the unspoken question hanging in his tone.

"Well, I’m invested now.” Her grip on his vest firmed for half a second before smoothing out. With a meaningful look, she flattened her hands on his chest, the gentlest push. “Which means you should probably let me change.”

Finn loosened his grip just enough for Sylvia to slip free, though his fingers dragged faintly before he let go completely. She stepped into the back room, pressing the backs of her fingers to her cheek as if that would do anything to cool her down. The brief time alone, undressing and dressing, gave her a chance to refocus. But when she emerged, she was nearly undone again by the way Finn’s attention snapped to her like a reflex.

She smoothed a hand over the fabric of her blouse, still getting used to the way it draped over her frame. The foreign sensation of dressing up was enough to make her second-guess the choice, but the way Finn’s gaze traced her with a slow reverence restored some portion of her confidence. Airy red sleeves and wide-legged black pants flowed with her strides, gold accents catching the light in a way that felt just a little extravagant. Elegant, even. Not her usual, but she supposed that was the point.

Finn let out a low whistle, standing straighter. “Damn. You clean up real nice. Might have to keep an eye on ya tonight, make sure no poor soul bursts into flames on account of starin’.”

Sylvia let out a soft, almost embarrassed laugh. “You realize you’re basically complimenting your own taste, right? You picked this out.”

“Yeah, and turns out I got impeccable instincts.” He let his eyes linger a beat longer before adding, “Course, it helps when the material’s already top shelf.”

Shaking her head fondly, she reached for the bracelet on the countertop. Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place as she scooped it up. “Oh,” she said, holding her arm out to him. “That’s why you were so insistent I didn’t need to accessorize.”

“Shoulda been a dead giveaway.” His fingers carefully looped it around her wrist with a deftness that had long ago ceased to be surprising. Once the knot was securely squared, his hands fell away. “Can’t have you out and about without something to go with the rest of your look.”

Sylvia turned her wrist, admiring the beads as they caught the light. “Perfect,” she murmured, glancing up at him. “Thank you, Finn.”

He took a half-step back to admire her fully. “I oughta be thankin’ you—for lettin’ me step out with a catch like you on my arm.”

Sylvia took the offered arm. “Oh, hush. Let’s go before you get too mushy to walk.”

Sylvia’s nose twitched at the scent of sizzling spices mingling with the crisp, smoky atmosphere of the Emberweave Festival. Rafta’s bustling market had come alive with vibrant colors, lanterns flickering like fireflies overhead, and the hum of cheerful chatter and music filling the air. The food stall originating the spice caught her attention, promising Widowmaker Peppers – Not for the Faint of Heart! A grinning chef stood behind the counter, expertly flipping skewers over open flames that seemed almost alive, twisting and flaring with the energy of the festival itself. The fire danced in brilliant reds and oranges, hot enough to send embers into the air, but the chef remained unfazed, not even a bead of sweat rolling down his brow.

“Hey, potion lady!” he called out, his eyes alighting on Sylvia in the crowd. “That fire tonic works like a charm! Pretty sure I could juggle the coals if I felt like it!”

Sylvia waved back, a hint of pride in her smile. "Glad to hear it’s doing its job!" She whipped her head toward Finn, jabbing a finger at the sign. "This is exactly what I need." 

Finn gave her a look as though she’d just suggested sticking her hands into one of the bonfires lining the street. “You’ve been hagglin’ all day, and first thing you wanna do is incinerate your mouth?”

Sylvia grinned. “Absolutely. Are you in?”

Finn exhaled sharply through his nose, eyeing the peppers like they might rear up and strike. “I dunno. I like my taste buds functional.”

“Come on,” Sylvia coaxed, nudging his arm. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

He groaned, rubbing a hand down his face before pointing at her. “If this goes belly-up, I’m holdin’ you personally responsible.”

“Oh no,” Sylvia said flatly, giving her fingers a spooky waggle. “The horror.”

Finn sighed, but finally, reluctantly, he stepped up to the counter beside her. They each took a skewer, the wrinkled red peppers glistening ominously. Sylvia bit in without hesitation. The flavor was fruity and rich, but the heat hit her like bobbing for apples in a boiling cauldron. Her mouth burned immediately, her tongue blazing as if tiny embers were dancing on it.

“Oh, this is amazing,” she said thickly, her voice cracking. Her eyes watered almost instantly, and she felt sweat bead along her hairline. Her chest inflated like a bellows, and she sniffled, blinking as her sinuses revolted.

Beside her, Finn took a measured bite, his teeth carving off the faintest sliver of pepper. He chewed once. Twice. Then his eyes seemed to lose focus. His jaw tightened.

A low, strained sound escaped from his throat.

“You okay?” Sylvia asked, a faint wheeze in her voice.

Instead of answering, Finn stood a little too still, his face tensed. He raised a finger—hold on—before several spasms passed through him, the effort to keep from coughing evident in every jerk of his shoulders.

Sylvia barely held back a laugh, and the next inhale raked her throat raw. “What’s the matter? Too much kick?”

Finn’s only response was to shake his head, but it was clear he wasn’t quite over the worst of it. He locked eyes with the chef, who looked entirely too entertained by the scene. With a slight nod, Finn gestured for the milk.

The chef handed him a glass, and Finn downed the entire thing in one go, his relief obvious, even if he was still trying—with mixed success—to keep his composure. He shook his head at Sylvia with an air of betrayal, watery eyes narrowed.

She tried to respond, but her nose had started to run uncontrollably, and she instinctively reached up to stem the flow with her hand before freezing halfway. The pepper’s juices had dripped down to coat her fingers, and any smear that close to her eyes would be agony. She glanced around helplessly, pupils darting in awkward panic.

With exaggerated formality, Finn produced a crisp handkerchief from his pocket. Sylvia grabbed it and pressed it to her nose with a relieved sigh. 

“Thank you,” she said. The cloth muffled her voice, but at least she wouldn’t drown in her own mucus.

“Do me a favor and keep it,” he huffed, his voice a teasing rasp. “Casualty of your bad decisions.”

Sylvia dabbed at her eyes next, blinking rapidly as the heat continued to course through her. “You’re not going to finish yours, are you?”

Finn held his lightly nibbled pepper away from him, lip curling. “Not unless you’ve got a tolerance potion stashed somewhere.”

“Amateur,” Sylvia said, plucking the skewer from his hand. She took another bite, her face twitching briefly as the fresh wave of heat hit her, but she pressed on, determined not to let it beat her.

The chef laughed in disbelief, leaning briefly on the counter. “Lady, I’ve seen heroes bawl over these, and you go for seconds? Respect.”

Sylvia finished the last bite of Finn’s pepper with a flourish. “That’s right,” she said, victorious as the inferno settled in her stomach. Then, with a slow, deliberate turn, she looked up at Finn.

His shoulders stiffened. “Don’t.”

Sylvia took a step closer, tilting her chin up. “What, no prize for the spice queen?”

Finn’s gaze flicked to her lips—still tingling, still coated with liquid pain—and he recoiled, raising a hand as if to ward her off. “Get away from me, ya spicy little monster.”

She laughed again, relenting as she wiped her mouth more thoroughly with the handkerchief. “Fine, you big baby. I’ll spare you.”

“Appreciate it,” Finn said, his grin softening as he looped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side as they began to walk away from the food stand. “But you owe me a normal kiss later. No booby traps.”

Sylvia tilted her head, pretending to consider. “We’ll see,” she said slyly.

Passing beneath a canopy of glowing threads, Sylvia slowed, watching as festival-goers wove their own strands into the ever-growing cord strung between the lantern posts. The threads shimmered briefly before settling into the weave, each one a quiet mark of connection—friends, lovers, rivals, strangers, all bound together in the fabric of Rafta. 

Finn plucked a crimson thread from a nearby basket, rolling it between his fingers before handing it to her. “C’mon, Minnow. You gonna let all these chumps show you up at a little knot tying?” 

She scoffed but took the thread anyway, slipping it into place with a twist of her fingers, its fibers catching against the countless others that had come before.

The phantom burn still lingered at the edges of Sylvia’s mouth as the two of them picked their way through the bustling festival, a slow, smoldering heat deep in her chest—a reminder of a challenge conquered. She sniffled, fumbling for a dry spot on the handkerchief until Finn handed her another square of cloth without looking.

“Are you sure you’re not some kind of magician?” she teased, dabbing at her face. “I know you’re not hiding these up your sleeves.” She gave his bare forearm a quick pat as she spoke.

Finn merely shrugged, his expression somewhere between smug and amused. “You’re the witch.”

A flicker of light in the distance caught her eye, stilling her tongue before she formed her retort. At first, she assumed it was just more lanterns swaying over the street, but the glow moved with a rhythmic pulse, brightening and dimming in hypnotic waves. As they stepped further into the open plaza, the shifting light resolved into arcs of flame.

A low platform had drawn a crowd, where fire dancers moved with surreal precision, their blazing batons tracing spirals through the air. Sylvia slowed, drawn in by the display. One performer—a woman in shimmering red and gold—raised her arms high, sending the fire whirling in looping arcs that seemed to stretch impossibly high. Another dancer tossed a ribbon like a lasso, and the flame spiraled outward, bursting into dozens of tiny sparks that flickered and twined together before dissolving into the night.

Sylvia folded her arms, pressing just slightly into Finn before tipping her head back. “Think you could pull that off?” she asked, her voice light but teasing.

He snorted. “Yeah, sure. Let me just set myself on fire, no problem.” 

The crowd gasped in unison as one dancer flung a ribbon high into the air. Sylvia’s breath caught as the flame twisted into fleeting silhouettes—a bird, a pair of clasped hands, a flickering heart. The shapes burned bright before they dissolved back into spirals of light, twining around one another in a delicate web of fire.

Her pulse quickened. The heat, the shifting glow; it was alive. She let herself absorb it, a quiet hum of wonder reverberating through her chest. Without thinking, her fingers brushed against Finn’s. He met her touch instantly, his hand curling around hers, palm warm and steady.

Sylvia exhaled, feeling the firelight dance over her, taking in the golden glow catching on the sharp lines of Finn’s jaw, the slight curve of his lips as he watched—

Not the stage. Her.

She blinked, her brow lifting in a playful challenge. “You’re supposed to be watching the show.”

Finn didn’t immediately break her gaze. When he did, it was with that familiar nonchalance, shrugging as though he hadn’t just been caught in the act. His lips twitched, and for a moment, she could see the teasing glint in his eyes.

Sylvia huffed, squeezing his hand in gentle reprimand. Her lips curved into an exasperated smile as she turned her attention back to the fire dancers.

The flames spun and flared in brilliant arcs, their light filling the space, but the warmth in her chest remained steady. She let herself sink into the moment, and that feeling only deepened when Finn’s low voice reached her ear.

“Y’know,” he murmured, “if you kept your eyes on the show, you wouldn’t’ve noticed me lookin’.”

Sylvia’s neck flushed, the heat climbing quickly. She shot him a sidelong glance, only to find the smirk still there, with just the right hint of mischief, as he looked straight ahead.

A final flourish from the performers broke through the playful tension. The flaming ribbons snapped into sudden motion, moving faster, tighter—a swirling lattice of fire that coiled like a tightening knot before suddenly exploding outward in a dazzling burst. Flames shot across the sky like shooting stars, leaving glowing trails that seemed to shimmer in the air long after they were gone. The enchantment shattered in a burst of light, the fire scattering like embers caught in the wind.

For a moment, the plaza seemed to hold its breath, the lingering dazzle of the performance mingling with the crowd’s excited energy. Then, as one, the audience erupted in applause. Cheers, whistles, and clapping rang through the square.

Sylvia clapped along with the crowd. “Incredible,” she sighed.

Finn’s hands joined the applause with a quick, impressed clap before he nodded, his grin widening as he turned to her. “That was somethin’ else,” he said, his voice tinged with admiration. “Real showstoppers. Didn’t think they could top that last move, but they sure pulled it off.”

As the performers took their bow and the crowd began to thin, Sylvia’s hand found Finn’s once more, the touch an easy, unspoken thing.

With a soft squeeze, she pulled him toward the lively street ahead. The bright trill of a folk melody drifted through the air, lively and inviting. Sylvia perked up. “Oh, is that another performance?”

It turned out to be a cordoned-off section of street where festival-goers spun and stumbled in flickering firelight. Enchanted braziers lined the space, their shifting glow making the dancers’ movements feel almost like flames themselves. A pair of instructors stood at the front, calling out encouragement, beckoning passersby to join.

“Hm.” Sylvia crossed her arms, looking Finn up and down with mock appraisal. “You don’t strike me as much of a dancer.”

Finn let out a low, offended scoff, drawing himself to his full height. “That’s harsh, Minnow.” Then, after a beat, his lips curled into a slow, knowing grin. “But I gotta say, you look fun to spin around.”

Before she could argue, he was already tugging her toward the group. She let herself be drawn in, sighing dramatically, though the smile creeping onto her face undermined the act. “Fine,” she said, narrowing her eyes in mock warning. “But if you step on my feet, I expect another massage.”

The instructors demonstrated the steps of an Emberweave folk dance that must have originated on Rafta: tight, weaving, twirling movements like interlacing flames. A stomp here, a flick of the heel there, a sharp clap of hands—sparks in motion.

Sylvia bit her lip, her brows knitting as she focused on mirroring the instructors’ steps. The dance had an unpredictability that threw her off balance. Just as she was beginning to settle into the rhythm, she felt a shift in the air. She sidestepped on instinct, narrowly avoiding Finn’s tail as it swept past, the gust of it ruffling her blouse.

She shot him a pointed look, more amused than annoyed. “So, are we dancing, or are you testing my reflexes?”

Finn flicked his tail again, watching her hop out of the way. “Little of both, apparently.”

They pressed on, but the dance’s quick, tight spins weren’t terribly forgiving. Sylvia ducked once, twice, laughing as she barely avoided another sweep. By the third near-miss, she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead in pantomime. “This is the most high-stakes waltz I’ve ever attempted.”

Finn huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Not exactly built for close quarters, huh?”

Without missing a beat, Sylvia stepped right into his space, resting a hand lightly against his chest as she tilted her head up at him. “Hmm, I disagree. I like it here.”

Finn’s response was swift and sure. His hands settled at her waist, warm through the fabric of her blouse. “Can’t blame ya.” His voice lowered. “Pretty good view from where I’m standin’, too.”

She lingered just long enough to enjoy the hum between them before sliding away again with a sly grin. “What if we lean into the big flourishes? Use the space instead of fighting it?”

Finn smirked, already shifting his stance like it was second nature. “Makin’ a spectacle of it? Might just work.” He widened his steps, testing the movement, and when he started up again, the dance took on a new fluidity—broad, grand, commanding. Less a fast-paced flicker and more a rolling, engulfing flame.

Sylvia caught on quickly, keeping her own footwork nimble, adjusting to the new rhythm. Instead of weaving tightly around each other, they found a give-and-take: Finn guiding her into sweeping arcs in front of him while his tail followed through in a controlled glide. She even caught herself using it as a marker, spinning away as it curled behind him, stepping back in when it flicked outward like punctuation to the movement.

“You know, if you’d done this from the start, I’d almost think you were showing off.”

Finn flashed a grin and, as if to prove her point, lowered her into an outrageous dip that swept her hair over the cobblestones. His tail extended behind him for balance, completing the motion with a practical flourish.

“Could be,” he said, voice rich with enjoyment. “Told ya, losin’s about the only thing I’m bad at.”

Their laughter blended with the chatter of the other festival-goers as he pulled her upright again. The music wound to a lull, the dance dissolving into enthusiastic applause for the instructors. Sylvia wiped the back of her arm over her forehead, pushing away the lingering heat of exertion. 

While Finn continued his boasting about turning the whole dance around, a distant rumble of drums and a sudden collective shift in the crowd’s attention pulled Sylvia’s focus. She turned, realizing belatedly that something was happening down the main thoroughfare.

“Wait, is that the parade?” she asked, blinking as the distant glow of enchanted flames pulsed between the buildings.

“Yeah. It’s been startin’ for a while now.”

Sylvia whipped her head toward him. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“Looked like you were havin’ too much fun twirlin’ around,” he said, unruffled. 

With an exasperated laugh, she skipped a step in her haste toward the procession of light, but didn’t get far before the crowd thickened. The streets ahead were packed, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder as the parade wound its way through town.

Sylvia rocked onto her toes at the back of the throng, craning her neck. “We should’ve gotten a spot earlier,” she said, her voice just loud enough to carry over the hum of conversation and the crackling magic in the air. She hopped once, a glimpse of batons visible over the crowd at the peak of her jump. 

Finn, standing beside her, crossed his arms and gave her a sidelong glance. “You could try askin’ for help, you know.”

“What kind of help are we talking about?” Sylvia asked, wary.

Finn’s smirk was slow and deliberate. “The kind where I save the day and you don’t spend the whole parade starin’ at the back of someone’s hat.” He dropped to a crouch on one knee, patting his shoulder. “Up ya go.”

Sylvia folded her arms, eyeing him with exaggerated scrutiny. “And here I thought all that muscle was just for show,” she mused. 

Finn let out a sharp, amused huff. “Real funny. Now c’mon, I'm scuffin’ up my pants, here.”

She tapped a finger against her chin, sizing up the logistics. In her experience, climbing onto someone’s shoulders was more of a two-person effort, but Finn had one noteworthy structural advantage. Testing the soles of her boots against the street, she hesitated a moment, but the grin tugging at her lips refused to be ignored.

“Alright, big guy. Brace yourself.”

She stepped back a pace before he could question it and, with a short running start, she planted a foot lightly against the curve of his tail and pushed off. The momentum from using it as a springboard carried her upward, and she alighted neatly on his shoulders, hands catching in his hair as she adjusted her balance.

Finn let out a brief, surprised grunt, shifting slightly forward under her landing before stabilizing. His hands gripped her legs to steady her as he stood up. “That’s a new one.”

Sylvia shifted her weight to one side, then the other, pulling his hair free from under her until it settled into a voluminous floof in her lap. “We’re learning, Finn. Adapting.” She drummed her fingers against his scalp. “Using all available resources.” 

His laugh was a slight bounce beneath her. “Mhm. Think you just wanted an excuse to step on me.”

“That’s just a bonus. I do like the view from up here.”

Now that she was comfortable, she took in the full view of the parade, her fingers idly combing through Finn’s hair as she leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her folded hands. The festival stretched out before her in waves of fire and motion. A shoal of acrobatic children in vibrant uniforms wove between performers, a dose of speed potion turning them into streaks of glowing embers that zipped and tumbled through the parade route.

“Yeah, this is way better,” she said, her voice soft with wonder.

The next float approached: a massive dragon sculpted from shimmering cloth, its movements so fluid it seemed ready to take flight. Dancers twirled around it, their fiery torches mimicking the sweep of its tail or the snap of wings.

Sylvia craned forward, forearms sliding atop Finn’s head. “The detail on that one is wild.”

Finn raised his grip, counterbalancing her restless movements. “Not bad. But if you keep squirmin’ like that, we’re both goin’ down.”

She sat back quickly, laughing. “Just don’t trip, or I’m invoking the emergency tail-slide clause.”

“Good luck with that,” he said with a snort.

Sylvia twisted at the waist, eyeing the dorsal fin right behind her. “Hmm, maybe you're right.” Her voice lowered as she looked forward again. “Better not let me fall, then.”

The final procession was the grandest by far. A towering phoenix wreathed in golden flames seemed to breathe and shimmer with life. As it passed, it released a cascade of enchanted embers, each one drifting upward like a tiny, glowing thread unraveling into the night. Sylvia sighed, watching them rise toward the stars. “Alright, I’m sold. This is my new favorite float.”

“Figures. Loud, fiery, impossible to miss.” He jostled her for emphasis. “Sound familiar?”

She huffed a laugh, patting his head. “You’re hopeless.”

They lingered a moment longer as the embers faded, the festival’s energy calming into something quieter; warmth lingering rather than blazing.

Sylvia shifted slightly, her voice thoughtful. “I have to admit… this whole, cheesy thing was really nice.” She paused before continuing. “But let’s be honest. Anything’s tolerable with the right company.”

Finn reached up, fingers brushing her knee in a light, absentminded gesture. “Yeah,” he said simply. 

She glanced down at him. “I guess that means you’re my designated parade seat in perpetuity.”

“Long as you don’t get any ideas about rentin’ me out to customers.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” she said. “But this perk is all mine.”

Sylvia stretched her arms over her head, then let them drape lazily on top of her thighs. “Alright, I should probably get down before you start charging me for extended seating or something.”

Finn didn’t move to help her down. Instead, his grip on her legs adjusted, just enough to signal he wasn’t about to let her slip off. “Nah,” he said, starting to walk. “You can’t get into as much trouble up there.”

Sylvia jolted slightly as he took the first step. “Hey—hey! What are you doing?” She looped her arms around his forehead, laughter bubbling up despite herself. “You can’t just walk off with me!”

“Sure I can.” Finn sounded entirely too pleased with himself. “Who’s gonna stop me?”

“This is kidnapping,” Sylvia announced, but any real outrage was undercut by the way she laughed through the words, her shoulders shaking as she clung to Finn for balance. She kicked her heels lightly against his chest in exaggerated protest and threw her head back. “I am being abducted! Someone, save me!”

Finn didn’t slow, entirely unconcerned. “Uh-huh. Real convincing.”

A few passersby glanced up at her, but Sylvia’s bright grin and helpless giggles made it clear she wasn’t exactly in need of rescue. A couple of them chuckled before turning back to the festival.

“How ‘bout that?” Finn said, smirking. “Not a hero in sight comin’ to your aid. Guess you’re stuck with me, Minnow.”

Sylvia sighed, all exaggerated woe. “Truly, a tragic fate. Where’s Mint when I need her?” She draped herself dramatically over his head, blocking his view. “Alright, kidnapper. What’s my ransom? Where are you taking me?”

“Someplace with food.” Finn peered around her. “Real food, not death on a stick. All that wailin’ must’ve worked up an appetite.”

Sylvia gasped in mock offense. “Are you implying I’m high-maintenance?”

“I ain’t implying anything. I’m outright sayin’ it.”

She flicked his ear in retaliation. Finn only chuckled, his stride unwavering as he carried her toward a row of food stalls still glowing with lantern light. The scent of warm spices, caramelized sugar, and roasting nuts thickened the air, a final indulgence before the festival came to a close.

“So, whaddaya want?”

“I don’t know,” she said, resting her chin on his head as she looked up and down the street. She rolled her head to the side, cheek pressed into his hair. “I don’t need anything.”

“That’s not what I said. Try to focus up.” He gave her a light jounce, the levity in his tone outweighing the admonition. “What do you want?”

Sylvia laughed, warm and bright. “Well, you know I’m a sucker for a pastry.”

When he stopped at a stall selling sweet ember buns—golden treats filled and drizzled with spiced honey—he finally let her down, her boots hitting the cobblestones with a soft thud. Sylvia stretched her back dramatically. “Alright, I’ll accept this as restitution for absconding with me. But that doesn’t mean this is going to become a habit.”

Finn handed a few coins over to the vendor. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

The vendor chuckled, passing over two pastries wrapped in wax paper. Sylvia wasted no time digging into the flaky turnover. The honey glaze was still warm, melting against her tongue with hints of cinnamon and citrus. She hummed in delight, shoulders dropping, and tore off another bite. The festival’s glow softened as they walked, finishing their pastries, the last of the parade embers flickering out against the dark sky. The night had settled, shifting from the earlier boisterous laughter to quieter conversations, the subtle clatter of cleanup in the distance filling the spaces where music had once thrived.

She felt Finn’s gaze on her, steady and unspoken. It wasn’t expectant, wasn’t demanding. Just there, like a quiet current she could drift into without effort. When she finally met his eyes, his lips twitched into that grin of his—the one that always made her wonder whether she was about to laugh or roll her eyes, or both. Usually both.

“You’ve been smirking all night,” she muttered around a bite of pastry, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion.

Finn let the moment linger before looking ahead, his expression shifting into something softer. The usual mischief in his eyes was still there, but subdued, tempered by something quieter. “Been a good night,” he said, voice lower now, more reflective.

Sylvia paused mid-step, just for a fraction of a second, then nudged his elbow with hers, casual yet deliberate. “I’ll say.” Her smile was small but genuine. After a beat, she wryly added, “Thanks for letting me drag you along, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said with a dry chuckle. He glanced down at her, his voice taking on that familiar teasing edge, though the warmth beneath it was unmistakable. “Y’know, if you ask real nice, I might carry ya the rest of the way back to your shop.”

His grin was pure invitation; humor wrapped around a genuine offer.

Sylvia made a show of considering, tapping her chin as if weighing the decision carefully. “Tempting,” she said, stretching the word out, “but I think I’d better stay on my own two feet—or who knows where I’ll end up.” She shot him a sly smile.

Finn let out a sigh, shaking his head. “Turnin’ down a free ride? And here I thought you were a savvy businesswoman.”

“Oh, I am.” She flicked a crumb off her glove, then cast him a measured, sidelong glance. “I’m holding out for a ride with better fringe benefits.”

He clicked his tongue. “See, this is what’s wrong with customers these days. One free sample and now you’re holdin’ out for the deluxe package. What’s next? A warm towel and a cocktail?”

“Only if the cocktail comes with one of those little umbrellas.”

“Now you’re just gettin’ greedy,” Finn said, barking a laugh into his fist. “But I’ll make sure you get your money’s worth.”

His voice was still teasing, still light, but something about the way he said it, the way he looked at her, left a small warmth lingering in her chest. The bonfires of the festival had dimmed, but their glow remained, threading through the quiet between them.

Sylvia let the silence settle, comfortable and easy. Then, with a smirk, she bumped his arm lightly and picked up her pace, matching the longer stride he’d already slowed for her. "Just don’t expect a tip," she said over her shoulder.

Finn let out a low chuckle, stepping in close, his presence effortless at her side. “Oh, don’t worry, Minnow. I got other ways to make it worth my while.”

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head, but she didn’t pull away. The night stretched before them, the last traces of firelight flickering at their backs.

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Alright, kidnapper. What’s my ransom? Where are you taking me?”

Chapter Text

Rain lashed against the windows, a steady downpour drumming against the glass as Itsy Bitsy Kaiju stretched into another round. Sylvia rested her chin in her palm, eyes narrowed at her hand like she could force the cards to cooperate through sheer determination. The problem wasn’t her strategy—it was Finn’s. His latest deck had thrown her off her game, and the knowing glint in his eye only made it worse.

Across from her, Finn looked like he hadn’t known struggle a day in his life. Head tipped back, one hand tucked behind his neck while the other casually fanned through his cards. Watching her hit the same wall over and over.

"Need some coaching?" he drawled, the picture of unbothered ease.

Sylvia huffed, barely resisting the urge to flick a card at him. “I’d rather lose ten times than take pointers from you.”

Finn let out a low chuckle. “Well, you’re halfway there.” He tilted his head toward the score sheet, where his growing tally of wins practically mocked her. “And it doesn't look like this streak’s slowin’ down.”

Sylvia uncrossed her legs like movement alone might shake loose a solution. He was enjoying this; watching her get wound up, throwing herself at the problem harder rather than back down. 

“Tell ya what—limited-time offer.” Finn tapped the side of his nose, eyes glinting. “Trade secrets in exchange for smooches. Best deal on the market.”

Sylvia scoffed, even as a small, exasperated laugh escaped. “Finn, if I start letting you win and get rewarded for it, there’s no coming back from that. I’d be setting a dangerous precedent.”

His smirk curved into something easier, the cockiness losing some of its bite. “Hey, I’m just tryin’ to give ya a fighting chance here. Not my fault you don’t know when to fold.”

Finally lifting her gaze from her cards, Sylvia caught the laughter in his eyes. She pressed her lips together, fighting back a smile. “Is that right? And here I thought you liked watching me suffer.”

“Nah, I like watchin’ you kick and bite your way to the top,” he said, gaze flicking over her. “The suffering’s just a little extra spice.”

There was no real heat behind her indignant huff. He was baiting her, but this was an easier kind of play; one that let her lean into the game within the game. Her fingers drummed once against the table before she exhaled, conceding.

“Alright, mister,” she said, stepping over the coffee table and plopping down on the sofa next to him. A quick kiss, pressed to the corner of his mouth. “Let’s hear these trade secrets of yours.”

Finn’s smile grew teeth, clearly pleased with himself. He stretched his legs out under the table, his knee bumping against hers. "Step one: Don’t lose. Step two: Win. If you need me to slow down, just say the word."

“Revolutionary. I can't believe I never thought of that.” Sylvia leaned in, her breath ghosting over the shell of his ear. Finn went still, his amusement sharpening into something quieter, anticipating.

She pulled back with a smirk. “But I’m sure you can come up with something a little more compelling.”

Finn let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Minnow, you got a mean streak in ya.”

Sylvia tapped a card against the table. “I prefer to think of it as a proper incentive structure. Now, enlighten me.”

For the next several rounds, Finn delivered utterly useless advice with all the authority of a seasoned expert. “Next lesson: You gotta play good cards.”

She hummed, pretending to absorb the knowledge. “And would you say bad cards are… less good?”

Finn nodded gravely. “Way less good. Bad, even.”

She sighed dramatically and pressed her lips to his jaw. “Thank goodness I’ve got a pro to set me straight.”

Finn tilted his head, letting her linger a beat longer before he turned toward her, catching her mouth in an easy kiss before she could fully retreat. "Good thing,” he murmured, lips still curved against hers. “Now pay attention. This next one’s advanced, but I think you’re ready for it.” He pulled back, voice low and conspiratorial. "You wanna make the winning plays."

Sylvia placed a hand over her heart. “You mean all this time, I’ve been making losing plays? That explains so much.”

“Common mistake.” Finn gave a sympathetic shake of his head. “That’s where a lotta folks go wrong.”

"It’s so good of you to share all this knowledge with me," Sylvia deadpanned, scooting closer.

“It is, isn't it? I’m a regular saint over here.” He spread his arms in a grand, magnanimous gesture before settling one around her shoulders and pulling her in. 

For a while, they played on, their chatter filling the space between thunderclaps. The storm outside showed the barest signs of relenting, and the intensity of the game shifted. Sylvia barely noticed the space between them narrowing. Finn leaned in as he always did, slinging out his worthless guidance like pearls of wisdom. Sylvia knew the rhythm of his tells by now—the way his expression sharpened in thought, the flicker of mirth in his eye before he struck. His glances weren’t a giveaway so much as a warning, one she’d learned—just usually a second too late.

When the game wrapped up—predictably in Finn’s favor—Sylvia stretched her arms over the back of the couch with an exaggerated yawn. “I think your coaching style is flawed.”

Finn had already begun to shuffle his deck for another match. “Not givin’ up, are ya?”

“Strategic retreat.” She waved a hand dismissively, then stood, shaking out her wrists. “I'll beat this stupid deck you cooked up. I’m just in a rut or something.”

Finn smirked but didn’t push further. Sylvia exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face before glancing toward the window. The rain still poured outside, blurring the world into smudged streaks of lantern light. The air in the room felt stale, like she’d been sitting still too long.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“Outside?” Finn asked, as if there were any other kind of walk she might be suggesting.

Sylvia shrugged. “Where else?”

“Since when do you like gettin’ soaked?”

“Since you do, you dolt.”

His expression softened at that, a flicker of understanding in the way he looked at her. He reached out, hooking a finger in the belt at her waist, tugging her close enough that he could dip his head and ask, “You sure?”

She nodded. “Yep. I want to stretch my legs, rain and all.” Then, with a small, knowing smile, she added, “But if I catch a cold, you’d better be ready to make me the heartiest soup of my life.”

Finn hummed as he straightened, giving one last, light pluck at her belt before letting her go. “A fine kettle of fish this is—bein’ forced to cook for my girl.”

“I’m glad you understand your obligations,” Sylvia said with a solemnity undercut by her smile.

He chuckled, then jerked his chin toward the door. “C’mon then, Minnow. Let’s go get soaked.”

And together, they stepped out into the storm.

The deluge had settled into a steady rhythm, the kind of downpour that softened the world rather than battered it. Rafta’s streets shimmered beneath the rain, puddles rippling as the occasional traveler hurried by, huddled under cloaks or pressed beneath wide-brimmed hats. But Sylvia and Finn were in no rush.

They walked at an easy pace, passing through shallow puddles, the cool cascade sinking into Sylvia’s tunic. The air smelled of rain-soaked wood and petrichor, tinged with the lingering spices of street food vendors braving the weather. A few leftover festival decorations—ribbons caught above the streets—swayed with the weight of the rain, their vibrant glow muted yet still warm against the gray.

Sylvia exhaled, tilting her face upward. “You know, I think I get it.”

Finn, thumbs hooked in his pockets, cast her a sidelong look. “Get what?”

“It’s different from being caught in the rain by accident. Walking through it on purpose… it feels like being let in on some kind of secret.”

Finn gave a low chuckle, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow. “You’re really all in, huh? Not even an umbrella.”

Sylvia shot him a playful grin. “I might be tempted to deploy it if I brought it along. Can’t let a little rain get the better of me.”

They meandered past shuttered stalls and rain-slicked cobblestones, the usual bustle of Rafta subdued beneath the steady hush of falling droplets. Now and then, Sylvia kicked at puddles just to watch the water ripple outward and spread into the grooves of the street. 

Eventually, the rich scent of chocolate and spice curled through the air, leading them toward their usual café. The glow from its windows cut through the rain, golden and inviting, and Sylvia slowed ever so slightly. She could already picture the warmth inside; mug in hand, the scent of cinnamon thick in the air…

Finn caught the pause instantly. His smirk deepened. “What’s this?” he drawled. “You’re not surrenderin’ to the rain after all, are ya?”

Sylvia huffed a laugh but hesitated, eyes flicking between the enticing interior and the rain still running down her arms. 

Finn made a thoughtful sound. “Well,” he said, “I appreciate you takin’ one for the team. Goin’ in on my behalf, making sure I don’t gotta miss a second of all this rain.”

Narrowing her eyes, she searched his expression. He was giving her an out, all wrapped up and slick with charm. Her lips curled upward. “Yeah, alright,” she said, playing along. “You want the usual?”

“Sure, but don’t make me regret puttin’ my fate in your hands,” he said, earning a scoff in return.

Sylvia paused at the door, squeegeeing the majority of the rain off her skin with a swipe of her hand, wringing out and smoothing the damp fabric of her tunic before stepping inside. The bell jingled overhead as warmth enveloped her, and she exhaled a contented sigh. The café was quiet, save for the soft murmur of a few other patrons and the rhythmic pelting of rain against the windows. The air was thick with the scent of cinnamon, chocolate, and freshly brewed coffee.

Through the glass, Finn lingered outside, rain tumbling down his face, beads of water catching in his hair. He met her gaze, then lifted both hands in a theatrical shrug.

Sylvia mimed holding two invisible cups of hot chocolate, blowing over one with exaggerated satisfaction while dumping the other out. Finn responded by pressing a hand to his heart, feigning betrayal.

Biting back a laugh, she held up one finger.

Finn raised both hands, palms out. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he stepped away from the window and tilted his head back, letting the rain drench him further like some melodramatic stage actor.

Sylvia rolled her eyes, but her grin persisted. Turning to the barista, she ordered two hot chocolates with their respective bells and whistles.

While she waited, she glanced back to find Finn looking at her, this time tapping his watchless wrist.

Sylvia arched a brow and planted her fists on her hips, setting her foot to an impatient rhythm against the floor.

Finn responded with an exaggerated heave of his chest, tipping his head back like he was withering away from sheer neglect. Then he extended a hand toward the sky, beseeching the heavens for the strength to endure, before sinking into one of the patio chairs in a heap.

Sylvia bit her lip with a shake of her head. She lifted a single finger once more, requesting further patience.

Finn perked up immediately, straightening with a nod, then mimed zipping his lips, locking them, and tossing away the key.

As if he could ever actually keep quiet.

Once the drinks were ready, she stepped outside with both cups in hand. The rain had eased to a gentler drizzle now, misting through the cool air. She held out Finn’s drink, but he didn’t take it immediately.

“It’s like pullin’ teeth getting you back out here, huh?”

“Didn’t think I’d be getting drinks and a show. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

He accepted the cup, taking a slow sip.

“Aw, Minnow,” he said, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment. “You got my order wrong.”

“What? No I didn’t.” She frowned in confusion, lifting her own cup to her lips. Her face scrunched at the taste of overly-salted caramel on her tongue, and she immediately pulled the drink away, looking between the two cups. “Unless I got my own order wrong, too, I think we’re looking at a simple switcheroo.”

As she quickly swapped their drinks, Finn smiled. He took another sip, making an exaggerated show of satisfaction.

“That’s more like it,” he said. “For a second there, I was worried you might not know me as well as I thought.”

Sylvia scoffed, cradling her reclaimed cup between her palms. “Please. I could recite your order in my sleep. I know I've gotten it right when the barista looks at me like I've lost my mind.”

She took a sip from her own drink, warmth settling deep. The butterscotch was perfect, smooth and rich, the kind of flavor that stuck around. The rain had done its job, shaken the frustration loose, scrubbed her brain clean of every misstep and counterplay gone wrong. 

“I think I’ve had my fill of fresh air,” she said, stretching her shoulders as they walked. “Let’s head back.”

Finn shot her a knowing look over the rim of his cup. “Yeah? Finally tappin’ out?”

“Hardly.” She bumped him with her hip. “My strategy is clicking into place now. So, you know. Savor the high ground while it lasts.”

Finn exhaled a low chuckle. “Ain’t it funny,” he mused, running a thumb along his jaw, “how every time you lose, you come back convinced you got it all figured out?”

“It’s called growth.”

“Sounds like denial.”

Sylvia narrowed her eyes, taking another sip. “You’re going to be really embarrassed in about an hour.”

“Better enjoy that drink, Minnow.” Finn’s grin widened as he tipped his cup toward her in an easy toast. “Losing’s gonna leave a real bad aftertaste.”

The kitchen was made even cozier by contrast with the quiet rhythm of the drizzle outside. Finn crossed his arms as he leaned back, the damp fabric of his shirt clinging to his skin. The heat from inside hadn’t quite chased away the mild chill, but Sylvia, wrapped in the thick wool blanket that usually adorned the couch, looked perfectly content. Her boots sat abandoned by the door, and though her hair was still wet, her attention was entirely absorbed by the game.

She was winning. Handily.

Finn scanned the board, searching for a way out, but it was looking grim. His best bet was a change in tactics.

"Y’know," he mused, tipping his chair back just enough to make it creak, "I think I figured it out."

Sylvia didn't even glance up, flipping a card between her fingers. "Figured what out?"

"Why you’re winnin’."

That made her pause. She lifted her eyes, eyebrow quirked, a dry look in place. "This should be good. Let me guess, is it all that amazing coaching I got earlier?"

Finn gave a half-shrug, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Nah, but I’ll bet that doesn't hurt." He propped an elbow on the table, gesturing vaguely toward her. "See, it ain’t that you’re playin’ so great—"

She blinked, unimpressed.

"—it’s that I’m distracted," he finished, leaning back, letting his words hang in the air. "Kinda hard to focus when ya look that good, sittin’ there all warm and cozy."

A sharp, incredulous laugh. Sylvia tucked her hands into the thick folds of the blanket, giving the shapeless pile an exaggerated fluff. “Oh, absolutely. This look right here? Irresistible. The second I bundled up, I knew: ‘This is it. Finn’s got no chance.’”

His grin sharpened. “Minnow, you could be buried under a heap of rotten fish, and I’d still—”

“—still be floundering?” she cut in, flicking a card onto the table with just enough force to make it spin.

Finn snorted, letting the chair legs thud back to the floor. “Haven't lost yet.”

The scent of dampened wool clung to the air as Sylvia adjusted her grip on her hand. She squared her posture toward the board, her fingers shifting through cards with precision, still plotting out her next move.

Alright. New plan.

Finn dragged a hand through his hair, shaking loose a bit of lingering rain. He wasn’t looking at her when he did it, but he didn’t need to be. The moment his fingers raked through the unruly strands, her attention snagged—just for a second. An electric flicker, a glance. Then, just as quick, she fixed her gaze back on the table.

The chair let out another creak as Finn shifted his weight, stretching out with a measured, languid movement. Rolling his shoulders made his shirt cling tighter, suspenders pulling. A casual extension of his arms, the slow unfurl of muscle; every little act a drawn-out display.

Sylvia pressed her lips together, fighting a smile, shifting in her seat like she was forcing herself to stay on task.

"That isn’t going to work," she said, though her voice was less sure than the words themselves.

"What, is stretchin’ a crime now?" Finn asked, elbow propped on the table, chin resting in his palm. "I’m just minding my own business over here. Waitin’ for you to finish your turn."

She gave him a flat look, neither dismissive nor amused, just considering. Her fingers toyed with one of her remaining cards, but her eyes stayed on him. She wasn’t making a move yet.

Instead, she lifted an eyebrow. "If you’re just minding your business," she said, "then why’d you stop?"

Finn let out a low chuckle, the game momentarily forgotten under the weight of her attention. He let the moment breathe, savoring it just a beat longer than necessary, before finally tipping his head toward the board in an exaggerated cue.

"Go ahead and clinch it,” he said with a wolfish smile. “Maybe you can have more as your reward for winnin’ the game."

"No way." Sylvia let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "I’ve already got a documentary all picked out, and I’m not changing the stakes halfway through."

Finn sighed, sagging in his chair. "It’s gonna be another one of those sad ones, isn’t it?"

Sylvia’s expression turned suspiciously innocent. "What do you mean?"

"You know," Finn waved a hand dismissively, "twins separated at birth, meetin’ by accident, finding out they’re real similar. All that jazz."

Sylvia made a thoughtful noise, lips curving as she dragged out the pause. “No… This one’s about a dog.”

"Don’t seem to be a whole lotta happy dog documentaries, do there?"

Sylvia clicked her tongue, feigning deep consideration. "Well… It’s called Lost and Hound."

"Minnow."

"His owner gets lost at sea and he waits on the beach every day. Every day, Finn! Don’t look at me like that." Sylvia’s grin deepened, her eyes dancing with mischief. "If you didn’t want to watch it, you should have taken your own advice."

Finn refused to dignify that with a response. Sylvia adjusted her blanket and gave him a look of pure, smug delight.

“Step one was ‘don’t lose,’” she reminded him.

Finn huffed, but his focus snapped back to the board as she finally made her next move. He’d expected something solid, but her play was brutal—an absolutely merciless strike to his already hobbled defenses.

He let out a slow, suffering sigh, sinking in his chair with excessive weariness. "Man, I dunno. I think this might be it for me."

Sylvia didn’t look up from the game. "Uh-huh."

"I’m serious." He threw himself back in his chair, arms outstretched in surrender to an inescapable fate. A heavy sigh. A slow shudder of his shoulders. "Felt a chill just now. Real ominous. Like… the last breath of a fella with one foot in the grave."

"You don’t say."

Finn exhaled, low and rattling, before tapping his chest weakly. “If I don’t make it—” He coughed, voice going hoarse, eyes fluttering shut. “Tell Baptiste I always admired his terrible fashion sense.”

"Not happening," Sylvia said, barely stifling a snort. 

“And tell Quinn… First time we met, I was this close to throwin’ ‘em into the bay. But in a fond way.”

Sylvia blinked. "A fond way?"

"Yeah." Finn’s eyes slipped shut again. "You know. Affectionate attempted murder." 

He lurched forward suddenly, catching her wrist in a dramatic grasp.

“...What are you doing?”

“Reachin’ for warmth. It’s instinct.” He cracked one eye open. “Feels like it’s not workin’.”

Glancing at his outstretched arm, then back at him, Sylvia tried to appear unmoved. Her shoulders shook faintly with suppressed laughter as she pulled her wrist free and brushed his limp hand aside. “This is getting more desperate by the second.”

“Maybe you oughta put me out of my misery, then.”

She gave him a dry, unimpressed look, but the corners of her eyes crinkled with the start of a smile. “Well, Finn, I’d say I’ll miss you, but let’s be honest—you’d claw your way out of the grave just to rub it in.” 

Then she placed a final card, sealing her victory.

Finn exhaled through his nose, slow and even, before dragging himself upright in a miraculous return to health.

"Wild card energy," he muttered, more to himself than to her.

"That’s what you get for underestimating me." She patted his arm, but there was no mockery—just a warm, victorious sort of satisfaction. 

Finn huffed a laugh and finally met her gaze. "Nah. Never that. Just means I gotta step up my game next time."

“And if I win next time, too?"

He tapped a knuckle against the table, smirking. "Let’s not get ahead of ourselves."

Sylvia laughed, leaning back, and Finn watched her bask in victory for a moment longer before shaking his head with an affectionate kind of exasperation.

"Y’know, for someone so ruthless, you sure love a good sob story."

Sylvia rocked forward out of the chair, blanket clasped around her shoulders in one hand. "It builds character."

Finn groaned but didn’t argue as he followed her toward the couch. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t say I didn’t warn ya when I start bawlin’ first."

"I’ll grab the tissues if it comes to that." With great ceremony, Sylvia settled on the cushions, lifting one side of the blanket in invitation.

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Chapter Text

The bell above the shop door jingled, pulling Sylvia’s focus from the potion simmering in her cauldron. She glanced up with a customer service smile, but her brow arched when Finn trudged through her door. He came to a stop at the sales counter like a ship limping into port and slumped over to the accompaniment of a dramatic groan, arms folding beneath his head, fingers burying into his hair.

Sylvia set her ladle down, wiped her gloved hands on her apron, and leaned against the counter with levity. “Well, hello to you too,” she said, tilting her head to study him. “Should I get the world’s smallest violin mimic, or is this more of a tragic opera situation?”

Finn mumbled something incoherent, his words muffled by the crook of his arm.

She let out a short chuckle. “What was that?” she coaxed. “You’ll have to come up for air eventually.”

Normally, that would be enough to bait him into something—a smirk, a retort, maybe some exaggerated lament about his suffering. He only sighed, low and gravelly, and lifted his head just enough to meet her gaze with one dull eye. A deep crease lined his brow. 

“Client’s gettin’ a raw deal,” he muttered. “I told ‘em. Explained it six different ways. They don’t care. They just wanna move ahead.” He dropped his head again, impacting his arm with a meaty thud. “It’s like hammerin’ my head against a brick wall.”

Sylvia’s smile faded into something gentler. She rested an elbow on the counter, propping her chin on her hand. “You’re really bent out of shape about this, aren’t you?”

Finn let out a gruff noise of agreement, his claws raking through his hair again. “If my job’s to advocate, they’re supposed to listen. If they’re not gonna hear me out, why bother?”

She tugged one glove off and reached out to set her hand on his arm, the silence stretching for a beat as she searched for the right words. “That sounds frustrating,” she said finally, her voice subdued. “But even if they don’t listen right away, you’re really trying to help. That’s more than a lot of people would do. Especially if they’re getting paid either way.”

Finn turned his head just enough to fix her with a single, unamused eye. “Yeah, well, it stinks.” 

She brushed her thumb along the smooth course of his skin. “Took you enough tries to get me to take basic breaks. Maybe this client is just as stubborn as I am.”

Finn snorted, a faint huff of humor breaking through his sulk. “Yeah, but if I push ‘em like I pushed you, it’s less a negotiation and more like a hostage situation.”

That earned a laugh from Sylvia, short and light. She nudged his shoulder with her palm. “Well, as someone who survived your tactics, I can confirm the effort pays off eventually. But in the meantime, it sounds like you could use a reset.”

Finn rolled his head toward her. “Lookin’ that bad, huh?” His lips curled into a teasing smile, but the weight behind it made it feel like an effort. Sylvia’s response caught in her throat for half a second—just long enough for her playful momentum to fall off.

“How about I come over after work?” she offered. “We’ll get takeout, watch something dumb on TV, and do absolutely nothing. No brain, no effort. Just relaxing. Deal?”

Exhaling slowly, the tension in Finn’s shoulders visibly eased as he straightened a bit. He raised to rest his forearms on the counter and look at her properly. “Deal,” he said, his voice warm and low. “Sounds real good.”

Sylvia patted the counter. “Then it’s settled.”

Except even as she said it, the words sat oddly in her chest, like a coin dropped into the wrong slot. The shop demanded her time. Always had, always would. The bubbling cauldrons, the customers with urgent needs, the endless litany of tasks that kept the place running. But right now, none of it held her focus. Not when Finn was right in front of her, his usual verve dulled by fatigue. Finishing out the workday suddenly felt absurd.

“Actually, no,” she said, already moving around the counter before Finn could respond. His gaze snapped to her, brows pulling together in quiet confusion. He didn’t speak, but she felt the weight of his attention tracking her every step.

She reached the trapdoor and hauled it open. “Uncle Oswald!” she called down.

A muffled clatter echoed up before Oswald’s familiar voice responded. “What is it? Everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” she assured him. “I just need you to take over closing up tonight. Something important’s come up, and I have to head out.”

From behind her, she could hear the subtle scrape of fabric as Finn shifted his weight. “Minnow, you don’t gotta drop—”

Sylvia flapped a hand at him without turning, cutting him off before he could finish. He went silent, but his hesitation was palpable.

After a pause, Oswald’s voice came again, skeptical. “More important than the shop?”

Sylvia squared her shoulders. “Yep,” she said, her voice steady.

Oswald grumbled something unintelligible, but the gist of it seemed to be signaling his agreement. Sylvia thanked him and stepped back, letting the trapdoor fall shut with a soft thud. When she turned, Finn was still by the counter, jaw working like he had something to say but might be thinking better of it. His thumb rubbed back and forth over one of his rings.

“Let me just grab my bag, and we’re out of here,” she said as she moved toward the workbench.

Finn lifted a hand. “Hold up a sec. So you’re not workin’ tonight? Just like that? Thought you were glued to that cauldron.”

Sylvia slowed, glancing over her shoulder with a half-smile as she scooped up her satchel. “Well, I’ve been told that sometimes I just need to take a break. And I wasn’t going to be able to get anything done anyway, thinking about you all deflated like that.” Her words had started bright, but landed softly between them by the end.

Finn rolled his shoulders, forcing something like a smirk. “If I knew lookin’ pathetic’d get you outta work, I’d have tried this sooner.”

She shot him a dry look. “Please. Like I don’t know all your little schemes.”

He chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He lingered by the counter, fingers tapping absently against the wood.

“Finn.” Her voice was quieter now, the teasing edge ceding to something more certain. She adjusted her bag and nodded toward the door. “Let’s go. Vampire rules.”

His tail flicked once. Then he blew out a long breath and pushed off the counter. “Yeah, alright.” He followed her to the door, stepping ahead to pull it open.

“And since you’ve had such a day, I’ll even make the ultimate sacrifice and pick dinner.” Sylvia shot him a satisfied grin as she stepped past him. “No thinking allowed.”

Finn huffed a laugh and followed her out.

“I’m just saying,” Sylvia said, shifting her grip on the bags of takeout, “you could’ve moved closer to the marketplace when you were picking out an apartment. You’d save yourself a hike every time you want to grab groceries or, I don’t know, dinner.”

“And miss being a stone’s throw from the beach? Fat chance,” Finn shot back without missing a beat. “You could use the steps, anyway. Always flyin’ everywhere like your broom’s on fire.”

Sylvia opened her mouth to retort, but paused when she caught sight of the little pink jellyfish charm dangling from his keys as he unlocked the door. She smiled, her pace slowing as a wave of fondness bubbled up.

Catching her reaction, Finn looked back. “What’s up?”

“You kept that,” she said softly, stepping closer.

He followed her gaze, then shrugged like it was obvious. “Course I did. What didja think, I was gonna toss it when you weren’t looking?”

“No. It's just… cute.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now get in there before the food gets cold.”

“It would be warmer if you'd moved closer to the market.”

Finn pushed the door shut behind them, dropping his keys onto the counter with a metallic clatter. He started to shrug out of his suspenders, rolling his shoulders like the day’s weight might fall away with them.

Sylvia, setting the takeout bags down, tilted her head toward the couch. “Alright, go sit.”

Finn paused mid-motion. “What?”

“Go on,” she said, already unpacking containers onto the kitchen counter. “I’ve got this.”

His tail flicked once. “I can—”

“Yeah, I know your arms work. That’s not the point. Otherwise I would’ve let you carry some of these bags.” She looked pointedly at the sofa. “Arguing is thinking, and no thinking allowed. Now sit.”

Finn’s lips parted, ready for another protest, but then he caught the shift—subtle, but there. The way she drew back her shoulders, bracing like she was ready to dig in her heels. 

He exhaled, slow and even, before shaking his head with a huff of amusement. “Alright, alright,” he conceded, making his way to the couch.

As he settled, his gaze followed her. She moved through his apartment with the same quiet confidence she carried in her shop. Didn’t pause to take stock of where things were. The small, absent motions said plenty; how she draped her satchel over the back of a chair, how she peeled off her gloves and tucked them into her belt, how she nudged a drawer shut with her hip.

“Bossiest minnow I ever met,” he muttered.

Sylvia simply smiled to herself as she sorted through the food.

Finn leaned back into the plush cushions of his sofa, stretching out as best he could without jostling Sylvia. Flickering light from the TV danced across the room, illuminating the clutter of takeout containers sprawled across the coffee table. Most of the food was gone; a few stray noodles and half a spring roll remained.

Still holding her takeout box, Sylvia curled on the other end of the couch, legs tucked beneath her. She picked absently at the last scraps of her meal, chopsticks tapping idly against the carton.

“You know,” she said between bites, “for someone who’s always bugging me to take breaks, you seemed weirdly resistant when I decided to duck out early tonight.”

Finn didn’t look up right away, but he felt the weight of her gaze on him. A spark curled at the edge of his awareness—her attention, pressing close.

“I sure don’t mind you takin’ a break.” He prodded at the last scraps of his food, keeping his voice easy. “But you kinda dropped everything just because I needed a breather, and work piles up. Means you’re just makin’ tomorrow harder on yourself.”

“Oh, please.” A brief nudge of her foot against his knee, there and gone. “It’s not like I abandoned the shop to ruin. Oswald’s got it covered.”

Finn snorted, shooting her a lopsided grin. “Yeah, real encouraging. ‘Cause he did such a bang-up job the first time around.” Dry amusement laced his tone; mock gravity, nothing serious. He didn’t need to spell it out. Sylvia would catch the joke.

Sure enough, her head snapped toward him, brows pulling together in a brief flash of offense before she seemed to register the glint in his eye. “Shut up,” she shot back, clipped but unmistakably playful.

She lifted her chopsticks, pointing the utensils at him like she was about to make a Very Important Point. Finn gave her his undivided attention.

“You, of all people, should know better than to doubt my good influence. I’m a phenomenal teacher.”

Finn exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, but now I’m startin’ to wonder—are you actually a great teacher, or are you just good at finding diamonds in the rough?” He gestured to himself with a sweep of one hand, flashing her a smug grin.

Sylvia snorted, giving a fond roll of her eyes. “Oh, that’s what we’re going with?”

Arms spreading wide, all faux modesty, he leaned back. “What can I say? You got lucky.”

Sylvia hummed, tilting her head like she was actually considering it. Her fingers drummed absently against the side of her takeout box, a thoughtful little rhythm. “Or maybe I made you a gem. Ever think about that?”

Always a sharp one—quick-witted, relentless—her edges now had smoothed, ease settling where tension usually lingered. Her shoulder sank into the couch, hand resting loosely on her knee, no longer poised with the keen focus she wore when multitasking. 

It hit him, just for a second, how good it felt to be the reason she put her feet up.

“Only every day,” he murmured.

The words barely left his lips before he leaned in, drawn toward her like a lure in dark waters. His kiss was slow, certain, with nothing to prove. For a fraction of a second, she stilled. Not hesitation. Anticipation. Then she kissed him back with the same quiet assurance, her free hand resting lightly against his chest, the gentle pressure a comfort more than a hold.

When he pulled back, he snagged a piece of chicken from her takeout box.

Sylvia looked down at the scant meal in her hands in shock. Then, with measured control, she turned to glare at him. Her fingers flexed once around the chopsticks before she deliberately set them down. “Really?” she demanded, pushing down her laughter. “Was that a ploy all along?”

Finn grinned, entirely unapologetic. “Sharing is caring. Half the point of eatin’ with someone is getting to try more food.”

Crossing her arms, she bumped his elbow in the process. “And the other half?”

“The company,” he said, matter of fact. He popped the chicken into his mouth and chewed contentedly.

Sylvia made a show of huffing, setting her food aside before rummaging through her satchel. Her arm disappeared into its seemingly bottomless depths, rustling around for something. Her brows furrowed slightly, lips pursing in focus. Then, with a triumphant flourish, she pulled out a bottle of red wine.

“This,” she declared, holding it aloft, “will pair perfectly with trash TV.”

Finn chuckled as he pushed himself up from the couch, stretching before heading toward the kitchen. “Now you’re speakin’ my language. I’ll grab the glasses.”

Over his shoulder, he called back, “Do you always carry a bottle of wine around, or am I just special?”

By the time Finn returned with two glasses, she had her retort ready, twisting the bottle in her hands. “If you had a bottomless bag, you’d put things in it, too. You never know when wine will save the day.”

He handed her a glass, settling in beside her. “Do people usually need savin’ from a lack of booze?”

“Sometimes. Wine is the ultimate hosting gift: practical and classy.” She poured for both of them, raising her glass in great solemnity. “To turning off your brain.”

“To the trash you secretly love,” Finn said, clinking his glass against hers.

“Look, I’m just watching for your benefit.” Sylvia said, casual as anything.

“I only introduced you to the greatness.” He leaned back with a smug grin. “You’re the one who keeps comin’ back for more.”

Sylvia’s eyes flicked upward in exasperation, but she didn’t argue.

For a while, conversation faded. She got pulled into the show, and Finn let himself steal glances now and then, tracking minor shifts in her expression. The way her brows lifted at every twist. The tug of a half-smile at the sheer absurdity. Fingers tracing the rim of her glass, absent-minded but content.

Gone was the tightness that clung to her after a long day at the shop. Relaxed. Smiling. Just… here.

Finn rolled the stem of his glass between his fingers, debating whether to let the thought nagging at him spill. Eventually, he tapped his thumb against the glass and spoke.

“You don’t do this enough.”

Sylvia blinked, dragging her gaze away from the drama. “What, binge-watch bad TV?”

“Take time for yourself,” he clarified. His tone was light, but he meant it. “It’s nice of you to take time off for me and all, but you oughta do it for yourself.”

A small, genuine smile tugged at her lips as she tilted her head, considering him. Her fingers squeezed his forearm, light but deliberate. “This is time for myself, Finn. I like spending it with you.”

The words landed heavier than she probably meant, but the affection in them sat deep.

He chuckled softly, nudging her foot with his. “Good answer,” he teased, resting his chin atop her head. After a beat, his voice dropped lower. “But if ya like it so much, we should do more chill nights like this. ‘Cause this is the best part of my week right here.”

Sylvia glanced up at him, her expression briefly unguarded before an impish smile crept onto her face. “Even better than beating me at Itsy Bitsy Kaiju?”

Finn let out a low chuckle. “It’s a close call. But this still takes the cake, on account of bein’ rarer.”

Sylvia hummed, a quiet, sweet sound that turned into a sigh as she leaned into him. He felt her tense as the rest of his words registered. 

“I win plenty!”

Finn’s grin was slow and smug. “Hey, I’m just sayin’—makes it more valuable, right?”

“Unbelievable,” Sylvia huffed, then smacked his arm with the back of her hand. 

He chuckled, catching her wrist before she could land another, and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “Still got a laugh outta ya. I’ll take it.”

Sylvia relaxed into him again despite the roll of her eyes, her hand settling easy against his arm. A familiar weight—nothing he wasn’t used to—but the moment it landed, something in him pulled loose.

Her fingers traced a path from wrist to elbow, coarse then smooth, back and forth. The first pass sent a faint current through him, but it softened into something grounding. Not deliberate, not coaxing—just present. Her skin skated over his against the grain, catching briefly on the rough texture before gliding free. Pressure ebbed in the wake of her touch, until his shoulders dropped, the last of his tension unspooling.

A hum stirred low in his throat, something content. He shifted just enough to lean into it. Lean into her.

“Better?” she murmured, eyes still on the screen.

Finn exhaled, slow and measured, testing for tightness clinging at the edge of his muscles. Nothing.

“Yeah.”

A small squeeze to his forearm, nothing more, and she settled again like she hadn’t done a thing. But Finn breathed easier for it; the quiet pull of her touch, the way she’d bled the strain right out of him without saying a word.

The night stretched on, wine glasses emptying as the show grew more ridiculous episode after episode. Sylvia’s chatter started to ease up, her words few and far between until, eventually, she went silent. Finn glanced down to find her head resting against his shoulder, her breathing gentle and even, her body soft against his.

He didn’t move at first. 

Didn’t dare.

Then, he let his arm drift down, settling around her shoulders as he shifted just enough to provide her a less neck-breaking angle. Her hair tickled his chin, and her faint exhale blew over his chest.

Yeah. Highlight of his week. Hands down.

The low hum of the TV flickered in and out of Sylvia’s awareness, its muted glow casting shifting blues and grays across the room. She stirred as a dull ache in her neck pulled her from the depths of sleep.

Beneath her, heat. Firm, solid. A slow, rhythmic rise and fall.

Memory caught up in pieces. They’d been talking, watching something vacuous, and at some point, exhaustion had won out. Now, an hour or so later, she was still nestled against Finn, her cheek pressed to his chest. His arm had gone slack around her, fingers curled loosely at her side.

Sylvia shifted, trying not to wake him, but the movement sent a sharp tingle through her arm where it had been pinned between them. Her fingers prickled as circulation returned.

Finn’s breathing deepened, steady—until it hitched.

“Stop wigglin’,” he grumbled, voice low and rough with sleep.

“You were totally out,” she whispered back, aiming for indignant but giving herself away with a breathy laugh.

“Was,” he said, smirking against the words. “’Til you started squirmin’ like a hooked fish.”

She exhaled through her nose. “Hardly.”

She tried to sit up, but Finn adjusted enough to keep her close. “Hold on. If you’ve been usin’ me as a pillow, least you can do is gimme a few more minutes.”

With a put-upon sigh, she let herself relax again. “Good thing you’re comfortable.”

A lazy chuckle rumbled through him. “Admit it—you’ve got it made, Minnow. This is a premium service. Warmth, protection, and a complimentary neck cramp.”

Sylvia made a show of rolling her eyes. “You’re lucky I didn’t shove you onto the floor for snoring.”

He scoffed. “Me? Snore? You must’ve been dreamin’.”

“Oh, but you do,” she lied, tipping her head back. “It’s like a sawmill in here. Can't believe I didn't wake up sooner.”

Finn caught her wrist loosely as she started to pull away. “And you’re a real picture of grace, droolin’ all over my shirt.”

Sylvia froze. Her gaze darted to his chest.

“Relax. Just messin’ with you.” His fingers brushed over her knuckles before releasing. “You’re perfect—even if you make a lousy blanket.”

“Didn't hear you complaining,” she muttered.

A coziness swelled in the quiet between them. Sylvia rested her forehead against his collarbone, letting out a small, content breath.

“…Next time, maybe we don’t pass out on the couch,” she said.

Finn hummed, the sound half an exhale. “Not a bad idea.” He stretched, muscles rolling beneath her, then glanced toward the dim hallway. “C’mon, let’s get some real sleep before we wake up lookin’ like a couple of pretzels.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize the bed was for sleeping, too,” Sylvia said, her smile wry as she dug a meaningful elbow into his ribs.

Finn huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Minnow,” he said, voice rich with amusement, “if you wanna stay up makin’ bad decisions, let’s pick a day I haven’t already been through the wringer.”

The room dimmed as he flicked off the TV, moonlight softening the darkness. He loosened his stance, rolling his head from side to side before tilting it toward the hallway in a silent cue. Sylvia pushed herself upright, shaking off the slight shiver that accompanied the loss of his warmth before trailing after him.

In the bedroom, Finn wasted no time shedding his shirt. His slacks were gone in short order too, exchanged for dark silk pants. Sylvia, still heavy-limbed from the interrupted slumber, knelt to rummage through her bag, fingers brushing familiar fabric before pulling out a worn college shirt and a pair of shorts with a few small holes at the hem.

She yawned. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Nah. I run hot. No point gettin’ tangled up in extra layers.” He flicked his tail pointedly.

By the time she climbed into bed, Finn had already stretched out on his stomach, arms folded under his pillow, his tail resting lazily over the covers. Sylvia curled up on her side, and after a moment, she scooted back, pushing into him. He hummed low in his throat, rolling and slipping an arm around her in one fluid motion as he fit himself to her back. 

A lazy kiss pressed against her temple.

“Comfy?” he murmured into her hair.

A pleased murmur escaped her as sleep tugged her under.

His breath skimmed her neck, featherlight.

“Good.”

The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of the curtains and the steady sound of Finn’s breathing. Moonlight filtered through the glass in silvery streaks, casting long shadows across the walls. Sylvia blinked groggily, her throat dry. She turned slightly, only to find herself anchored in place by the weight of Finn’s arm draped over her waist.

She exhaled slowly, steadying herself as she carefully slid her hand under his wrist, lifting it just enough to slip free. His grip was relaxed but warm, a dependable furnace. As she eased away, his arm tightened briefly, a reflexive hold. Sylvia stilled, glancing up at his face. His features remained slack in sleep, the faint crease of concentration smoothing away as his grip loosened again, releasing her.

Her lips twitched in a subtle smile. Brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, she let her fingers graze his skin before slipping out of bed. Finn muttered something indistinct, burrowing further into the pillow, but didn’t rouse.

In the kitchen, Sylvia filled a glass at the sink and leaned against the counter, rolling the cool rim against her lips before taking a slow sip. The night stretched around her in stillness, broken only by the gentle droning of crickets outside, but the warmth of the bed still clung to her skin. Moments like this were rare—where time seemed to stretch, unhurried, weightless, the usual rush of responsibility held at bay. But when they did happen, more often than not, they happened here. She traced the condensation on her glass, following the lazy slide of water droplets before setting it down with a muted clink. Then, stretching her fingers once, she turned and stepped quietly back into the bedroom.

Finn had sprawled out in her absence, one arm stretched across the bed as though searching for something out of place. Sylvia lifted the blanket and slipped beneath it once more. She maneuvered carefully, sliding back under his arm with the caution of someone returning a stolen artifact to its pedestal.

As she resettled, Finn’s arm curled around her, effortless, automatic. His sigh ruffled her hair. She chuckled quietly, resting her head against his shoulder, and let herself relax into the comforting weight of him.

But sleep didn’t come. Affection settled low in her ribs, warm and steady, but curiosity tugged at its edges, subtle yet persistent. Not because anything had changed—but because nothing had.

Finn had always been like this. Quick to tease, quicker to catch her if she stumbled, always toeing the line between smug and sincere. And she didn’t want that to change. She only wanted to hear it, to give shape to what she already suspected. To know that this wasn’t just play, wasn’t just habit. That it meant as much to him as it did to her.

If she put words to it, would anything shift? Maybe. Probably not. But the idea of that certainty was enticing enough to keep her awake.

Sylvia trailed her fingers lightly over his skin, following the familiar ridge of his collarbone. The expansion of his chest was steady, grounding, a soft cadence that settled her idle fretting. Something constant. Something she could lean into.

Finn adjusted again, his hold tightening ever so slightly. He nuzzled closer, the movement easy, instinctive, and the sheer simplicity of it stilled her mind.

“Finn?” she whispered, testing the waters. No answer. Just the deep, even rhythm of sleep.

Her lips pressed together for a moment before she let out a breath, barely more than a whisper.

“I love you.”

The words hovered in the quiet, fragile and new, like something feeling out its place in the world. But saying them—just saying them—felt good. Right. They didn’t crumble under the weight of being spoken aloud. Even if the moment passed unnoticed, even if only the walls bore witness, she knew. 

Then, Finn mumbled something—a few syllables, low and blurred from sleep. The shape of them was familiar. Almost. But not quite definite.

Sylvia’s pulse quickened. His eyes remained closed, his breathing undisturbed, but there was the faintest curl at the corner of his lips. Maybe nothing. A half-formed thought slipping loose from a dream. Or maybe something just on the edge of wakefulness, too natural to second-guess.

His fingers brushed against her side, stirring up that gentle pressure beneath her ribs.

A small smile formed as she nestled closer, pressing her forehead to his shoulder. "I'll want to hear that when we're both awake," she murmured, her voice threaded with quiet humor.

Finn only hummed faintly in response, his face turning slightly into her hair.

This time, when Sylvia let her eyes shut, she felt impossibly settled. For all the bustle life threw her way, she had found an anchor. And in the morning, she would find out if she’d said it loud enough.

A drowsy comfort clung to Sylvia as she moved toward consciousness, caught between sleep and the gentle tug of morning. Finn shifted next to her, his breathing deep and steady, an arm thrown across her waist. 

Her eyes fluttered open, greeted by the quiet glow of dawn spilling through the window. The light stretched across the room in soft amber streaks, catching in Finn’s hair; an artful mess, and unfairly so. He lay sprawled beside her, face half-buried in the pillow, looking so at peace that she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips.

Shifting onto one elbow, she watched as his breathing changed, the steady rhythm deepening, threading toward wakefulness. A beat later, his eyelids cracked open, bleary and unfocused, the weight of slumber still stuck to him. Then, gradually, a grin—unhurried, lazy, utterly content—spread across his face.

“Mornin’, Minnow,” he muttered, rolling from his stomach to his side. His arm tightened around her, undoing her small movement and pulling her right back where she started.

She didn’t resist, sinking comfortably into the familiar shape of him. “Morning,” she murmured. “You sleep okay?”

“Like a rock.” He buried his face into her hair, his breath warm against her ear. “You?”

“Yeah.” The word was easy, natural, but the weight of the night before drifted back to her, and her pulse kicked up. “Pretty well. Woke up for a little bit.”

Finn hummed in acknowledgment, his hand drifting in leisurely circles along her back. The touch was light, soothing—but not idle. There was a quiet awareness to it, like he could feel the shift in her, the way her thoughts stirred beneath the surface.

Sylvia didn’t hesitate long. Instead, she pressed closer, her fingers curling into his side, catching on the texture of his skin. The morning was still, golden, wrapping her in a certainty that made truth feel inevitable.

“Finn,” she said softly.

“Mm?” He didn’t lift his head, but she felt the shift; his attention, drawn sharp in an instant.

She inhaled, then leaned in, the words easy now. “I love you.”

His fingers flexed at her back through soft fabric. Then, after a beat, he eased off just enough to meet her gaze. It was a recognition, a silent answer, already written in the way he looked at her.

“Yeah,” he said, expression splitting into a warm and crooked grin. “I heard you the first time.”

Sylvia exhaled sharply, heat flooding into her throat. “And?”

His brow quirked, that playful glint in his eye dancing at the edge of something deeper. “What, am I not bein’ obvious enough?”

She pressed her lips together for half a second before they curved again. “I like saying things,” she answered, tilting her chin up, then faltered, her voice getting smaller at the end. “Hearing things. Knowing things.”

The levity in his expression shifted just a fraction, just enough. His thumb followed the ridge of her spine as he leaned in, brushing his lips against her temple.

“Aw, hey, Minnow. Course I love you, too.”

Something in her chest went tight, too full, too much—but before she could process it, overthink it, pick it apart, Finn pulled her in, burying her against him like he could tether her there. His chin rested atop her head, and the simple fact of how he held her, so completely, made her stomach flip.

“There,” he said. “Loud and clear.”

Her taut ribs were already easing as she melted against him, tipped herself into something lighter. “Took you long enough." 

Finn huffed a low chuckle, squeezing a bit tighter. “Sheesh, let a guy enjoy the moment for a sec, huh? Been sittin' on that one a while.”

Whatever was left of her un-melted officially liquefied at that, held together only by bone and will.

“Well, you sure took the scenic route to saying it back," she teased, dispensing a gentle nudge into his side. "I was about to start mapping out my exit strategy over here.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.” She propped herself up, chin in hand, though still weighed down by his arm. “I’d swipe Mecha Mantis on my way out, for starters.”

Finn’s laugh was immediate, incredulous. “The hell you would.”

“You don’t deserve it,” she said breezily, the smile never leaving her face.

“That abomination’d stay in my custody. Can't have it fallin’ into the wrong hands.”

Before she could protest, Finn shifted, rolling them both in a swift, effortless motion. Sylvia let out a startled yelp, twisting to brace one palm against his shoulder. A small oof escaped her as they landed on the other side of the bed with her tucked beside him.

“You’re enough of a threat without turnin’ into a mantis-fueled monster,” he finished smugly.

Sylvia laughed, pretending to struggle against his hold for all of two seconds before giving up with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe you’d deprive me of my greatest weapon. That’s low, even for you.”

“Call it self-preservation,” he said, tone rich with humor.

“Coward.”

“Strategist,” he corrected, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. His grin softened, just slightly. “Good thing it didn’t come to that, huh?”

She hummed, the sound soft and content, as the steady rise and fall of Finn’s breathing pressed against her. “Good thing,” she agreed, her fingers resting idly against his chest. “Looks like you get to keep Mecha Mantis after all. As long as I can still use it, I guess that works for me.”

The rumble of Finn’s laugh vibrated beneath her palm. But he didn’t argue.

Sylvia shifted, stretching slightly before attempting to sit up—only to find herself held firm. She paused, tilting her head up at him. “Are you planning to let me go at some point today?”

Finn made a thoughtful noise, like he was actually considering it. “Nah,” he decided, his voice a lazy murmur. “Think I’ll keep ya.”

“But what if I get hungry?”

“Guess you’ll starve.”

Sylvia exhaled another exaggerated sigh, shaking her head like it was a real shame this was how she'd perish. Then, deliberately, she let her gaze drop to the arm slung around her shoulders, the one keeping her exactly where he wanted her. When she looked back up at him, mischief lit her expression.

Maintaining unflinching eye contact, she leaned in. Slowly. Teeth bared in a way that would have been threatening if not for the unmistakable glint of mirth behind it.

Finn’s grip shifted, quick as a reflex. Before she could sink her teeth into him—because she absolutely would—he caught her by the waist, pushing her to arm’s length with ease. “Alright,” he drawled, a grin tugging at his mouth despite himself. “Somethin’ tells me I better make breakfast before you take a chunk outta me.”

“Great idea,” Sylvia said, satisfied by the outcome of her failed attack. “I’ll help.”

Finn met her gaze head-on, one brow inching up, skepticism coloring his tone. “You say that, but all I’m hearin’ is ‘I’m gonna get in the way and swipe bites when you aren't lookin’.’”

“I am a known menace in the kitchen,” she conceded with a laugh. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, shaking his head as they finally rolled out of bed. The warmth of sleep still clung to them, but the promise of the shared task was enough to stir them into motion.

He reached for her hand as they stepped into the morning light, squeezing it briefly before letting go. “But the menace still gets fed.”

The game of Itsy Bitsy Kaiju was spread across Finn’s kitchen table, cards fanned out between them as Sylvia scrutinized her hand. Finn leaned back in his chair, one arm slung over the backrest, a slight smirk playing at his lips. The timer on the stove ticked down, a soft reminder of the breakfast still cooking.

“Is that really your best play right now, Minnow?” Finn asked, nodding toward the card she had just played. His voice was casual, but there was a glint in his eyes—one that said he already had his counterplay lined up. “Seems a little... rash.”

Sylvia narrowed her eyes, not buying his act for a second. “You’re just trying to psych me out.” She laid down another card with deliberate precision, pressing it flat against the table. “Kaiju Stampede, and your Titan Squid is toast.”

Finn clicked his tongue as he adjusted his hand. “Nothin’ gets past you.”

The timer buzzed, abrupt and sharp, making them both jolt. Finn shot her a quick grin, already pushing his chair back. “Hold that thought.”

“You sure you want to go flip pancakes right now?” she teased, shifting her weight forward against the table. “Feels like you’re just giving me a free advantage.”

“Oh, is that what you think? That I’m hamstringin’ myself so you can keep up?”

Sylvia exhaled a quiet laugh as he strode to the stove, rolling her shoulders as she studied the board. Finn’s absence should have given her a moment to strategize, but she found her gaze flicking toward him instead. He reached for the spatula without looking, tilted the pan just enough to check the batter before giving it a practiced toss. The movement was effortless, a rhythm ingrained by habit.

“No, I think you know better than that by now.” She drew another card from her hand and set it down with a decisive tap. “I’ve already got this one in the bag, anyway.”

“Seems that way.” The aroma of warm butter and crisping edges filled the air. “But hey, I’d never know if you sneak another turn while I’m over here.”

Sylvia clutched her chest in mock outrage. “Me? Cheat? Finn, I can’t believe you’d accuse me of such a thing.” A beat passed before her lips curled into a mischievous smile. “But now that you mention it, I do have the perfect opportunity.”

“Don’t test me, Minnow.” His tone held a warning, but she caught the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. “If I catch you cheating, I’m makin’ you eat the burnt one.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “You’d never burn a pancake.”

“I’ll do one up special for you,” Finn said, turning back to the stove. 

Shaking her head, Sylvia set her cards down and pushed away from the table. She wandered to the counter and grabbed a small knife and a bowl of berries, slicing them in half with even, grounding motions, the blade depressing the pad of her thumb. She didn’t need to—Finn had breakfast handled, and they both knew it—but she liked that there was something for her to do.

At the stove, Finn worked without hesitation, plating the last pancake like he could do this in his sleep. And he probably could. 

Sylvia reached for another berry, her fingers pausing for just a second before picking one out. She rolled it between her thumb and forefinger, then flicked a glance at him—casual, but not aimless.

“So…” she said lightly, tone threaded with curiosity. “Sitting on that for a while, huh?”

Finn didn’t respond immediately. He’d moved back to the stove, switching off the burner with a twist that was more habit than thought.

“Figured it’d sound better comin’ after yours,” he said, half-turned toward her now. “Somethin’ to do with the acoustics.”

She cocked her head, waiting, because there was more; she could hear it in his voice, in the space after the words, the way his breath caught and settled. She knew that cadence. 

His shoulders rose in a quiet shrug, like the words didn’t quite fit in his mouth. “This kinda thing... I dunno.” His lips tilted, dry. “Guess I just figured I wasn’t the kind of guy who got dealt a hand like this.”

A beat passed as his thumb worried at a ring, and then he looked at her directly.

Sylvia’s eyebrow ticked upward. “You know you can’t say stuff like that around a game of Kaiju and expect me not to notice.” But her voice was soft, and the gentle tease helped her absorb the weight.

To be so unflinchingly honest was rare—for anyone. And something about it cracked against her ribs, because he meant it. Because it wasn’t just honesty. It was history, and it hurt to hear.

“I’m not super good at this,” she said, carefully. Her hand hovered over the berries, as though she could divine something in their gloss. “I’ve got this incredibly helpful tendency to bury myself in work and forget about the existence of other people. And food," she added with a self-effacing chuckle. "But I'm really glad it played out like this. That we’re here."

For a moment, neither of them said anything. It didn’t feel like silence, exactly. Held breaths were more like sighs. She eventually popped a half-berry into her mouth and plucked up another between her fingers, glancing at him again.

Finn had already slackened his jaw, expectant.

The give-and-take of it was almost automatic. Maybe that was what settled so deep under her skin: the way everything fit. How they moved around each other without having to think, how easy it was, how right it felt. 

A part of her had known before she said it. Had inferred before she’d let the words slip in the dark. But now, that knowing had weight beneath it, something she could stand on.

She flicked the berry his way. He snapped it out of the air. Show-off.

No grand shift. No dramatic change. Just a truth that settled deep. Familiar as the warmth of the apartment, the weight of the knife, the quiet rhythm of a morning unfolding.

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Pressure ebbed in the wake of her touch, until his shoulders dropped, the last of his tension unspooling.

Chapter Text

The café hummed with its usual morning crowd, the scent of roasting drinks and warm pastries curling through the air. Sunlight slanted through the windows, catching the faint swirl of steam rising from Finn’s mug. He stirred his coffee absently, letting the familiar rhythm of the place settle around him.

Until he felt the shift.

A subtle current in the air cut through the hum of conversation. Barely there. But enough for him to notice. Then came the sigh, the weighty kind, followed by a barely whispered, “Oh, no.”

He finally looked over. Sylvia was staring at the pastry case like it had personally betrayed her.

“Dramatic pause. I like it.” He took a slow sip from his mug. “What’s the tragedy, Minnow?”

Expression grave, she turned to him. “They’re out of the puckberry brioche twists.”

Finn blinked. Frowned, glancing at the empty tray. "Hm, bummer. Pick somethin’ else out, then."

She didn’t move to inspect the other offerings. Instead, she gestured at the glass case like she was revealing the scene of a great disaster. “Finn. I was thinking about them all day yesterday. You know I have my order planned in advance. I emotionally committed to that pastry.”

He snorted. Disbelief powered the shake of his head. “This is a real hardship, huh?”

“Yes!” Sylvia threw up her hands, then folded them behind her back, rocking onto the balls of her feet. Her lips pressed together for half a second as her eyes flicked toward the ceiling, the door, then back to the empty tray, her mind moving faster than the conversation.

Finn went back to his coffee. Whatever came next, it wasn’t waiting on him.

“I mean, I could probably make one myself...” she mused. "Or pretty close, at least. I know how to do brioche, and the filling must be jam."

Still mostly focused on his drink, Finn only hummed. But the way she stretched out her words sent a prickle along the edge of his awareness.

Sylvia tapped her chin, voice turning thoughtful. “But if I’m going through the trouble, I should make a big batch, you know? Just so it’s worth it.”

He made a vaguely agreeable noise, as if pretending not to notice her gathering steam might stop whatever this was turning into.

“And if I’m making a whole batch...”

Her tone had taken on a new note now: casual, but edged with something deliberate. Then her eyes flicked up toward him, and there it was. That look.

Finn stilled mid-sip. Slowly, he lowered his cup and turned to her fully, meeting her far-too-sweet expression head on. She watched him, waiting, trying to drag a reaction out of him like a fisherman testing a line. He took his time and let the silence stretch, refusing the hook.

“Come on, Finn,” she said, pressing her palms to the table, leaning in just slightly. Her tone was breezy, effortless—too much so. A setup. But the look in her eyes was earnest. “Your kitchen is perfect. Lots of counter space. Room to move. No alchemical residue—”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Not happenin’.”

“Why not?” she prodded, tilting her head with that maddening certainty, like she thought she already knew how this would play out. Finn sighed, a thread of fond exasperation winding through his resistance.

“Because my kitchen is a system.” He gestured vaguely with his mug. “I got everything exactly where I want it. My knives are sharp, my spice rack is organized, and my workspace is—get this—mine. I don’t waltz into your shop and hijack a cauldron, do I?”

He saw the calculation behind her eyes and cut her off before she could pivot. “I don’t,” he added. “I get my potions from you, ‘cause ya like makin’ ‘em, and you do good work. Don’t I do good work for ya on the food front?”

Sylvia didn’t answer immediately. Instead, there was a beat of stillness—shifting gears, processing. Then, a flicker of understanding crossed her face, quick but undeniable. 

“Look, I know you enjoy cooking for me,” she said. Not a question, not a challenge. Simply a statement of fact. She set her gloved hand over his on the table, like she was offering him some kind of quiet acknowledgement. He didn’t need it. Finn didn’t miss much, and he definitely hadn’t missed the way she was laying the groundwork, softening him up before she struck. "And I like it, too. But I haven't baked in ages. I barely have space for a mixing bowl.” A pause; a sincere, nostalgic smile that turned sly after a few moments. “Which really makes this your fault for having a better kitchen, if you think about it.”  

Finn tipped his head back like he was questioning every decision that had led him here. But—damn it—she was having fun.

And betting against that was always a losing proposition.

Sylvia grinned, tilting her head as she watched him carefully. "So that’s a yes?"

“That’s a no,” he said, tapping one claw to the table for emphasis.

She huffed. Her shoulders drew back and she set her mug down with purpose. Finn braced.

“Alright,” she said. Confident. Dangerous. She had him in her sights now. “I know how to settle this.”

He raised an eyebrow before pointedly breaking eye contact. “You move on?” he suggested dryly.

“A bout of Itsy Bitsy Kaiju. One and done. Winner gets dominion over your kitchen for the rest of the day.”

Finn snorted, shook his head, but the game was already setting itself up in his mind. There were worse ways to spend a morning.

“You mean, I win, and it’s business as usual?”

Sylvia shrugged, all casual confidence. “Or I win, and your precious kitchen enjoys a nice little stint as my bakery.” She angled forward then, resting her chin in her hand, utterly smug. “Unless you’re worried I’ll beat you.”

He scoffed.

“Ain’t worried about that.”

Her smile sharpened. “Then play me for it.”

He took a long, slow sip, eyeing her over the rim of his mug. He could go ahead and snub her wheedling challenge. Maybe he should.

But where was the fun in that? Half the time, saying no was just an excuse to watch her dig her heels in—to feel that spark of defiance, the way she squared up like she’d forgotten he was supposed to be the bigger threat. She never backed down, and he didn’t expect her to drop the habit. Wouldn’t know what to do with himself if she did.

A slow grin curled at the edge of his lips. “You’re really set on humiliatin’ yourself first thing in the morning, huh? Alright, Minnow. Let’s get this over with.”

“Mhm. You always say that right before I hand you your tail.”

And just like that, the stakes were set.

The apartment was quiet, save for the shuffle of cards and the occasional drumming of fingers against the table. Sunlight slanted through the window, casting warm streaks across the board, dust motes swirling lazily in the air.

Finn studied the cards in his hand, then flicked a glance at Sylvia. She had settled lower into her seat, too at ease, radiating a kind of confidence that only came from someone convinced of their own inevitable triumph. That was mistake number one.

He played his first card, sharp and deliberate, tapping it against the table with a precise flick. Across from him, Sylvia breathed out through her nose, measured.

"Oh, I know this move," she mused, tipping her chair back slightly as she peered over her fanned cards to examine the board. "Solid strategy, strong execution… and just enough unnecessary flair to keep yourself entertained."

Finn’s grin was sharp and full of teeth. "Flair? Minnow, I’m practically an artist when it comes to this game. You’re lookin’ at a master."

Chin perched on her palm, she feigned deep thought. "A master, huh? What’s your magnum opus called? A Monument to Ego?"

"Funny you should ask." He flicked a card between his fingers before setting it face down with deliberate flourish. "I’m thinkin’ I’ll call it Victory in Three Turns, and you’re gonna help me finish it."

Sylvia bit down a smile, eyes bright. "Awfully arrogant of you to call your shot when you haven’t even seen my next play."

"That’s called swagger." Finn let out a low chuckle, rolling his shoulders. "You’d know the difference if you won more often. And in this case, winning means keepin’ you outta my kitchen."

Her eyes narrowed, and she tapped a finger against the table. "I’m not actually some kind of culinary gremlin, you know."

"I’m just sayin'." He spread his hands, all easy confidence. “You bein’ forced to sit back and let me cook uninterrupted? That’s a dream come true. No ‘helping,’ no hovering. Just sittin’ pretty while I work."

Sylvia rolled her eyes and dropped her elbows to the table. "Enjoy the fantasy while it lasts, Finn. Because in about five minutes, my victory means I get the run of the place. I’ll try to keep the damage minimal."

"Big talk," he said, his eyes gleaming. "Wanna back it up?"

“Gladly,” she countered, slapping down another card.

Finn rested his forearm on the table, surveying his hand with excruciating care. He tapped one card against his knuckles, hummed thoughtfully, then reorganized them into a new arrangement. Across from him, Sylvia drummed her fingers once, twice, then stilled. He took a slow sip of water.

“Finn.” Her tone was scathing.

He made a vague sound of acknowledgment, still staring at his hand like he was contemplating a rascally slip of prey. After another long pause, he reached for a card—then stopped, lips pressing into something just shy of a smirk.

Sylvia flopped against the chair back, eyes screwed shut. “Give me a break. You’re not thinking that hard.”

“Strategy’s a delicate thing,” he mused, flipping a card between his fingers, “And patience is a virtue, y’know.”

“You wouldn’t know a virtue if it bit you.” She slumped onto the table and inhaled deeply, slow and theatrical, like she was summoning every ounce of resolve left in her soul. Her eyes rolled toward him. “You’re dragging this out on purpose.”

Finn exhaled phony offense.

She huffed, squinting up at the ceiling out of the corner of her eyes as though dredging her memories. “Was it victory in three turns, or three hours? I can’t recall. Feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Now you’re just bein’ lippy.” He finally—finally—laid a card down with lazy precision. His eyes flicked up to hers, gesturing to the card with an open hand. 

Sylvia glanced at the board, then back at him, a mix of skepticism and near-disgust plastered on her face. “That’s it? That was your big decision?”

“Every move counts, Minnow.”

“Right.” She snatched up her next card. “Hope it was worth it, because you just ran out of time to stall.”

Finn’s grin sharpened. Sure, he’d dragged it out—just enough to rile her up. And, if the fire in her eyes was any indication, it had worked like a charm. She played like a disaster in progress. Madcap, disjointed moves. Tossing away high-value cards like she had no use for them. He tsked, watching her discard another. It was only a matter of time now.

"Careful there," he drawled. "You’re lookin’ a little sloppy. Not exactly the hallmark of a would-be baker."

"I’m playing what feels right.” She gave a one-shouldered shrug before continuing with a pointed look. “Who says I have to think it to death?"

Finn squinted at her with mock concern. "Pretty sure ‘reckless’ doesn’t win games. That’s a shark fact, by the way."

"Good thing I’m not a shark, then," she shot back.

He felt the flicker beneath his skin. Sylvia wasn’t just impatient. Anticipation pulsed off her now, subtle but unmistakable. She placed her next kaiju with infuriatingly steady hands. No hesitation. Certain. Smug.

A sliver of doubt wormed its way in. He cocked his head.

"Wait, hold on—"

Too late. The board turned in a blink, the senseless jumble of Sylvia’s cards snapping into something devastating, precise and pointed right at him. Finn had been so busy needling at her patience, razzing her for the mess, that he never saw the shape of it. She’d let him settle in, let him gloat, then flipped the whole damn game on him.

Sylvia propped her chin in her hand, smiling sweetly. "Checkmate. Or whatever the kaiju equivalent is. Giant stomp? Tail swipe?"

Collapsing in his chair, he exhaled a slow laugh as he raked a hand through his hair. "Gotta hand it to you. That one was extra impressive."

She laughed as well, but as her eyes trailed over the board, her confidence wavered. She pushed back from the table, chewing the inside of her cheek.  "Honestly? I wasn’t sure I’d pull it off. It felt like I couldn't get the draw I needed for a while there."

Finn dragged a knuckle along the edge of a card, considering her for a moment. "You got the instincts. Even when it looks like you’re losing, you’re just settin’ the stage for a big finish."

Sylvia snorted, amused but unconvinced. Still, a small, satisfied hum slipped out as she hopped to her feet with a sharp, decisive movement. 

"Alright, I’m off."

Finn blinked. "Off?"

"Mhm. I need ingredients. Have to make the most of my limited time with control of your counterspace." She grabbed her satchel off the chair back, slinging it over her shoulder. "Quicker if I fly. Shame you didn't consider relocating closer to the market," she added, tipping her head toward him in feigned sympathy.

He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. "Figures. Got one more win under your belt and next thing I know you’re zippin’ off without me."

Sylvia traipsed around to his side of the table, perching on the edge and nudging him with her knee. "You could come along anyway. You might even make it there by the time I get back." She smiled, her tongue poking between her teeth.

"Nah." He stretched lazily, making a show of settling in. "Think I’ll enjoy the peace while it lasts. Maybe do some storm proofing before Hurricane Sylvia hits."

She laughed, hinging forward to press a quick kiss to his lips. "Smart fella. See you soon."

With that, she strode toward the foyer, pulling her broom from her satchel. The door clicked shut behind her. The thrum of her presence still trailed faintly in the air.

Finn lingered in the quiet for a moment, then pushed up from his chair, rubbing at his ring. If she was serious about this venture of hers, he had a limited window to defend his territory. He muttered to himself as he made his way over to the kitchen.

"Better hide the good knives."

Sylvia nudged the door shut with her hip, slipping her hands into her satchel as she crossed into Finn’s apartment. The bag’s bottomless charm made hauling ingredients effortless, but the weight of expectation settled in their place.

She kicked off her boots, discarding the last of the market’s morning bustle with them, and strode into the kitchen like she belonged there. Today, she did.

Finn was hunched over the coffee table with a pensive expression, her Itsy Bitsy Kaiju deck spread out in a ribbon in front of him. A rueful chuckle escaped him.

“Gotta admit, Minnow,” he mused, “that was some damn fine maneuvering.”

Damn right it was. Pulling a fast one on him? Nearly impossible. He could read her like a map, track every shift in her focus. If she’d gone in trying to be subtle, he would’ve sniffed it out in a heartbeat. But he’d gotten a little too invested in his own game, spent just a little too long trying to rattle her. Annoyance had been the perfect camouflage.

She smirked to herself. Maybe she should thank him for the assist.

He glanced up just in time to catch her expression. His lazy grin sharpened, eyes flicking over her with quiet humor. Then, with exaggerated leisure, he turned against the couch, arms folding over the backrest. 

“Lemme guess. You got enough ingredients to feed the whole Heroes' Guild?”

“I’m making the most of the opportunity,” she said breezily, sliding her satchel onto the counter. One by one, she started pulling out her haul, lining everything up in neat rows. Flour, sugar, eggs, butter—lots of butter—yeast, more eggs, and, of course, puckberries, still gleaming with a deep, almost iridescent sheen. The familiar order of Finn’s kitchen shifted beneath the spread of her ingredients.

She barely spared him a glance as she started gathering mixing bowls, measuring spoons, and spatulas. But she could feel his stare, hear the slow breath he drew like he was steeling himself.

“You know,” he said, lips twitching into a half-grimace, “I thought I had a decent-sized workspace here. But I’m startin’ to think I underestimated the scale of this operation.”

Sylvia hummed as she reached for the flour. “That’s just good business, Finn. You expand when there’s an opening.”

“This ain’t an expansion.” He gestured broadly at the ingredients and utensils creeping into every available space. “This is a full-scale buyout.”

She clicked her tongue. “No money changed hands. Can’t be a buyout.” Dormant instincts awakening, she measured out flour into several bowls, creating wells in the center of each. “This is more of a takeover.”

Finn exhaled dramatically. “Whatever you wanna call it, it feels hostile.”

She poured the sugar and salt next, flashing him a bright, all-too-pleased smile. “Oh, it absolutely is.”

He lounged in boneless surrender over the back of the couch, but his grin persisted. A warmth settled under her ribs. This was the kind of prattle she could lose herself in. She loved playing this game.

“Although,” she added, noticing how everything he must have deemed unnecessary for baking had already been moved well out of her way, “for a guy who made such a big deal about my invasion, you sure rolled out the red carpet.”

“Figured if I didn’t, you’d just start pushin’ things onto the floor ‘til you had enough space.”

Sylvia turned back to her ingredients with a scoff. As she measured out yeast to whisk into the milk, bringing the scoop close to her face for inspection, Finn piped up again.

“This seems like a special kind of fussy. Even for you.”

She leveled a look at him. “Baking isn’t like cooking. You don’t get to just wing it and still end up with something edible. You have to be exact, or the whole thing falls apart.”

He hummed, entirely unbothered. “See, that’s why I stick to cooking. Ya get to improvise. Taste as you go. Have a little fun with it.”

A laugh bubbled up. “This from the guy who makes me wait an eternity strategizing his kaiju placements every turn? Who won’t leave the house without ironed pants?”

“Can’t go around lookin’ like I just crawled outta the ocean, can I? I don’t have potion bottles doin’ the branding work for me, Minnow. I am the product.” His thumbs hooked under his suspenders with a hint of pride. “Gotta make sure the packaging says ‘trustworthy entrepreneur’—even if what’s inside’s mostly trouble.”

Her grin widened. “Right, because nothing says ‘trustworthy’ like the permanently undone bowtie aesthetic.” She nodded toward his collar, where the offending accessory hung askew like it had been thrown there in passing.

Finn snorted, his shoulders quaking in a quiet laugh. With a theatrical huff, he reached up and yanked the tie free, lobbing it onto the counter. Then he slid over the back of the couch in a fluid push and struck a pose: arms spread, inviting judgment. “There. Better?”

Sylvia cradled her chin against her thumb, knuckles pressed to her lips. Her gaze dragged up and down in exaggerated scrutiny before she sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Oh, Finn. No. Absolutely not. Whatever illusion of sophistication you had? Gone. Sorry to say.” 

Tilting his head, he let a slow, toothy smile spread across his face. “You sure? Thought you’d appreciate the extra rough-around-the-edges vibe.” 

“Not when it throws off your whole thing,” she teased, stretching across the island to grab the discarded bowtie. Dusting a little extra flour onto it, she tossed it back. “Here. It’s part of the brand, remember?”

He caught the balled up fabric as it reached the peak of its arc, then snapped it with a pillowy crack that sent a puff of powder into the air. “Good to know my packaging gets this much thought,” he said, voice dropping into a playful rumble as he wound it back under his collar.

She laughed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to distract me and run down the clock on my kitchen time.”

“Who, me?” His grin took on a shrewd edge. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Baking’s all about precision, way I hear it. If you mess this part up, you’ll never live it down.”

Sylvia nodded, utterly serious. “Right, because when I picture ideal baking conditions, I’m definitely dreaming of a relentless peanut gallery.”

Finn chuckled but didn’t argue. Instead, he seated himself on the back of the couch, letting the industrious silence stretch as she sent warm milk, eggs, and softened butter into the mixing bowl next. Her hands moved methodically, working the ingredients together until a sticky dough began to form. She kneaded it with steady pressure, pressing the heels of her palms into it, folding it over, letting muscle memory take control as the dough became smooth and elastic beneath her hands, ready to rise.

Dusting her hands off, she settled a cloth over each bowl of dough. When she glanced at Finn, he was still propped against the couch, watching her like he was waiting for the next move. 

"The filling is some kind of jam,” she said, nodding toward the bowl of washed puckberries. “You know how to make jam?"

He dragged his forearm over a section of the island to brush away the flour and started flipping through a stack of dog-eared cookbooks he’d pulled down from a cupboard. "Let’s see what we’re dealin’ with first." He skimmed a few pages before pulling one open. "Hmm. Yeah, I think I can work with this."

Sylvia leaned against the counter, watching as his gaze flicked over a short ingredient list. "You think you can?"

Finn quirked a brow at her. "First off, you sure it’s jam?"

An uncertain frown. “It’s jam.”

“Or jelly. Or compote. Or preserves,” he listed, grin widening as her brows pulled together.

“Do I look like some sort of fruit sauce specialist?”

Finn didn’t answer the rhetorical question, only flipped back a few pages in the cookbook. "What’s the texture? How big are the fruit pieces?"

Sylvia blinked, her initial indignation fading as she stopped to think about it. Her fingers hovered over the puckberries as though channeling the recollection. She closed her eyes. The way the filling seeped into the brioche, explosions of tartness as a berry fell apart between her teeth and mellowed into something rich and deep... “Whole berries, but soft. Almost syrupy?”

He nodded, satisfied. "Compote, then."

"And you just know that?" 

"Food ain’t exactly optional. Seems weirder not to be into it, if ya ask me."

Sylvia made a considering yet mildly insulted noise, glancing from the cookbook to the berries. "Alright, fine. Compote, not jam. So what’s next?"

Finn ran a finger down the page. "Simple enough. Just boil it with sugar until it thickens up."

She stared. "That’s it?"

"There’s a squeeze of lemon juice and a dash of salt for flavor." He shrugged, flipping the cookbook closed with one hand. 

"Ohhh no. I know what you think a dash of salt is. Get that out of here."

Backing away toward the sink, he held up his hands. "Alright, alright. Your kitchen, your rules. I’ll just be over here, cleanin’ up the destruction in your wake."

She huffed, but the underlying laughter gave her away as she pulled a saucepan from the dizzying assortment in a lower cabinet. "I wasn’t that messy."

He gestured wordlessly to the flour-dusted countertop dotted with dribblings of milk.

"Fine," she muttered, dumping the berries out into the pan. “If you insist."

As Finn wiped down surfaces, Sylvia worked sugar and a splash of lemon juice into the whole berries, stirring as the mixture began to break down. She threw in a miniscule pinch of salt when he was looking the other way. The scent of puckberry filled the kitchen, bright and tart, mingling with the warmth of the dough still proofing all around her. She watched the berries soften, deepening in color, syrup forming between them as they gently fell into themselves under the slow heat.

Drying his hands, Finn leaned a hip against the counter next to the stove, watching the syrup darken. "Looks about done."

"Yeah," she murmured, more to herself than him. "This seems right." Once the pan was set aside to cool and thicken, she brushed her hands off with an unexpected rush of satisfaction.

“Alright,” she said, shifting gears. “We’ve got some time to kill before the next step. It’ll take at least two hours for the dough to rise, maybe three. So, what should we do for dinner later?”

“You askin’ me what’d be fun to cook, or what I trust you to cook?”

“Ouch.” Sylvia turned it into a two-syllable word, pressing a hand to her chest. A dusty white print remained behind to mark the wound. “I want to do something fun. None of that ‘you slice, I cook’ nonsense. I want real kitchen involvement.” She emphasized the words with three chops of her hand into her palm.

He rubbed his jaw, considering, taking his time like he was actually weighing the decision.

She crossed her arms with a playful tilt of her head. “Well, idea guy?”

“Got a good one.” His mouth formed a knowing crescent. “D’you wanna roll out fresh pasta?”

Sylvia’s hands clasped under her chin, eyes lighting up. “Will I get to dramatically drape noodles over my arm like I know what I’m doing?”

“You sure that’s hygienic?” he asked, nose wrinkling. “Ya got those little hairs all over. Most folks don’t like hair in their food.”

“Finn, I don’t shed. It’s just hair. Better than having little teeth for skin.”

“If you say so. I'm not thinkin’ of stringy noodles, anyway.” With a low chuckle, he pushed off the counter. “Let’s hit the market. If we’re doin’ it up right, we’d better get rolling.”

Sylvia grabbed her satchel, slinging it over her shoulder with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Ooh, sounds like something with a lot of steps. Very exciting prospect.”

Finn clucked, sounding terribly resigned. “Why do I get the feeling you’re gonna leave me with the dishes?”

The look she gave him was far too innocent. “Because you’re a very perceptive man.”

“If that’s the case, explain how I keep gettin' reeled in like this.” He locked up behind them as they stepped out into the midday sun.

“Easy.” She tossed her answer over her shoulder. “You don’t stop biting.”

Chapter Text

The air was crisp, carrying the scent of sea salt until it was overtaken by the warmth of fresh bread and spices wafting from the market stalls. The midday crowd buzzed around them, merchants calling out their wares locked in negotiation with shrewd shoppers.

Sylvia strode ahead with purpose, her sharp gaze scanning the stalls, already weighing strategies, hunting for the best angle of attack. Finn, hands tucked in his pockets, trailed just half a step behind, watching her with no small amount of entertainment. Seeing her haggling muscles flex before she even opened her mouth was its own kind of performance, and he had the best seat in the house.

She slowed near a produce stand, eyes flicking between glossy vegetables as she looked for defects. Then, just as quickly, she pivoted to squint at Finn over her shoulder, as if only now realizing she was missing a crucial piece of information.

“What do we need for our mysterious pasta meal?”

Finn hummed, pretending to consider. “Depends. Do you want a proper balance of flavors, or somethin’ so rich it lays you out flat?”

“I want to have to go pick up my socks across the room after the first bite,” she answered, fists planted on her hips.

A low chuckle. “Then we’re talkin’ a good hunk of aged sylphric cheese, a splash of geode citrus—y’know, to keep it from bein’ a straight-up knockout punch. Arcane truffle’d take it over the top, if you’re feeling ambitious.” Finn let the words hang, tilting his head just enough to watch her from the corner of his eye. “Not that I’d expect you to track one down. Those don’t exactly fall into just anyone’s lap." 

“Oh, Finn.” Sylvia reached out to pat his arm as if consoling him. “You really tried with that one, didn't you?” Her smile turned sharp, eyes gleaming. “It’s cute. Really. But an arcane truffle? That’s barely a speed bump.”

Finn let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he fell in step beside her. “Guess I’ll need some better bait next time.”

They moved through the market like they owned it. Finn played his role, letting his presence do its work. People naturally avoided his gaze, only to get steamrolled by Sylvia instead. She set the tempo, pushing fast and hard with no room for nonsense—a force so relentless that vendors found themselves turning to Finn for reprieve. Which, if they’d been thinking straight, should have been absurd. He loomed without trying, all sharp-eyed patience, while she barely hit his shoulder, and yet it was her barrage that sent hawkers scrambling for mercy. 

Some of them were clients of his. Folks who recognized him not as a threat, but as the guy who got them a fair shake, who had their backs in business dealings. Just… not against her. He’d nod along sympathetically, make a wry observation, just enough charm to let them think they still had a chance, something to pin their hopes to… right up until the inevitable sigh of surrender as goods changed hands. 

About halfway through their list, Sylvia’s gaze flicked skyward, locking onto a familiar, ramshackle shepherd’s crook hanging lazily in the sky above the market square. A slow grin spread across her face. “Alright,” she said, already shifting her stance like she was about to launch. “Truffle time.”

Before Finn could even comment, she had swung a leg over her broom and kicked off the cobblestones. He let out a slow breath, watching her zip up toward Quinn’s shop, shrinking to a smudge against the clouds. No hesitation, no second thoughts. Just going, going, going.

Well, no sense in standing around. Finn turned on his heel and made his way toward a spice vendor, the crowd shifting instinctively as he moved. People made way. Worked to his advantage. By the time Sylvia landed, he’d have another item or two squared away, ready to see what kind of extras Quinn had wrangled out of her this time.

A few minutes later, Sylvia touched down beside him, holding up an arcane truffle with an air of victory. Finn didn’t react right away, just flicked a glance between the truffle and her face. 

His eyes narrowed slightly. “That it?”

“What do you mean?” Sylvia’s response was just a beat too quick. “I got a truffle. That’s all there is to it.”

Finn exhaled, shaking his head with a knowing smirk. “Nah. If it was that simple, you’d be puffed up bigger’n a blowfish.” His gaze tracked how fast she tucked the truffle away, like she could hide the whole deal along with it. “So, what’d Quinn shake you down for?”

The pause was small, but there. Then she huffed. “Alright, fine, so I might owe them a favor now. But I got a hefty discount on the truffle. I think I came out ahead.”

Finn let out a low chuckle, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah? Doesn’t that kinda depend on the favor?”

She waved a dismissive hand, already steering the conversation away. “Just something about wanting rarer ingredients to taste. Same old, same old. Classic Quinn.”

“Uh-huh.” Finn wasn’t buying it, not completely. His mind ticked forward, filing it away—because his gut told him that when this came back to bite her, he’d be feeling teeth too. “Textbook execution, right?”

“Obviously,” Sylvia shot back, clapping her hands together like she was closing the book on the subject. “Alright, that’s the hard part done.”

“That was an intermission, Minnow. Now we get back to the real fun.”

Sylvia grinned. “You mean watching me run circles around these vendors?”

Finn was already steering them toward their next target. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”

After the press and noise of the market, the calm of Finn’s apartment wrapped around Sylvia, thick with the buttery scent of proofing brioche. The shift was immediate, almost jarring—like a punch to the nose, but a welcome one.

She didn’t bother setting down her satchel before striding straight to the counter, already peeling back cloth to check on the dough. Finn bumped the door closed, watching with an amused tilt of his head. “Home sweet home. So, is the reigning champ takin’ it from here?”

Sylvia smoothed the fabric back into place, tapping her chin in mock consideration. “Hmm. Well, since I’m feeling magnanimous today, I suppose you can help.” She shot him a smile. “But the second you slow me down? You’re out.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, feigned ruthlessness undercut by the laughter woven beneath every word.

"Nothin' like the looming threat of eviction to motivate a guy." He chuckled, stepping past her. But not before hooking a finger under the strap of her satchel and tugging it off her shoulder in one smooth motion. He slung it onto the kitchen island, already reaching inside as he set to work unloading their grocery haul.

Sylvia, satisfied with his pace, was content to let him take the lead on that task while she continued checking the other mixing bowls—until he pulled out the eggs. She was beside him in an instant, watching the carton like a hawk.

"Can I trust you with these?"

Finn sighed. "One time, Minnow. One. Time."

"Yet, somehow, the memory of scraping yolk off my kitchen floor still lives on. And this—" She shifted one foot in a half circle over the floorboards. "—is my kitchen floor today. Consider yourself lucky I'm trying to be careful with it."

Finn just shook his head, muttering something about his luck under his breath as he shelved the last of the dry goods. Sylvia paused, glancing toward the covered bowls dotting the counter. "Well, the dough still needs more time."

Finn leaned back against the counter, arms folding. "A bit early to be startin’ dinner prep, too. You mean to tell me you didn't plan this down to the minute?"

"This was a spontaneous acquisition," Sylvia pointed out. Paced the kitchen, rolled her shoulders, tapped her fingers against the counter, barely resisting the urge to peek under the cloth again. She grabbed a measuring cup, turned it over, set it down. Picked it back up. Put it down again with a little more force.

Finn, still leaning against the counter, let out a slow breath. “You’re hovering.”

Sylvia froze, fingers twitching toward a mixing bowl. “Am not.”

“Minnow, if you stare at that dough any harder, it’s gonna deflate outta fear.”

A frustrated groan slipped out of her. 

“If it’s killin’ ya that bad, we could—”

“Wait.” Sylvia cut him off, her gaze snapping to the coffee table like she’d just remembered something important. Her whole posture shifted, impatience redirecting into a sudden burst of clarity. “I know what we should do.”

Finn followed her line of sight, already suspicious.

"We could tweak my deck!" she suggested brightly.

He snorted. “Uh-huh. So you suddenly care about optimization? After sandbaggin’ me this morning?”

"Oh, is that what we’re calling it?” Sylvia grinned, elbows propped on the counter. “It can’t just have been winning?"

Finn rolled his eyes. "You built that deck to surprise me. Worked once. Won’t work twice."

"Exactly. So I should make sure it still works even when you know what's coming."

Finn sighed with an affected air of reluctance. "Alright, hotshot. Let’s see if you can make this deck hold up in an honest fight."

They settled next to each other on the sofa, the cards laid out between them as they both leaned in to sort through her deck. The crisp cards still had that slight resistance when scooped, pristine and protected from the easy familiarity that came with extended play. Sylvia stretched hugely, arms overhead, one leg brushing briefly against his before she settled back in. She fanned out an array of cards, flipping through them with quick deliberation while Finn picked through those she'd set aside, tapping the ones that stood out to him.

He picked up a card, flipping it between his fingers. "Y’know, when I don’t have to learn your crackpot strategy mid-match, I can see how much of a mess this really is."

Sylvia scoffed. "It’s flexible."

"It’s a muddle," he corrected, setting down a handful of the mismatched combo pieces that had disguised her final gambit. "How did I lose to this?"

Sylvia lazily stacked a few of her cards, letting the question hang.

Finn huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he started pulling out cards he clearly deemed redundant. Sylvia watched him closely, her expression neutral but her thoughts sharp. She had earned this post-game analysis where he took her deck apart piece by piece, knowing full well she wouldn't let him dictate anything. This was a dialogue.

"This doesn’t do anything for you in this decklist unless you’re already ahead," he noted, moving to set Eruption Cycle aside.

Sylvia pivoted on her elbow, craning her neck to follow it before reaching out and grabbing his wrist, halting his motion before he could banish the card to the discard pile. "I like that one."

Finn raised an eyebrow, twitching slightly beneath her grip. "Sure, but when do you actually use it?"

She considered, releasing her hold but not backing down. "It’s a pivot play. If I time it right, I can shift momentum without overcommitting. I just need a better sacrifice option in case I draw it early."

Finn tapped the card against the table’s edge, considering her logic. “Alright,” he admitted, the word coming slow, begrudging. “That might do it.”

Sylvia didn’t respond directly. Her brain had already leapt ahead, mouth moving before her hands caught up. “Wait, wait, wait—” She swept her deck aside, launching into a frantic search, flipping through binders and loose stacks with the sharp, single-minded focus of someone on the verge of a pivotal refinement.

“Where’s Hoarder Hatchling?” she muttered to herself, barely conscious of Finn sitting back to give her room.

Finn arched a brow as she practically tore through his collection. “Y’know, some folks’d call this ‘making a mess.’”

“I’m making a breakthrough.” Her fingers suddenly stilled, and then: snap. She pulled the card free with a triumphant flick, holding it up like she’d just unearthed buried treasure.

“There! That’s the missing piece. It draws two cards when it leaves the board. I can use Eruption Cycle on Hoarder Hatchling, get an expensive kaiju out quicker and keep my draw up”

Finn tilted his head, eyeing the card, then her. More teeth crowded his smile. “Oh, that’s nasty.”

“Especially if I use it to play Puppet Graveworm and return the Hatchling right back to the board.”

"See? You don’t need tricks, Minnow. You already know how to win." He continued sifting through the deck, shaking his head at some of her choices. "Which don’t explain why you’re runnin’ three copies of Primeval Puffer."

"Because when it works, it really works."

Finn gave her a skeptical look. "And when it doesn’t?"

She didn’t have a good answer—not one she could say with conviction. Her silent grimace and shrug were the only response she was able to muster.

His teeth gnashed. “You can’t just sit around waitin’ for me to slip up. You need something that forces my hand.” Finn slid a few cards toward her, tapping one with his finger. “Here. Quickfang Cub. Hits the board, starts applyin’ pressure immediately. Then you’re the one settin’ the pace.”

Sylvia wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. That’s so... linear.”

“It tightens your curve.”

“It’s dull.”

"If you're gettin' bored of winning, sure."

That got her. Sylvia scowled, snatching up the cards to inspect. “Fine. But if I hate it, I’m blaming you.”

They went back and forth, keeping the deck’s offensive play style intact while smoothing out its rough edges. Finn, arms folded behind his head, watched as Sylvia tweaked the final slots. She squared her deck against the table, lips quirking in satisfaction. “There. That should run a bit smoother now.”

Finn stretched out his legs under the coffee table. “You sure you don’t wanna try and squeeze in some other weird tech card to trip me up?”

She smirked. “Tempting, but no. I’d rather win on the merits of the deck next time.”

“That a confession that your win was cheap?”

Sylvia drew in a breath to argue, but paused with her mouth open. The scent of fermentation had grown richer, thicker. She could taste it. Her brows furrowed slightly as she took a second, more deliberate sniff.

Then, it hit her.

She was already halfway to the counter before Finn could blink. Checking the time, lifting a cloth, and beaming.

“Dough’s ready!”

Finn smirked, pushing himself up to follow her. “Whaddaya know. No hovering required.”

The dough had risen beautifully.

Sylvia pressed a finger into its soft surface, watching with satisfaction as the indentation slowly smoothed out. Perfect.

“Alright,” she announced, tying on an apron and rolling up her imaginary sleeves. “Time to show this dough who’s boss.”

Finn, still leaned against the counter with arms folded, arched an eyebrow. “This whole operation’s got you real puffed up, huh?”

She smirked. “Unlike the eggs you once dropped, my confidence remains unbroken.”

Finn made a low, suffering noise but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he pushed off the counter, watching as Sylvia pulled a large knife from the block. He waited exactly three seconds before clearing his throat.

“You maybe wanna use the bench scraper for that?”

She glanced up, blinking. “I’m just dividing the dough.”

“Mhm. And that’s a chef’s knife for a job that don’t need one.”

Sylvia studied the blade, then shrugged. “You and your specialty tools.”

"Sorry, you've got a potion lab and you're talkin' to me about specialty tools?" He gave her a dry look before reaching into a drawer and setting a sturdy metal scraper next to her. “Scraper’s what you want. Clean cuts, keeps the dough from draggin’.”

After a beat, she swapped the knife for the scraper. Finn’s smirk was insufferable.

“You don’t get points for that,” she muttered, pressing the flat blade into the dough with sharp, confident motions, portioning it into neat sections.

“Didn’t ask for points.” Finn leaned against the island, watching her work. “Just don’t wanna see you makin’ a crime scene outta innocent dough.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes before shifting her focus to rolling her dough into long, even sheets. The rolling pin pressed against the counter with a quiet rattle, flour whispering beneath it. The scent of butter and yeast deepened, the air thick with it. She pressed down with firm, even strokes, the dough stretching, elastic but yielding. Perfect texture. Perfect consistency.

Finn watched for a few moments, then nodded toward the pile of flattened sheets. "You want those trimmed up?"

Sylvia turned to reach for a knife, but before she could grab one, Finn was already pulling a paring knife from the block and spinning it between his fingers before offering it handle-first. 

She accepted it without argument, turning it over in her grip before setting the blade to the dough, her slicing quick and precise. Finn turned and grabbed a spoon, swirling the puckberry compote in its bowl. The syrup dripped from the utensil in slow, thick ribbons.

“Looks like it set up nice.”

“Of course it did,” Sylvia said, lifting her chin just enough to be insufferable. “Excellence is simply the natural result when I’m involved.”

Without hesitation, she dipped a finger into the glossy compote and brought it to her lips, tasting thoughtfully before nodding in satisfaction. “Yep. Perfect.”

Finn reached to do the same, but before he could, Sylvia batted his hand away.

“Excuse you,” she said primly. Then, after a beat, she held her finger out to him, still streaked with compote.

Finn blinked, then smirked, leaning in to take her up on it—only for Sylvia to pull her hand back and pop the rest into her own mouth instead.

He blew out an incredulous laugh. “Unbelievable.”

“I did all the work, didn’t I?” she said, all faux-innocence, tilting her head just enough to make it clear she was enjoying this. "Besides, you shouldn't have to suffer through anything but the finished product."

Finn let out a put-upon sigh, shaking his head. "Wow, what a privilege to witness such generosity in action. Really warms the heart."

Instead of answering, Sylvia simply grinned and returned to her work, trailing generous scoops of the glossy filling onto each strip of dough. The deep purple compote spread in gleaming streaks, pooling slightly toward the center.

She folded the strips over, sealing the filling inside, and pressed the edges together with precise fingers. Then, with careful movements, she twisted each filled strand, folding and crossing the lengths into tight, elegant spirals.

Finn whistled low. “Fancy work, Minnow.”

Sylvia shot him a smug look as she transferred each twist onto parchment-lined trays, setting them in neat rows with plenty of space to expand. “They have to look as good as they taste.”

“And you'd know all about that, wouldn't ya?" He swiped a finger through a stray dusting of flour on the counter. "Lookin’ like a masterpiece over here," he mused, eyes darting between her and the tray of twists.

She flicked a tiny scrap of dough in his direction. “Keep talking, see where it gets you.”

Finn chuckled, dodging easily, but he settled against the counter as Sylvia stepped back to assess her handiwork. The sheer number of twists stretched across the counter, tray after tray.

Hands on his hips, Finn shook his head. “You got an army to feed?”

Sylvia huffed, crossing her arms. “This is efficiency at its finest. One baking session, maximum goodwill.” She gestured broadly at the trays. “You act like I don’t have an entire network of people who'll be thrilled to take these off my hands.”

Finn surveyed the kitchen. “Sure, if you wanna start peddlin’ pastries full-time. This is gonna take more than a few rounds in the oven.”

Sylvia waved a hand dismissively. “Minor detail.”

“Well, lucky for you, I was smart enough not to pick a dinner that needs baking.”

Sylvia’s lips quirked. “Oh yeah?”

“Figured with you takin’ over my oven, we’d be safer keeping dinner on the stovetop.” Finn jerked his chin toward the fridge. “All fresh pasta needs is a big pot of boiling water, and we’ll be in business. So, we start these puppies baking, then we get to preppin’.”

“Look at you, planning ahead. Thought you liked to improvise,” she added with a jazzy wiggle of her fingers.

“Yeah, but you got a way about ya when you go ‘project mode.’ If I didn’t think ahead, we’d be chowin’ down on brioche for dinner.”

Sylvia bristled faintly, then sighed a concession. "Alright, fine, so I can get a little... focused when I'm in the thick of it."

"You got the worst case of tunnel vision I've ever seen." Finn’s smirk was pure satisfaction. "Someone’s gotta keep eyes on the prize while you’re locked in."

She scoffed, but bumped him lightly with her hip as she turned toward the trays. “First round’s going in.”

Finn opened the oven, the blast of heat curling into the air as Sylvia slid the first trays inside. The scent of butter and sugar was already thick in front of her face, promising something perfect and golden.

As she set the timer and stepped back, Finn clapped his hands together. “You ready to boss some more dough around?”

“You better believe it,” Sylvia said, tightening her apron strings like a warrior adjusting armor.

“Good.” He cracked his knuckles. “'Cause we got a dinner to make.”

Sylvia eyed the pile of aged sylphric cheese, its airy texture crumbling beneath Finn’s knife with clean, efficient slices. She sifted a fine dusting of flour over the counter, methodically prepping the workspace for the pasta. But mostly, she watched Finn.

“I’m surprised you haven’t tried flipping that thing like a dagger,” she mused, nodding toward the knife in his hand.

Finn smirked but didn’t look up from his work. “That's a great idea if you wanna lose some fingers.”

With the filling prepped, it was time to move on to the real challenge: shaping the pasta dough.

Finn laid out two portions and passed her a rolling pin. “Even thickness, or else.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Or else what?” she asked, expecting a playful threat.

“Or else you’ll be eatin’ pasta that’s overcooked in some spots and undercooked in others.”

Sylvia huffed at the matter-of-fact response but got to work, pressing the pin into the soft, elastic dough. It gave easily under her weight, stretching into something smooth—but Finn was hovering. Arms crossed, weight leaned against the counter, he surveyed her work with sharp-eyed scrutiny.

“Mmm. Little thin on the left.”

She shot him a glare, rolling pin poised threateningly. "Finn, if you backseat-roll this pasta, I will flatten you. This is the only part of the meal I don't need instruction for."

Finn made a noise in his throat that was far too skeptical. "Better safe than sorry, right?"

Sylvia narrowed her eyes. "I just rolled out dozens of brioche twists perfectly."

"Uh-huh. And now you’re coasting. Shame, really."

Before she could retaliate, he placed a hand over hers, guiding the rolling pin with practiced ease. His touch was firm, his movements steady, controlled, and for half a second, Sylvia followed the motion by instinct—until she blinked and swatted him off with the pin.

Finn chuckled and pressed a hand to his ribs like she'd gravely wounded him. "Guess you got a good handle on the rolling pin."

With the dough rolled out, it was time to spoon the filling onto the sheets. Sylvia worked quickly, aiming to get ahead of Finn—but a little too much enthusiasm led to generously portioned half-moons.

“You makin’ mezzaluna or trying to smuggle contraband?” Finn asked, examining one of her overstuffed pieces.

“They’ll be fine,” she said, proud of herself for sounding only slightly defensive.

Finn picked up the mezzaluna to inspect its precarious seams, the dough straining around the filling. “This one’s gonna become an open-faced sandwich the second it hits the water.”

She squinted at his perfectly uniform portions. “Blowhard.”

He made a show of sealing his next piece with careful precision.

“Tell you what,” Sylvia added, nudging his elbow just as he was finishing a fold, causing the pasta to wrinkle. “Let’s see who folds the best batch.”

Finn flicked an unimpressed glance her way, then smushed one of her half-moons under his thumb in retaliation, drawing an outraged cry from her.

"That was a perfectly good mezzaluna!" Sylvia protested, peeling open the ruined pasta and attempting—somewhat futilely—to scrape the filling back inside. "Look what you did to my cheese."

Finn edged closer, a lazy smirk in place. "You mean the cheese you stuffed in there like you were stockpilin’ for winter?"

She shot him a look, pinching the edges of the pasta together again with an exaggerated amount of force. "It was structurally sound before you got your mitts on it."

“Just say you're itchin’ to lose now and save yourself the embarrassment.”

“Oh, you wish.”

They worked in near silence, the only sounds the press of dough, the crimp of a seal, and the crackling energy between them. Sylvia started strong, but Finn’s consistency outpaced her in the end. She glared at the perfect symmetry of his row and, with one last act of defiance, aggressively crimp-sealed her final pasta just for emphasis.

The stovetop was a different challenge. Sylvia stirred with deliberate care, listening intently as Finn gave pointers from a safe distance.

“Simmer, not boil,” he said, watching the bubbling liquid. “It’s all about control.”

She frowned slightly, adjusting the heat. “Control, I can do. But cooking jargon? Feels like you’re making this up. ‘Deglaze’? ‘Temper’? What’s next, ‘whisper sweet nothings’ to the sauce?”

Finn laughed. “Not far off. You gotta coax it, Minnow. Cooking’s not just steps—it’s feelin’ it out.”

She muttered something under her breath but focused, brow furrowed in concentration. The sauce darkened slightly as she worked, and the scent of citrus, butter and herbs filled the air.

When it was done, Sylvia pulled the pan from the burner and surveyed the results. “Well, it didn’t catch fire. That’s a win.”

Finn grabbed a spoon and took a sip, lips smacking thoughtfully before breaking into a grin. “Tastes like a win, too. You did great.”

The mezzaluna hit the boiling water, and Sylvia folded her arms, watching intently. Finn leaned beside her, mirroring her stance.

“How do you not hover when you cook?” she asked, eyes locked on the bubbling pot.

“Skill. Patience.” He glanced at her. “A basic understanding of physics.”

She kicked his foot.

When the mezzaluna floated to the surface, Finn scooped one out, testing the texture between his fingers. He hummed in satisfaction. “Not bad, Minnow. Didn’t even burst open.”

“You doubted me?”

“Always.”

“You’re lucky I don’t take that personally,” she said, tilting her head. “Actually—no, I do take that personally.”

For plating, they worked together, spooning the velvety lemon butter sauce infused with arcane truffle over glistening half-moons. The sauce glowed faintly under the kitchen light, its fragrance rich and earthy beneath the bright citrus notes.

“Don’t drown ‘em,” Finn murmured as Sylvia tilted the spoon a little too generously over one of the pasta pieces.

“It’s called ‘artistic flourish,’” she shot back, smoothing the sauce with the back of the spoon. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Finn snorted. “I understand portion control.”

She dipped to the side and smeared the barest trace of sauce onto his wrist. “Oops.”

His mouth twitched, but he let it slide, adjusting a mezzaluna so it sat just right. “Alright. Let’s see our masterpiece.”

They stepped back, heads tilting in tandem as they studied the plates. The golden stuffed pasta gleamed under the light, sauce pooling just enough to coat without overwhelming the delicate folds.

Finn exhaled, low and content. "Looks good."

Sylvia nodded, a quiet satisfaction settling over her. "Yeah."

Neither of them moved to grab a fork right away. Instead, they just stood there for a moment, taking it in; the culmination of steady work, playful jabs, shared effort. Then, almost at the same time, they reached for their plates, bumping elbows in the process. They both laughed, finally digging in. And as Sylvia took her first, delicious bite—rich, tangy cheese melting into the sweet burst of citrus, tying into a decadent, truffled depth—she decided that the bigger win was sitting down to a meal she’d had a hand in. Not just making, but making fun. 

She chewed thoughtfully, savoring the balance of flavors, then suddenly froze mid-bite. "Oh, wait."

Finn looked up, fork halfway to his mouth. "What?"

Instead of answering, Sylvia ducked under the table, rummaging around while Finn watched, brow furrowing in confusion. "You lose somethin’ down there?"

A second later, she popped back up, triumphant, holding one of her socks. Without preamble, she lobbed it across the room, where it landed with a soft whisper against the wall and dropped to the floor.

Finn exhaled, lips twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or shake his head. "There’s easier ways to say it gets the seal of approval, Minnow."

Sylvia speared another mezzaluna and popped it into her mouth with a satisfied hum. By the time the plates were cleared, a gentle warmth settled over her. Not only from the meal, but from the quiet satisfaction of making something besides a potion from start to finish. 

She stretched her arms overhead with a sigh, then sat forward, resting her elbows on the table, chin on her twined fingers. "Alright," she declared. "Time for the grand finale."

Finn moved to follow as she stood, making her way to the counter where several racks of pastries waited, cooling. This was the part she’d looked forward to most. With a theatrical flourish, she lifted the damp cloth, revealing neat rows of golden, spiraled brioche twists, each one lacquered with puckberry compote shimmering under the light, seeping from the puffed ridges.

Finn let out a low whistle. "Not bad, Minnow."

"Not bad?" She picked one up, still warm to the touch, and tore it in half in slow demonstration, watching the soft, airy interior pull apart in delicate strands. "Not bad? This is a triumph."

Then she took a hearty bite.

The buttery dough melted on her tongue, rich and soft, brightened by the sweet-tart pop of puckberry. The divine taste made her exhale, slow and content. But also the memory of flour-dusted counters, of early mornings filled with the scent of rising dough. Of something that had once been second nature, nearly lost in the rush of everything else she had to be: potionmaker, entrepreneur, competitor. Today, though, she'd simply been someone who baked for the joy of it. And she had missed that.

Finn plucked a twist from the tray, studying its sheen before taking a bite. The moment it hit his tongue, his brows lifted. "Huh."

Sylvia swallowed, hands on her hips. "That better be a ‘wow, this is amazing’ kind of huh."

He smirked, leaning back against the counter. "I dunno, Minnow. I mean, it’s good. Real good. But… amazing? That’s a strong word. Might need another one to be sure."

Sylvia narrowed her eyes, but she was already grabbing a second twist, tearing it in half and pressing the larger piece into his hand. "You’re impossible."

Finn grinned, but he took the offering without argument.

As she took another bite, she sank against the counter, letting the moment settle in. The apartment smelled like warm dough and puckberries, rich and comforting, and for once, she wasn’t thinking about what came next. Just this—the quiet hum of satisfaction, the laughter woven into the evening.

After a beat, she swallowed and glanced at Finn. "Hey," she said, nudging his arm lightly. "Thanks. For letting me take over your kitchen today."

Finn scoffed. "You won it. Fair and mostly square. Ain’t like I had a choice."

"Sure you did." She tilted her head, giving him a knowing look. "You didn’t have to indulge my little wager at all."

Finn made a show of rolling his eyes, but she caught the faintest twitch of his mouth, the way he didn't argue.

"Just saying," she added before taking another bite. "I appreciate it."

Finn smirked, finishing off his brioche twist. “If ya feel that strongly about it, then I bet you’ll find a way to pay me back.”

Sylvia narrowed her eyes. “You are not charging me rent for kitchen use.”

“Never said rent.” He leaned in, elbows resting on the counter beside her, his voice smooth and lazy. “But I do accept payment in favors, favors, and—if the price is right—favors.”

She huffed a laugh and nudged his side with her elbow, a light, familiar press of warmth against his ribs. “Here’s your payment.” She grabbed another twist and stuffed it into his mouth. “Now shut up and eat.”

Finn chuckled, sending a confetti of crumbs into her face, but before she could retreat, he hooked a finger lightly into the crook of her elbow, holding her there for just a moment. Not trapping her—just keeping her close.

“Fair trade,” he said, muffled around the mouthful.

Sylvia rolled her eyes, but she didn’t move away.

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Finn played his role, letting his presence do its work. People naturally avoided his gaze, only to get steamrolled by Sylvia instead.

Chapter Text

Finn hadn’t expected quite this level of enthusiasm, though he really should have. 

The second they stepped past the iron gates of Rafta’s Botanic Gardens, Sylvia practically lit up, her excitement sparking against his senses before she even said a word. It was a familiar kind of buzz, similar to the current he felt when she flipped a sale in her favor or trounced him in Itsy Bitsy Kaiju— but this was different. Less sharp-edged, more open, more hers. The kind of joy she didn’t have to fight for.

Sylvia stretched her arms overhead, inhaling like she could drink in the entire place through sheer force of will.

“Do you smell that?” she asked, arms akimbo.

Finn made a show of sniffing. “Dirt?”

She brightened, undeterred. “No, you’re missing the layers. The fresh loam, the petrichor, the—oh! That’s definitely the scent of fairy flower.” Spinning around, searching, she clapped her gloved hands together when she spotted them.

Finn followed her gaze toward a cluster of white, bell-shaped buds bobbing gently under the filtered afternoon light. He squinted. “Yup. Sure looks like flowers.”

Sylvia turned to him, slow and deliberate, eyes narrowing in performative disappointment.

He liked that look on her. If he pushed just right, she’d get even more insistent. “C’mon, Minnow,” he said, elbowing her lightly as they started down one of many paths. “You’re tellin’ me you dragged me all the way out here just to sniff weeds?”

“No,” she answered, chin tilted in mock offense. “I dragged you all the way out here because you couldn’t hack it against my deck, and this is my prize.”

Finn snapped his fingers. “That's right. And here I thought I was just bein’ a real good boyfriend.”

Sylvia gave him a flat stare before nodding indulgently. “That too. Now, less talking, more walking. We have so much to see.”

And just like that, she was off, pace brisk as she led them along the winding cobblestones. Finn let her set the tempo, his hand brushing against hers now and then as he absorbed the space. The gardens were quieter than he expected. Most of the visitors at this hour were old folks or a few studious types hunched over notebooks, lost in their work. The calm aura was at odds with Sylvia’s animated gestures as she rattled off the characteristics and magimin content of every other plant they passed.

Finn glanced down at her. “Kinda expected this to be an all-day thing. You didn’t wanna make a proper date of it?”

Sylvia waved a dismissive hand, eyes still scanning for her next point of interest. “Weekends are way too crowded. I like actually seeing everything, not getting elbowed by some guy who wants to explain the symbolic meaning of the courtier orchid to his date.”

Finn snorted. “That a common problem?”

“You’d be surprised.” She turned around, walking backward a few steps. “Besides, if I can’t duck out for an hour or two in the afternoon, then what’s the point of business ownership? There has to be some upside to all that stress.”

The gardens unfolded before them in a curated sprawl of color and magic, each forked path leading into new bursts of greenery, climbing vines, and flora with impossible properties. High above, the towering glass dome let in golden afternoon light, dappling the walkways in shifting, leafy shadows.

Finn had never really bothered with nature, but even he had to admit this place was nothing to sneeze at.

The salt air still reached him, carried in on the faintest breeze from the bay, grounding him against the sheer magnitude of flora boxing them in. It helped, but he couldn’t shake the quiet, instinctive unease of being this deep inland, this far from the ocean’s pull. Too many layers of green between him and open water.

A massive fern unfurled its leaves in slow motion as though waking from sleep. The metallic sheen of a spiraling vine gave it the appearance of liquid steel. Magic was woven into every inch of the place, and Finn felt it: the faint hum of arcane energy fizzing at the edges of his awareness, thrumming beneath his skin. 

What caught his attention, though, was a wink of something off in Sylvia.

Not off, exactly. Just... different. Restless, maybe. A little too keyed up, even for her. She looked fine, though. Fully in her element, beaming as she crouched beside a patch of delirium shrooms, their inky blue caps glistening like oil slicks beneath her fingers.

“These have gotta be packed with C magimins,” she said, a gloved hand hovering over one of the mushrooms. “You can tell from the texture—”

“Yeah, yeah, and if they got that shimmer, they’re good for taste,” Finn cut in. “I actually make a mean potion, in case ya forgot.”

Sylvia straightened with dramatic poise, crossing her arms with an air of exaggerated skepticism. “I feel like I’d remember it if you’d actually brewed something worth writing home about.”

“C’mon, Minnow, you think I made it to round three on pure magnetism?"

“I mean…” She dragged out her response, lips curling in a phony grimace that didn’t quite hide the laugh forming behind it. "It's not out of the realm of possibility."

Finn clutched his chest like her back-handed compliment had gotten lodged between his ribs. “I can't believe it. I’m out here appreciatin’ your know-how, and this is the thanks I get.”

Sylvia cocked her head. “Aw, did I bruise your ego?”

“Depends,” he drawled, dipping down. “You gonna kiss it better?”

Finn barely had to turn his head before Sylvia rolled her eyes and leaned in, planting a quick kiss on his cheek without fanfare. As if he needed the excuse.

“There. All better?” she asked, already pulling him along again.

He rubbed his jaw, considering. “Callin’ it a generous three stars. Could use more flair.”

“Oh, I see how it is. I’ll remember that when it comes time to grade your performance, mister.” She nearly stumbled backward attempting to look down her nose at him. “Now hurry up. You’ll love this next part.”

Sylvia pressed in close to the glass, hands braced on her thighs, breath fogging slightly as she peered through. The dangerous flora exhibit was a mishmash—twisting vines with shifting colors, flowers that pulsed as if pumping blood, and spined fronds that curled like grasping fingers. In the center, a thick, thorny tendril coiled in the grasses of the enclosure floor, still and unassuming.

Her voice brimmed with wonder as she pointed out a cluster of bulbous pods, their lids flexing like they were prepared to snap shut at the slightest provocation. “Look at this one. Acid pitfall plant. They're weirdly efficient, right? Just let something fly into your mouth and don't let it out again before it gets digested.”

Everything in here rustled like it had a mind of its own, and Finn’s gaze darted trying to track it all. “Sure thing. Real efficient,” he said, finally glancing at the hanging plant she was examining.

She scoffed but didn’t look away from the pitchers, inclining her head as she tried to spot where the stems connected above. The lighting played tricks, casting shifting shadows over the web of foliage. Below, out of her line of sight, the tendril on the ground twitched. The motion was faint at first, then deliberate, curling upward in a slow, seeking coil, as if drawn to her heat signature.

Finn’s arm hooked around her waist, yanking her back on instinct just before the tendril struck the glass with a heavy thunk.

A whuff of breath escaped Sylvia, back hitting his chest. She glanced at the vine slinking back to the grass, then at him, expression warm with exasperation. “Finn. It’s an enclosure.”

He didn’t let go immediately, just bobbed his head toward the plant with a lazy smirk. “Yeah? Well, it don’t know that.”

Sylvia huffed but hadn’t pulled away yet. “Putting yourself on par with the witchbramble in terms of perception? Interesting comparison.”

“Mhm. Both know a good thing when we see it.” His fingers belatedly loosened their hold on the fabric of her tunic, but not before giving her a pointed once-over. “You good?”

“I was never not good.” She reared up an elbow in preparation for a playful jab, but before she could, Finn stepped back out of her range—

And his tail bumped against something broad and velvety.

There was a soft puff, and suddenly a fine mist of golden spores drifted around him, catching in the filtered light. It smelled faintly sweet, something floral but unfamiliar, and for a beat, nothing happened.

Then the high-pitched whirr of wings filled the air. Faeflies—quick, darting things that flickered like a trick of the light—mobbed him, pulsing abdomens flashing as though passing coded messages through the swarm. Their delicate legs barely skimmed Finn’s shirt before they latched on, wings scattering pollen in tiny bursts.

Sylvia screwed her lips shut just before clapping a hand over her mouth.

Finn narrowed his eyes.

She snorted once, then dissolved into helpless, wheezing laughter.

“Finn, they love you,” she said between bouts, hands on her knees, watching as more insects circled, assessing, descending as if they weren’t simply drawn to Finn, but had business with him. "Or the pollen you knocked loose. One of the two."

A faint tickle skittered up his neck. Finn’s nose scrunched as a faefly perched at the tip of his ear, settling in like it had claimed prime real estate.

The worst was the coordinated attack on his bowtie. A determined squadron of insects had locked onto it, gripping the fabric in their minuscule legs, straining their tiny wings like they were dead set on airlifting it away. Finn stared down at them, unimpressed. 

“These guys got ambition.”

Sylvia nearly collapsed against him, barely managing to stay upright through her laughing fit. “Oh, this is—this is the best thing that’s ever happened. What a look. Move over, Giant Anglerfish,” she said, swiping splayed fingers through the air overhead in a grand gesture. “There's a new constellation in town.”

Finn waved a hand through the air, but the faeflies took it as an invitation rather than a warning. They clung stubbornly to the buckles of his suspenders, his rolled-up sleeves, even his earrings, fully committed to their conquest.

“At least they don't bite,” she wheezed.

“That,” Finn said, plucking one from his collar and flicking it toward a leaf, “is a dangerously low bar.”

Sylvia wiped at her eyes. “I should— pfft, I'm sorry—Maybe I can help.”

Patient while utterly besieged, he merely arched a brow. “No, take your time. I’ll just stand here gettin’ sucked into the ecosystem.”

Making a diligent attempt to shoo them, Sylvia swiped at the air and tried to brush them off, but the insects would barely scatter before resettling elsewhere on him. “They're persistent little fellows,” she observed, panting lightly. “I bet they'll leave on their own once the spores disperse.”

“And when’s that?”

She flapped at another faefly on his sleeve. “Oh, who’s to say? A bit.”

Lips twitching despite himself, Finn sighed. “Fantastic.”

Sylvia was still smiling wide, still laughing under her breath, and it was infectious. Even as the bugs swarmed, the sight of her barely keeping it together got to him. He huffed when another faefly landed square on the tip of his nose. It clung on to his skin for dear life as laughter finally shook free from him. 

Settling in for the long haul, they kept walking. Well, Sylvia kept walking, the bounce in her step evidence that she was still thoroughly enjoying herself as she took in more flora. Finn, on the other hand, trailed half a step behind, the reluctant star of his own personal nature documentary, complete with an entourage of persistent, glittering pests.

The faeflies had mostly settled down, but a few still hovered in the air, flitting in and out of his space like they hadn’t quite decided if they'd gotten enough pollen off him yet. After the third failed attempt to steal his tie, Finn reached up and pulled it from around his neck entirely. Sylvia watched with an amused hum as he flicked the untied fabric, sending several insects tumbling through the air before tucking it into his pocket.

“You really mean business.”

“I just respect the concept of personal property,” Finn drawled, brushing a stray faefly away from his ear. “That, and I refuse to let a buncha glow bugs commit daylight robbery.”

Sylvia grinned. “Well, can you blame them? They’ve got great taste.”

Finn merely looked at her, expectant, allowing her to go on. 

She gestured at him with a little flourish. “I mean, look at you. You’ve got the effortlessly dashing thing down to an art.”

His smile twitched wider. “Effortless, huh?”

“Well, okay,” she admitted, eyes flicking over him, “there’s effort involved. But that’s what makes it impressive." She lifted her hands, fingers forming a frame in front of her face, one eye closed. "Just the right balance of sophisticated and informal.”

Finn chuckled, puffing his chest. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were flirtin’ with me.”

She hip checked him as they walked. “If you didn’t know better, I’d be insulted.”

“Oh, be still my itsy bitsy heart.”

They passed beneath an arch of flowering vines, the blooms changing color as sunlight moved through them. Sylvia reached out absently, brushing her gloved fingers against a cluster of petals that glittered at her touch. She thrived in environments like this, utterly absorbed in her surroundings, cataloging details in that quick, efficient mind of hers.

Finn didn’t interrupt. Just kept moseying beside her, his steps unhurried. He felt a faint tickle at his temple and reached up absently, expecting to swat another faefly away, only to realize it had gotten tangled in his hair. Sylvia stopped mid-step, looking on in fascination as the tiny creature struggled to free itself. It buzzed indignantly, wings vibrating with effort, before finally wriggling loose and zipping away in a huff Finn wouldn't have expected a bug could muster. Sylvia covered her mouth, barely containing her laughter.

Fingers combing through his hair to make sure it hadn’t left any friends behind, Finn muttered, “Great. Now I’m a flytrap.”

Sylvia reached up and patted his head, a bit of golden dust scattering in the air. “I think they’re growing on you.”

Finn didn't dignify that with a response.

The swarm was finally dispersing, drawn away by fresh flowers and new distractions, but a few still lingered obsessively. One particularly bold faefly made a sudden dive into his pocket, apparently in search of his now-hidden bowtie.

Finn knocked it away with a dismissive flick. “Yeah, no. You guys have had your kicks.”

As the final faeflies peeled away, the very last one—the most persistent bugger—zipped right in front of his face and flipped a quick little loop. A final flourish before it flew off.

Finn blinked at it. “…Was that a victory lap?”

“I think that was a goodbye,” Sylvia mused as she cocked her head.

“Yeah?" Finn scoffed, watching it zip away into the distance. "Good riddance.”

Soft as anything, Sylvia slipped her hand into his as though they’d always walked this way, and his fingers curled between hers without thinking. The gardens stretched ahead, golden light filtering through the canopy. The scent of salt still clung to the breeze, blending with loamy earth and crushed petals. He inhaled deep, slow. 

Not so bad out here. Maybe even decent. But that was more to do with the company.

Sylvia shot him a sly look. “You think those little guys will make it without you?”

Finn snorted. “I think they’ll muddle through.”

“Shame. You could’ve been their king.”

"Yeah. But all it takes is one clumsy tourist to stage a coup. Next thing you know, bam, I’m dethroned."

She hummed thoughtfully. “Brutal. But I hear power corrupts.”

"Exactly," Finn said, shaking his head. "I already walked a fine line. Don’t think I can handle another ounce of corruption. A man’s gotta have limits."

Finn crouched at the edge of the pond, elbows on his knees and hands hanging loose, watching the koi drag their lazy arcs beneath the surface. Flashes of white, gold, black and deep orange wove through shifting reflections, their motion graceful, absent. He tracked them without conscious effort. The rest of the garden barely registered—too still, too structured—but the pond had movement. That was enough.

Then Sylvia wandered up behind him. She didn’t say anything, just leaned in against him, draping herself easily along his back. The weight of her was warm, familiar, an absentminded presence that settled without demand. Her head tipped back loose over his shoulder, one arm looped across his tail as if it were the most natural thing in the world. A quick kiss landed at his temple, a spark jumping, before she let her head loll again.

“Aww, you like it here," she crooned, looking at him sidelong and upside down. "Admit it.”

He clicked his tongue, noncommittal. “I appreciate a good water feature.”

She hummed knowingly, but didn’t press further. Didn’t try to draw his focus. Just stayed, closing her eyes.

Finn wasn’t sure how long they sat like that.

The water lapped gently at the stone-lined shore. A koi surfaced, gulped at nothing, then slipped back under. Distantly, somewhere behind them, a pair of birds bickered in the canopy, their chatter bouncing between branches.

His tail flicked once. Then again. His shoulders rolled in a slow, subconscious stretch, and finally, he sighed. She hadn't come to the gardens to sit next to a puddle.

“Can’t be puttin’ down roots here, Minnow,” he muttered, voice slow with the realization that they hadn’t moved in a while. 

Sylvia, hummed lightly. “No, I suppose not.” Still, she didn’t shift away. Not first.

Finn ran a hand through his hair, then finally pushed to his feet, stretching out the stiffness in his legs. Sylvia slid forward off him as he stood, extending her arms skyward with a quiet groan before reaching down to touch her toes.

“Alright,” she grunted, like they’d both come to the same conclusion at the same time. “Still a whole section we haven’t seen.”

Finn huffed, tipping his head toward her as they fell into step. “Lead the way, Minnow.”

They wandered beneath rustling leaves, past sprawling shrubs, the air thick with the scent of warm earth and greenery. The path wound deeper into the garden, where the plant life grew denser, sunlight filtering in patches between broad, rustling leaves. Finn kept his thumbs hooked in his pockets, listening to the shift of wind through the branches, the faint hum of magic layered beneath it.

Then something moved.

It wasn’t obvious at first, just the smallest shift. A few leaves tilting in their direction as they passed beneath, branches angling closer. Finn slowed slightly on instinct, the movement pricking at the edges of his awareness. Not threatening, exactly. Just... responsive.

Sylvia noticed, too. She reached out, fingers brushing against the bark of one particularly broad tree, and the reaction was immediate. The branches above them shifted with intention and ease, stretching slightly, splaying, until the light softened, filtering through a rearranged canopy of leaves. Casually, she walked on, as though it were perfectly expected for a tree to actively provide more shade.

Finn, staring up at the settling branches, nearly bowled her over when Sylvia suddenly stopped short.

He didn’t even need to ask. That sharp shift in her pulse, a ripple of anticipation cutting through the easy afternoon; he’d clocked it earlier, written it off. But she hadn’t been restless. 

She’d been looking for something. 

Finn followed her gaze. A particularly striking vine curled along the trellis ahead, its silken tendrils flexing faintly despite the still air.

“That’s everbind tangle,” she murmured. “Amazing for stabilizing potions. Almost impossible to cultivate.”

And just like that, he knew. He didn’t know the how , the why, but he knew that look, the calculating gleam behind all that innocent wonder. 

Sure enough, without moving her gaze from the vines, Sylvia slowly reached into her satchel. She pulled out a tiny pair of pruning shears. Finn stared at her, brain full-on buffering at the sight.

“No. No way.” He exhaled, dragging both hands down his face, muttering. “You—you—are doin’ a crime.”

“Allegedly,” Sylvia said, her attention shifting to him for only a moment before returning to her prize.

“Not allegedly!” he whispered harshly. “You’re holdin’ the damn clippers!” He gestured wildly at her, half-expecting some cosmic force to intervene. “All the grief you’ve given me for exploiting legal loopholes, and now you’re out here, smilin’ like a cat burglar, fully prepared to steal a souped-up weed.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes. “It’s not stealing,” she lied. “This is just… redistributing botanical resources to a small business in need. It’s right up your alley, if you think about it. And it’ll grow back, anyway.”

Finn barked out a laugh, looking at her like she’d grown a second head. “You are the most by-the-book person I know. What the hell happened?”

“I owe Quinn,” she said, grimacing like carrying another debt was worse than whatever misdeed it took to clear it. “They gave me that arcane truffle for next to nothing, so it’s only fair I pay them back with something equally rare. And then I’ll be able to buy everbind from their shop once they find more. Win-win.”

Finn sighed. He should have known this was at the root of it. “Lemme get this straight. Because you wanted the most decadent pasta dinner, you are now actively committing theft—”

“A favor,” Sylvia corrected.

“—actively committing a favor in broad daylight?” Realization struck. “That’s why we’re here in the middle of a weekday afternoon, isn’t it? Less witnesses. You devious little thing,” he added, incredulous with an undertone of awe.

She was watching him expectantly, shears offered up to him like this was a completely normal thing for her to be doing. Sylvia, who had lectured him—at length—about business ethics, about integrity, about playing fair, was now standing here, cool as a sea cucumber, prepared to carry out botanical larceny. 

He wasn’t bothered by the crime itself. He’d bent worse rules for far flimsier reasons. But her? The only thing she could do with her sterling reputation was ruin it.

Sylvia arched a brow, still holding out the shears. “Are you going to help me or what?”

He could walk away. Let her fumble through it on her own. She’d already explained to herself why this was excusable. But… if she was busy tossing her morals overboard, someone had to steer the ship.

He took the shears and turned to the high vine while Sylvia kept lookout, peering casually out from under the fanning tree leaves. Carefully, he reached for an offshoot, trying not to damage the main stalk. The air around it hummed quietly, tingling against his fingertips. A tiny prickle ran up his arm; a thread of raw magic, coiled deep in the plant’s structure. This thing was definitely rare. Definitely potent.

Definitely not supposed to leave the garden.

Finn set his jaw, trying gingerly to work the vine free, but the tendrils had a death grip on the trellis. 

“This thing isn’t lettin’ go.”

Sylvia hovered beside him, glancing between him and the path leading under this tree. “Try wiggling it.”

“I am wiggling it.”

The vine remained stubbornly attached, twisted too tightly to just snip and pull. Finn muttered something unflattering and coarse below hearing.

He hardly had time to register the static shift in the air—the faint pulse of another body moving nearby—before Sylvia sucked in a gasp and caught him by the collar, pulling him down. A spike of nervous energy flared off her urgent movements. 

“Quick,” she whispered fiercely, “kiss me.”

Finn didn’t need to be told twice. His hand settled at the dip of her back, tucking the shears out of view against her tunic as his lips met hers without hesitation. The kiss landed easy, natural. And if he angled his head just right, if they carried on longer than necessary? Well, that was just good execution.

Then came a pointed cough.

Finn pulled back smooth, glancing toward the source and only just tamping down his smirk. A gardener stood a dozen paces away, arms crossed, a shovel-like knife in hand, crusted with dirt. The man’s brows pinched slightly, lips parting for the briefest moment before pressing into a firm, resigned line. It was the look of a man who’d absolutely had it up to here with stumbling upon lovers entwined behind foliage. 

Barely missing a beat, Finn flashed one of his more charming smiles—one that, sharp-toothed and bristling, always asked is it really worth it? whether or not the moment called for it.

“Sorry, pal,” he said smoothly. “Romance in bloom.” He glanced around the colorful environs. “You know how it is.”

Sylvia offered the gardener an apologetic wave, acting appropriately shamefaced. Her levelled pulse, however, indicated she was thoroughly unrepentant.

“Public garden. Public,” the gardener groused, turning on his heel and stalking off.

“Well, that was effective,” Sylvia murmured after a few moments, a little breathless, not stepping back yet. Her eyebrows drew down into a light scold, completely undermined by her persistent smile. “But if you could try not getting me banned from the Botanic Gardens, that would be great.”

Finn ran his tongue over his teeth, still buzzing. “Look, you say jump, I say how high. Ya gotta be more specific if you want it dialed back, Minnow.”

“Just get the cutting, would you?” she commanded, lips curling even as she gave him a light shove.

Finn sighed dramatically but went back to work, this time tearing the damn vine free with one decisive pull. No more caution, just a quick motion as he outmuscled the vine’s grip and clipped a cutting clean and easy.

“Four stars,” Sylvia said out of the blue.

“What?” he asked, befuddled, passing the shears and the snipped segment of vine down to her.

“The kiss,” she answered with an impish smile. The shears quickly returned to her satchel, and she pulled out a vial of water that was summarily uncorked. “Could have been four and half, but it was a little over the top.”

"You—" Finn made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan. "That was an emergency maneuver. Life or death. Ain’t exactly the time for artistic critique."

"I don’t know," she mused, carefully lowering the cutting into the vial. "Seemed like you found time for extra flourishes." The heel of her hand pressed a cork over the mouth of the vial decisively.

Looking up at the canopy like he might find some divine intervention there, Finn only chuckled. By the time he dropped his gaze again, Sylvia had already tucked the vial away in her bag. The goods were secure. No evidence, no crime.

Except for, well, the crime.

Finn shifted back a half-step, lifting one hand in a lazy, open-palmed gesture. “Hell, while you’re at it, wanna rob the gift shop on our way out? Really double down?”

As they strolled out the exit gates, Sylvia looked far too pleased with herself.

“Y’know,” Finn drawled, “if you don’t wanna get banned, maybe try not bein’ such a little criminal.”

Her answer came with a flash of teeth. “And yet, you’re the one who actually did the crime.”

“Conspiracy’s a crime too, Minnow.”

“Prove it.”

Before he could fire back, she veered slightly off course, making a direct beeline for a wooden collection box near the gates. A neatly painted sign above it read: DONATIONS APPRECIATED.

Finn stopped short, watching as Sylvia reached into her coin pouch, pulled out a hefty handful of gold, and dropped it into the box with deliberate weight. The clatter of metal hitting wood sounded, loud enough to turn a few heads on the other side of the street. Then she turned to Finn, arms crossed, smug as anything.

He stared at her. Then at the box. Then back at her.

“You can’t think that cancels it out.”

Sylvia tugged her gloves up without a trace of chagrin. “It absolutely cancels out.”

Finn let out a short, incredulous laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s not how laws work.”

“I didn’t used to have to worry about all that,” she sighed, deeply mournful. “I was an upstanding citizen. Then you came along, with your morally gray ways and your silver tongue, and now look at me.” She leaned dramatically against his arm, the back of her hand pressed to her forehead. “Corrupted beyond recognition.”

"And here I thought I was settin’ a great example," Finn said, throwing up his hands. "Turned over a new leaf, keepin’ my nose clean. Thought I was on the straight and narrow! But no, turns out you were just biding your time, waitin’ for the perfect moment to pin your grand descent into vice on me." He shook his head as though scandalized, holding back a chuckle. "Frame job of the century."

Sylvia gasped, eyes twinkling. “How dare you.”

“I dare just fine,” he said, already reaching into his pocket. With an exaggerated flick, he pulled out a fistful of gold and let it tumble into the box. The coins landed with a cascade of clinks, overtaking hers like a last word in an argument.

Sylvia squinted at him. “Oh, and that wasn’t guilt money, right?”

“Nah,” Finn said, sliding his hands back into his pockets. “Just feelin’ philanthropic. Can’t be out-donated by a blossoming criminal mastermind. That's a bad look.”

She beamed at him. He sighed, long-suffering, but he still let her take his hand as they strolled off, the warm afternoon stretching ahead of them. Sylvia, still self-satisfied. Finn, still confounded. And a tiny, stolen thrill between them, tucked away like the cutting in her bag.

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

"Yeah. But all it takes is one clumsy tourist to stage a coup. Next thing you know, bam, I’m dethroned."

Chapter Text

Finn dropped a box of booster packs onto the coffee table with a satisfying thunk. "Here’s the idea: Draft game. One pack at a time, we take turns pickin’. Build the best deck with what fate hands ya."

Sylvia’s fingers were already on the plastic before he’d finished speaking, pulling out the first pack and digging her nails into the foil teeth at one corner. “Fate’s about to hand me a win,” she declared as she tore a strip down the side with gusto.

The stack had that sharp, papery scent—like a book, but crisper. Less aged parchment, more press-cut edges. She flipped through the cards briskly until she spotted Quake Tyrant. “Oh, yes, please,” she crowed, plucking it free and setting it on the table in front of her. “Straight to the front lines with you, sir.”

She passed the rest of the cards with a flourish over to Finn, who browsed them at his unhurried pace. “Interesting pick,” he said, thumb skimming card edges with idle ease.

“It’s an earthquake wearing scales. Burrow one turn, obliterate ground units the next. Why wouldn’t I pick it?”

“Mm.” He withdrew Cracked Earth and turned it toward her like a twist of the knife. “Battlefield mod. Burrow gets delayed.”

She winced. “No—wait...”

“Maybe read the whole menu before orderin',” he drawled, taking it as the base of his pile.

“I was excited!”

“That’s how they getcha. But don’t worry. I’ll make sure this—” he tapped the card with one claw “—sees plenty of good use.”

Sylvia jabbed her shoulder into his with a half-glare, half-laugh. “I hate you.”

“Nah, you love me.” Finn leaned in until his words brushed her skin. His voice dropped into a low murmur. “But you’ve got trash foresight.”

Startled, she laughed in mild outrage before catching his bowtie and pulling him in to steal the kiss he should have closed on. Quick, firm, grin lingering against his mouth. “Jerk.”

They drafted in volleys, strategies sharpening with every pick. Sylvia leaned heavily into aggressive synergy; bruisers and big swings, direct damage whenever possible. But it didn’t take long to notice Finn was undercutting her, not by advancing his own combos, but by intercepting the connective tissue her deck needed to really land those punches.

“You’re counter-drafting me!” she accused when he nabbed Sky Scorcher, a perfect buffing option for the smaller kaiju she’d picked up to support her Tyrant. 

“Just takin’ what speaks to me,” he said, all wide-eyed innocence, like a piranha in a petting zoo. 

“Lies. Sabotage.”

“Minnow, if I was sabotaging you, you’d never see it comin’.”

"Oh yeah, because you're so subtle."

He passed her the latest stack and stretched back with a contented sigh, like he’d already won. Fingers twined behind his head, his whole posture so confident it begged for a challenge.

She could have gone for the obvious attack—digging fingers into his unguarded underbelly, a surefire way to make him jolt—but justice presented itself in a far cleaner form. He'd left his deck momentarily unattended, and Sylvia twitched with temptation. Faultline Vole, a kaiju that would have been a perfect synergy piece for Quake Tyrant if Finn hadn't snagged it first, sat in easy reach. Her rightful property, pilfered.

In one hasty motion, she snatched it from the top of his deck and tucked it into her pile with silent glee. By the time Finn sat up again, she was shuffling her cards casually, schooling her face into casual contemplation. Her maniacal laughter remained internal. She’d done it.

He didn’t look at her—not directly. “Heart rate’s spikin’.” The words were casual, but they felt like a net drawing tight around her.

"Stop that!” Sylvia threw both hands over her chest, as if that could shield her. “I’m just excited. Focused,” she amended, gesturing with the cards in hand. “You know, trying to build a deck that’s actually balanced for once? Despite your best efforts.”

“Of course,” Finn said, narrowing his eyes playfully. He studied her for a moment, but returned to his cards. Then his brow furrowed.

Sylvia resisted the urge to ask what was wrong, continuing to flip through the remaining options from this booster. The less she said, the less opportunity she created to give herself away.

“Where’s Faultline Vole?” he asked before spreading his pile.

Sylvia forced a slow blink, as if she’d never even heard those words before in her life. “Faultline what now?”

With devastating calm, he reached across and scattered her deck like spilled coins. “Sylvia.”

“What?” she asked, her voice too high-pitched to be convincing. Especially in the face of the evidence lying plain in front of her.

Finn pulled the Vole from her splayed pile with surgical precision. “Seriously?” His dubious scowl wavered, lips twisting with the effort of holding back laughter.

Sylvia made no such pretense. Bursting into giggles, she collapsed onto the couch holding her sides. “Okay, okay, you caught me. It was right there, and I had to try.”

“Can't believe I went so long thinkin’ you were an honest woman.” He clicked his tongue, faux disappointment lacing his tone. “Y’know, first the garden job, now this... If I didn’t know better, I’d say my little Minnow’s turned full klepto.”

“I wasn’t cheating,” she protested amid fractured, breathless laughs. “I was just testing you. Making sure you were paying attention!”

“Sure you were, sticky fingers. I got my eye on you.”

Toward the end of the draft, Sylvia’s hand paused over Chrysalis Burrow—an unassuming terrain card that, with the right timing, could transform a low-cost kaiju into a juggernaut. Finn made a thoughtful noise when she plucked it up with a triumphant hum.

“That thing’s dead weight until the right moment. But if you got the patience to pull it off…” He inhaled through his teeth. “That’s gonna sting.”

She beamed, smug and delighted, but rested her hand over his knee just long enough to soften the blow. “Then I guess you’ll just have to suffer.”

“Sleight of hand and killer timing? Gonna have to start sleepin’ with one eye open.”

Finn shuffled his cards methodically, his expression unreadable. Sylvia could feel the win creeping closer, and the thrill of it hummed through her fingers. He was playing it cool, like he always did, but she could tell he was out of options. He just wouldn’t admit it.

“I’ve had worse odds,” he said, absently spinning a card between his fingers.

Sylvia rolled her eyes. “No, you haven’t.”

She played her next turn, setting the final stages of her plan into motion. A careful, patient strategy. Not her favored brute-force approach. She had held back, biding her time, letting Chrysalis Burrow mature. And now, the payoff had arrived.

At first glance, Giant Grubworm was a nothing card. A curled-up, unassuming kaiju, its stats unimpressive, no standout ability. Finn had barely spared it a second glance when she played it, likely assuming it was just another stalling tactic; a mediocre play forced by the constraints of the draft. But beneath the surface, the Chrysalis had been gathering strength. Now, cracks split its cocoon, and the beast that emerged was nothing like the fragile little larva he’d ignored.

Burrowed, armored, lethal. It tunneled past Finn’s defenses, immune to counters, and positioned itself for the final strike.

"Alright," he muttered, rubbing his jaw. "Might be in trouble here."

The corner of Sylvia’s mouth lifted. "Might? Finn, I’m about to end you."

Finn leaned back, a picture of calm, though his fingers still hovered over his remaining hand of cards like maybe, somehow, salvation lay there. “You’re awfully smug for a gal who hasn’t finished the job.”

"Oh, but I have," she said, singsong, tapping the last card she needed to seal the deal. And then, right when Sylvia moved to lay it down—

pop.

The light over the kitchen table died, plunging the room into uneven shadows.

Sylvia paused. “Did… you sabotage the lighting to avoid defeat?”

Finn was already standing with the smile of a man pulled from the chopping block, sharp teeth flashing in the faint light from the window. “Minnow, I didn’t touch anything. The universe just couldn’t bear witness.” 

“Maybe you smuggled a faefly out of the garden,” she said, laughing. “They were all over you.”

He disappeared down the hall toward the supply closet. “Sure. I trained bugs to short the circuits. They’re a real disciplined bunch, and the pay’s dirt cheap.”

He returned with a box of bulbs and set it down. “Alright. Phase two.”

“Which is what, exactly? Stare at the ceiling and hope?”

“First, we gotta get the cover off.” Finn turned to appraise her. “Then the real fight starts.”

Sylvia waved him off. “It’s a light. How bad could it be?”

He shot her a look that indicated she would see soon enough before he stepped around the table. Placing one palm on the table’s edge, he reached up, balancing on his toes. Tail out for balance, spine curving as he stretched for the glass dome. Sylvia stood back and observed, appreciating the angle far more than the efficiency.

“Do you need a spotter?”

“I’m good,” he grunted, his fingers finding the grooves on the fixture. “Besides, we gotta do this careful. Wouldn’t wanna ruin your big play here.”

She blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the acknowledgment, before narrowing her eyes. “So you admit I’m on the cusp of victory.”

He twisted the cover free and handed her the glass with excessive delicacy. “I’m not blind.”

“No, just that stubborn, I guess. Now what? Ladder time?” She set the cover aside, brushing her hands off as it rolled in a slow spiral on the counter like a gong winding down. “I hate to break it to you, but I actually don't carry one around in my satchel.”

Finn crossed his arms, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Oh, I'll do ya one better.” 

He scooped her up without warning, crooking his hands beneath her ribs and hefting her effortlessly over the table. Angling her forward, holding her steady, Finn raised her carefully until she was level with the open fixture. His tail braced behind him, hooked under the sofa.

“Finn!” she exclaimed as she grabbed onto his wrists for balance, drawing her legs up to keep her socked feet from dragging the board. “I’m not a piece of furniture!”

He cocked an eyebrow, his sharp grin practically gleaming. “You sure? ’Cause you really tie the room together.”

That caught her off guard, the laughter spilling out of her before she could stop it. “Oh, wow. That’s a line and a half, big guy.”

"Just facts. Place gets weirdly quiet when you’re not stompin’ through it.”

“Aww. I’ll try to stomp a little louder, just for you.”

"Good luck with that while you’re airborne. Now make yourself useful—those dainty little mitts were made for precision work."

Sylvia rolled her eyes; she’d never been accused of having small hands. Focusing on unscrewing the bulb, she twisted her neck and squinted up to find the barest gap. “You weren't kidding. This thing’s built like some kind of finger trap. No way your meat hooks were fitting in here.”

“Careful, Minnow. These meat hooks might just drop ya.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she shot back, carefully removing the stubborn bulb and stuffing it into her pocket. “You’d miss my contribution to the décor.”

Sylvia twisted the fresh bulb into place. When the threads caught, she gave it an extra little turn for good measure. “Done. Moment of truth.”

Finn pulled her back and walked her over to the wall, nodding for her to flick the switch. The room flooded with a battlefield spotlight, the table and scattered cards suddenly sharp and vibrant once more.

“There. Crisis averted. Now put me down before you strain something.”

He set her down gently, hands lingering a moment at her waist. “Knew you’d come in handy someday.”

Sylvia huffed, adjusting her belt as she strode back toward the table. “Yeah, yeah, bask in my competence.” She dropped into her chair, fingers drumming against the wood. “But the game’s back on.”

His smirk twitched at the corner. “Y’know… we could call it a draw. Technical difficulties and all.”

Sylvia barked out a laugh. “Oh, absolutely not. You stalled. You denied. You literally cut the lights on me. But now?” She tapped her remaining card with a flourish. “You’re finished.”

Finn sighed, dramatically resigned, and sank into the chair across from her. “At least let me lose with dignity.”

“That part’s up to you, mister.”

With relish, she activated Chrysalis Burrow’s evolved ability. Her Grubworm lunged, delivering the finishing blow.

Sylvia leaned back, stretching her arms over her head. Finn exhaled through his nose, eyeing the board like it had personally wronged him. Then, slowly, his gaze drifted over to the coffee table, where the rest of the booster box sat untouched.

"We’ve got more packs, y’know.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You down for another draft?”

Sylvia glanced at the box, her competitive spark briefly reigniting before guttering out with a deep yawn. “Mmm… tempting, but it’s getting pretty late. Might be more fun in the morning.” She cracked one eye to peer at him.

Finn quirked a brow, the implication settling in. “Oh? Morning, huh?”

Sylvia shrugged, utterly casual as she fell into the chair back. “I mean, no sense in heading home now if I’m just going to come right back first thing tomorrow. You do have a very comfortable bed. And I’m sure you sleep better when I’m here.”

Finn snorted. “Oh yeah, it’s just miserable without ya, bein’ all warm and cozy without a little ice cube stuck to my stomach.”

“I mean, if my presence is that unbearable…” She stood, slung her bag over her shoulder and heaved a dramatic sigh, casting a pathetic glance through her lashes. “Guess I’ll make some noise on my way out. For ambiance.”

“Easy, Minnow. No need for ya to rush off.” He caught the strap of her satchel with one finger, tugging her back a step. “I’m gettin’ real used to the racket.”

Finn’s bathroom was absurdly oversized, big enough that Sylvia still felt like she’d wandered into a small ballroom every time she stepped inside. The tub in the corner could have comfortably housed a pod of dolphins or, more realistically, all of Finn’s ego.

“You really went for it, huh? Ocean view outside, artificial lagoon inside.”

“Ah need da roo’,” he said, words stretched out of shape by the demands of flossing razors. When she raised a curious brow at him in the mirror, he rolled his eyes and opted to pause the procedure. “I need the room. You think all this fits in one of those cramped setups you make do with?” His tail swayed behind him illustratively, carving a slow zigzag in the air.

Sylvia snorted, pulling her toothbrush from her satchel and stepping up to the other sink. “Sure, but that tub’s excessive, even for you. What’s next? A diving board? A water slide?”

“Now you’re thinkin’ like a visionary,” he said, floss still strung between his teeth. “The bathroom and kitchen were non-negotiables when I picked this joint. Gotta have space where it counts.”

“Within reason. But you can’t convince me this much room was entirely about necessity. I mean, dual sinks? What, one for each hand?” she asked before beginning, industriously, to brush her teeth.

Finn, already having resumed his thorough flossing, answered with only a lazy, knowing wink.

They worked in sync, each in front of a sink—though Sylvia’s elbow kept nudging into his space like a mischievous incursion. Finn, with the patience of a man who’d survived dozens of her stealth attacks, let it slide. The counter was covered with neatly arranged tubs, jars, and bottles. There was a small spit of land available next to Sylvia where she’d set her toothpaste and laid her gloves to air out, which Finn eyed like an acid spill. She caught his expression in the mirror and narrowed her eyes before spitting foam into the sink.

“You’ve got enough ointments here to open a spa,” she said, rinsing her brush. “Don’t give me that look.”

Her toothbrush landed with a hollow sound when she dropped it into his cup beside his, still dry. She stepped out to root around in her bag at the foot of the bed for a washcloth, and when she returned he was brushing like he faced an imminent dental exam proctored by wrathful sea gods. Sylvia propped herself against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely. 

“You know, I still can’t figure out if you’re a dentist’s dream or worst nightmare.”

Finn’s eyes flicked to hers in the mirror, humor glinting in their depths. His response was completely garbled, stifled by the toothbrush. Sylvia barked a laugh. Finn rolled his eyes and, without missing a beat, slipped his tailfin behind the door, nudging it closed with theatrical finality.

“Hey!” Sylvia cried as the door backed her out of the frame, her laughter shifting into mock outrage. She rapped lightly on the wood for show. “Rude!”

“Preventive measures,” he replied from the other side. “Don’t need an audience if I’m gonna be judged.”

Then came the jewelry dish concerto of Finn unloading his accessories like he was disarming a heavily jewelled bomb. Earrings, cufflinks, rings; Sylvia counted each familiar plink.

“You hoarding treasure in there?” she teased. “Sounds like a dragon settling in.”

“Difference is, dragon sleeps on their treasure. I like sleepin' next to mine.”

She went quiet at that. Not because she couldn’t formulate a clever retort, but because sometimes he just… said things like that. Slipped them in sideways, like they didn’t weigh more than a wink. And, every once in a while, she liked to let them sink in.

After a moment, she pushed the door open and met resistance. Then she put her shoulder into it and slid his tail out of the way where it rested like an inconveniently placed dog on the tiled floor. Turning the sink back on, she wet her washcloth, wrung it out, and rubbed it gently over her face. 

“You really oughta moisturize,” he grumbled as she patted herself dry. “Good for your skin.”

Sylvia hopped up to sit on the counter, watching him unscrew a little blue jar and scoop out a pearlescent cream that smelled faintly of kelp. “Oh, should I follow your regimen?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “How many steps is it tonight, by the way? Seven? Twelve? I could write up a spreadsheet if that helps.”

“Only five, and that’s streamlined,” he said, already smoothing the cream over his arms with brisk, efficient strokes, then moved up to his neck, careful around his gills. “Hydration, not glam.”

“Mhm. So the sea-spa scent is just a bonus?”

“You try livin’ on dry land with exposed gills and a saltwater bloodline,” he muttered, slathering his chest. “I’d flake like a week-old scone if I skipped out on this.”

“Scones are crumbly, not flaky,” she answered with a playful lilt. “Maybe you’re more of a strudel?” 

A brief chuckle. He reached behind him, shoulders taut and twisted as he angled for the base of his tail where it curved up and joined his spine. He didn’t complain. Simply moved through the steps like it was nothing, like making his body cooperate in a place that fought him at the edges didn’t even register anymore.

It made her itch a little, knowing she couldn’t do anything about it.  Not really.

But she could help where he’d allow. She could notice.

“Here, let me get it,” she said, sliding down from the counter and stepping behind him. Her hand extended, palm up, fingers curling once, twice in a wordless little summons, impatient and fond. “Hand it over.”

Finn hesitated, just a second, then obeyed, passing her the jar without a word. 

Sylvia scooped a bit of cream into her palm, fingers spreading it gently across the juncture of his tail and back. She knew the terrain already, but the cream softened the rougher side, turning what was usually textured into something almost silken.

“You could ask for help, you know,” she said, voice easy. “I signed up to be in the splash zone.”

“Wouldn’t wanna be needy,” he said, drawing it out just enough to make it a joke. Beneath her touch, she felt him exhale—quiet, steady—and then a subtle shift in his stance, like some internal tether had gone slack. “And now ya get to swoop in and play hero.”

“Guess I’ll add ‘luminary skincare consultant’ to my résumé.” She tilted her head, mock thoughtful. “Should I start charging by the square inch? Maybe I can muscle in on your smooch-based economy.”

“Now I’m gonna owe back taxes in affection. You drive a hard bargain, Minnow.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Better settle up before the debt collectors show.”

Before she could quip back, he twisted at the waist, just enough to reach her. One hand braced against the counter for leverage, the other found her hip, and he angled in to plant a quick kiss on her.

“Partial payment,” he said, pulling back with a flash of teeth. “Interest’s murder.”

Sylvia didn’t miss a beat. Her fingers completed one last pass of the cream with deliberate care before she went up on her toes, brushing a kiss just under his jaw.

“Second installment,” she added, settling back with a satisfied hum. “I like to keep payments current.”

Finn let out a low chuckle, tailfin flicking once against her shin. “You run a tight ship.”

“Somebody has to.” She patted his tail near the dorsal fin, more smack than caress. “There you go, you’re all set. Like a little glazed strudel.”

"Perfect. That one’s gonna haunt me."

Sylvia gave him a self-satisfied grin. “You opened the pastry metaphor door.”

“I was bein’ colorful,” he muttered.

“Uh-huh. And now you’re a dessert. Actions have consequences.”

A yawn snuck up on her mid-smirk. She covered it with the back of her fist, blinking hard.

“Alright, strudel, I’m heading to bed. Don’t forget your last seventeen serums.”

“Ten minutes, tops,” he said, already reaching for another tub. “Then I’ll be your problem again.”

By the time Finn emerged, Sylvia was already ensconced under the covers, pajama legs twisted at the ankle, hair mussed from the pillow. She heard him humming as he moved around; something tuneless, low and scratchy in his throat like he only half-meant it. He crossed the room and set a glass on the nightstand before dropping beside her, earning a dismayed cry as the dip of the mattress rolled her toward him. 

“Every time,” she grumbled, elbowing him half-heartedly.

Finn only grunted, face buried in the pillow. “Splash zone.”

They fell into their usual configuration—her back to him, knees tucked; his arm slung low across her waist, fingers curling like he meant to anchor himself there.

“So,” she murmured, half-asleep already, “the draft thing. Was that just an excuse to buy more boosters?”

“Don’t need an excuse,” he said, muffled.

She waited. He shifted slightly behind her, breath tickling her neck.

“Figured you might get bored. Keep throwin’ yourself against my decks.”

Sylvia blinked. “That’s not how I’d describe it.”

“Yeah?” His chin hooked over the crown of her head. “How wouldja?”

“You’re basically my personalized boss fight,” she said, nestling deeper into the covers. “High difficulty, annoyingly smug, flashy special moves... but satisfying to beat.”

His chest shook with a quiet laugh. “Boss Finn returns.”

She rolled her eyes without opening them. “Your gills don’t do anything for you on land, right?”

Finn cracked one eye. “What’re you plottin’?”

“Nothing. Just calculating how hard it’d be to smother you with this pillow.”

“If you’re gonna try and take me out, you better make your one shot count.”

“Sunrise duel,” she mumbled, patting his arm.

Finn yawned into her hair. “If I live that long.”

Chapter Text

The tavern pulsed with warmth and energy, a heady mix of laughter, clinking mugs, and the tangy smell of spilled ale. Sylvia’s elbows rested on the table, her fingers idly tracing the condensation on her glass as she laughed at something Quinn had said.

“I’m telling you,” they insisted, voice sharp as a blade, “if one more hero tries to sell me a ‘one-of-a-kind’ mushroom they found growing on a moldy boot, I’m feeding them to Boxer. Done.”

Letting out a thunderous laugh, Muktuk slapped the table with such force that the mugs jumped. “You jest, but such perseverance! A true artisan would make even the humblest boot fungus into a masterpiece!”

Roxanne swirled her wine, her expression just shy of amused indulgence. “Or a poison. Honestly, it’s a fine line either way.”

Sylvia raised her glass in mock solemnity. “To boot fungus, and all its unknowable mysteries.”

Quinn snorted, and the group clinked their drinks together.

At the bar, Finn stood with his back to them, propped against the counter. Even in the lively atmosphere, he was impossible to miss. He glanced over his shoulder now and then, his attention split between their table and an easy conversation with the bartender as he waited for their next round. A ripple of awareness passed through Sylvia every time his gaze fell on them.

She barely looked up from the lighthearted debate over Muktuk’s latest shelving design when a man drew nearer their table. She figured, like any reasonable person would, that he was here for Roxanne. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence. Roxanne deliberately solicited attention; the soft, inviting texture of her clothes, the way she moved with absolute assurance in her own skin, her alluring, confident laughter. Sylvia expected a dramatic response in her typical fashion, maybe a flutter of lashes or a coy, knowing expression.

It wasn’t until Roxanne glanced over at her, amused and expectant, that Sylvia registered the angle of approach. The stranger wasn’t looking at Roxanne.

“Forgive the interruption,” he said, looking somewhat apologetic, like he was doing her a favor at an inconvenient time, “but I couldn’t help noticing you over here. Thought I’d come say hello.”

Sylvia’s brain performed the awkward shuffle of trying to recontextualize the lead up. This wasn’t normal, didn't happen to her. Not with Roxanne present. Not with Finn a stone’s throw away.

Settling their chin on folded arms, Quinn was already smirking into their sleeves. Muktuk looked quietly intrigued, like this was some kind of social stress test.

“I’m Cassio,” the man offered, perhaps mistaking her stunned silence for receptiveness. “What’s your name?”

Roxanne, of course, was already invested. “Oh, she’s an absolute delight once you get to know her,” she said, words coated in practiced charm, like they had been polished for just this kind of delivery. “Very dedicated to her craft. You wouldn’t believe the kind of fire she brings to—”

Sylvia cut in before Roxanne could spin this into something outrageous. “Sylvia,” she said simply.

“Nice to meet you. Let me buy you a drink?”

“I’m all set, but thanks,” she said automatically. Her fingers paused against her glass, grip just a touch too tight, trying to catch up to a rhythm that had suddenly shifted without her. Her usual cadence was teamwork, playful sparring—not fending off some simpering stranger while a gaggle of friends silently bet on the outcome.

Cassio’s shoulders loosened, his stance shifting just enough to suggest he wouldn’t be knocked out of his stride. “That’s a shame. You looked like you could use the company.”

Quinn shifted toward Roxanne, grousing, “What are we, chopped rotfly larvae?”

Over Cassio’s shoulder, Sylvia caught Finn’s eye. He tipped his head back in a slight nod of acknowledgement, one elbow hooked casually on the bar—like he was watching a street magician palm the wrong card. A curl tugged at the corner of his mouth.

And just like that, a game clicked into place.

“An offer is an offer, though,” Cassio pressed on, clearly convinced he could still salvage something from the attempt. “I’ll get you that drink anyway, no strings attached.”

“Sure,” Sylvia said, fingers curling over the mouth of her glass as she sat back in her chair. “Surprise me.”

Cassio rapped his knuckles twice against the table. “Be right back.”

As he headed toward the bar, the table erupted.

"Should we tell him he’s barking up a tree that’s already got someone in the branches?" Quinn asked, their voice alight with nearly cruel glee, like each syllable was a small, satisfying stab.

Roxanne lifted her wine. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Must she shout to be heard, even after speaking clearly?” Muktuk shifted slightly in his seat, his whiskers twitching with restrained distaste. “No craftsman should need to repeat their specifications thrice.”

Huffing out a short laugh, Sylvia tipped her glass toward him. "Thank you."

The crook of Quinn’s lips sharpened, all anticipation. “I’m just saying, we're looking at blood in the water any minute now.”

Sylvia shook her head with a sharp snort. “Oh, he’s loving this.” She didn’t need to look; she could feel the smugness radiating off Finn from across the room. 

But she looked anyway.

Cassio sidled up to the bar in the empty spot beside Finn, and after a moment of casual chatter with the bartender, he gestured vaguely toward their table with a shrug. Finn’s eyes tracked the motion, then flicked to Sylvia. His smile stayed easy, unreadable, the kind that invited trust while hiding all the knives. He slouched with an air of collusion, said something low, and just like that, Cassio puffed up—completely unaware he’d been steered, a ship toward rocks, a wreck in the making.

Sylvia exhaled through her nose. Oh, for the love of...

Quinn perked up at Sylvia’s huff, twisting to look over their shoulder. “I take it Finn’s helping out?”

“If by 'helping' you mean winding him up like a clockwork duck and pointing him back at me, then sure.”

A spark danced in Roxanne's eyes, and she tilted her head like she was tuning into a fluctuating signal. “Come now, it’s practically a public service. Once bitten, twice shy, and all that.”

Cassio returned with a drink in hand, casually resting an elbow on the chair beside Sylvia. “Here you are,” he said smoothly.

One look at the drink and Sylvia nearly laughed. A chilled mug of pomme cider with an eye of newt garnish—bright, tangy, and incredibly specific. 

"Figured this might hit the spot,” he added. When she didn't reach for it, he placed the mug in front of her like a gift and slid into the empty chair next to hers. "Something special.”

Her hands came to rest under her chin, fingers interlaced. She raised an eyebrow before sweeping a knowing glance around the circumference of the table. “Huh. Nailed my beverage of choice on the first try? Either you're lucky, or you're cheating.”

“May have gotten a hot tip from your friend at the bar,” Cassio said, throwing in a conspiratorial wink.

Sylvia gave a noncommittal hum. “Is that so?” Her gaze flicked to Finn again, lounging against the bartop like he had front row seats to the best show in town.

"But the pleasure's all mine," Cassio assured her with a flash of too-straight teeth. “Just a small token of appreciation for making my night a little more interesting. You’re not local, are you?” he added, studying her with open curiosity.

She let her head tip to one side on the fulcrum of her fists, slow and unimpressed, letting the silence stretch in place of the eye roll she was just barely restraining. “What gave it away?”

"Who on Rafta is local?" Quinn sarcastically inquired of Muktuk before realizing their mistake. The walrus launched into a sincere cataloguing of all the native Raftans who frequented his shop while Quinn attempted, to no avail, to escape up into their hat.

Sylvia leaned back slightly, away from the antics, her attention drifting. Finn was snaking through the crowd, drinks balanced effortlessly in one hand, moving with that slow, deliberate ease—lazy, silent strides like a predator enjoying the thrill of sneaking up on a beach ball. He didn’t need to be fast. He only needed to arrive at the exact moment of maximum impact.

Cassio remained undistracted by the devolution of Sylvia's tablemates. “Besides the accent? The way you hold yourself. You’ve got the kind of confidence that comes from handling people who’d eat you alive if you slipped up.” He took a sip from his own tumbler. “I respect that.”

Sensing an opportunity for reprieve from Muktuk's impromptu recital of his customer registry, Quinn butted into the conversation like a social scalpel. “It's true, you're merciless. He’s got a good read on you, Sylvia.”

“Or a flattering one, at least,” Roxanne added, clearly savoring the effect her words had on the conversation.

Cassio gave a low laugh, hands spread like he was pleading the case to a friendly jury—simply a guy caught mid-beguile, trying to charm his way out of it. "Hey, I don’t just hand out pretty words. I can recognize when someone’s got an edge."

A familiar shadow edged into Sylvia’s periphery, the faint scuff of a sole halting just short of her own. Finn slotted into place like a missing piece, and even though she didn’t need rescuing, the tiniest knot she hadn’t noticed curling in her gut unwound.

Absorbed in his own momentum, Cassio didn’t register Finn’s presence immediately—almost impressive, considering how difficult Finn was to overlook—until a large hand clapped onto his shoulder, all easy camaraderie.

“Appreciate ya holdin’ my seat, chum.”

Cassio flinched under the sudden weight, his back straightening stiffly. A flicker of recognition flashed across his face—first surprise, then dawning confusion, followed by a rapid recalculation. His eyes darted between Sylvia and Finn a few passes, like he was matching two puzzle pieces that suddenly fit together in a way he hadn't expected based on the shape of them.

Even a friendly expression from Finn brimmed with razor edges. “That for me?” he asked, gesturing at the drink in front of Sylvia with the faux innocence of a man gill-deep in mischief.

“Uh—sure,” Cassio answered at last, gamely trying to keep pace.

“Real generous,” Finn said cheerfully, lifting the mug and taking a sip. He tipped it toward Sylvia. “And good taste. But I’m off the market.”

Sylvia bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, then tilted her head ever so slightly into Finn’s arm without thought, letting it rest there.

Cassio, to his credit, took the out with dignity. He stood up and exhaled through his nose, giving Sylvia a slanted grin. “Well. That’s what I get for trusting a wingman I just met.” Then he turned to Roxanne, who had been observing him like a cat considering whether to toy with a particularly bold mouse. “Suppose I might’ve backed the wrong horse here.”

Roxanne tucked a lock of hair behind one curled horn, the motion all elegance and edge. “Perhaps,” she said, voice honeyed but dry. “Though it’s not my habit to entertain someone’s second instinct.”

“That’s strike two.” Finn let his arm drape across the back of Sylvia’s chair as he settled into the seat—his seat—recently vacated. His knuckles brushed the fabric near her shoulder with a casual intimacy that comforted more than it claimed.

Cassio lifted his hands, palms out, the hopeful look on his face listing yet still intact. “But... maybe it's your habit to let someone make up for a mistake?”

Roxanne’s gaze dragged him up and down as she tapped one finger thoughtfully against her bottom lip. “Depends on whether they come bearing tribute.”

“A humble offering is commonly the first step in any courtship ritual," Muktuk offered, nodding sagely. "Alcohol often serves.”

Sylvia smothered a laugh against the back of her hand, sharing a sideways glance with Finn. He was lounging like he’d invented the very concept, but there was a telltale glint in his eye—a knowing look sharpened to a knifepoint. She caught it, mirrored it, the wordless exchange clean as a well-played kaiju.

Rising slowly, Roxanne brushed a hand over the fur of her collar. “Luckily for you, I’m feeling uncharacteristically generous tonight. And I do like a man who knows how to pivot. But be warned—” she turned from Cassio, giving the motley assembly a scornful once-over “—this particular audience is deeply unhelpful.”

“Unhelpful?” Sylvia pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m practically rooting for him at this point. What a turnaround.”

Finn slid the cider closer to her with a toothy smirk. “I even tried to coach him. Real team effort.”

“It’s my duty to be a hindrance,” Quinn said, raising their glass in a mock toast before knocking it back. “Romance spreads if left untreated.”

Roxanne let out a long-suffering sigh, her hand hanging limp beneath her chin like a bored noblewoman, eyes flicking skyward in a silent appeal. “What I endure,” she said, and with a snap of her wrist, gestured Cassio toward the bar. “Come along, dear. If you behave, I might even let you apologize properly.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He followed with the eager stride of someone happy to take instruction if it meant he was back on solid ground.

As the two disappeared into the crowd, Quinn snorted into their empty glass. “He lives to flirt another day.”

Muktuk nodded once. “Balance is restored.”

Sylvia turned Finn beside her, her lips quirking in that way she couldn't help when he’d managed to irritate and entertain her in one fell swoop. “You so owe me for instigating. I cannot believe you gassed him up like that.”

Finn’s expression sharpened, all satisfaction and no apology. “Looked like he could use a pep talk.” 

“No, you were having fun.” Sylvia plucked the eyeball from its toothpick, rolled it across her tongue as she thought over the ridiculous little spectacle of it all. “You’re probably already casting the reunion special.” Then she bit down, savoring the squelch, and chased it with cider.

Finn's tail curved in an indolent stretch. “I gave you a gift, Minnow. Drama and a free drink? That’s practically enrichment. Most fish'd be lucky to get more of that in their bowl.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t even notice the guy was talking to you for a solid thirty seconds,” Quinn said, dry as salt flats.

Muktuk rumbled in agreement. “It was like watching a bird repeatedly strike a window, unaware there is glass before him.”

Sylvia groaned into her hands before throwing them up in exasperation. “I thought he was talking to Roxanne!”

“And with the temptress departed to corrupt the incorrigible, our number falls to four.” Muktuk braced one fist on the table, which bore his weight with a creak of wood. “Shall we take to the shuffleboard for an engagement of friendly combat?”

Sylvia perked up immediately. “Yes, an actual game! Something I can win.”

Finn pushed back his chair with a scrape. “Big talk, comin’ from the half of the dream team that just shows up and rides my coattails.”

“Puh-lease,” she scoffed. “I’m the one who scores the points while you're busy strutting around like a show pony.”

Quinn rose like a cauldron boiling over, rubbing at their temple. “If you want me to play, you two have got to be split up.”

“What?” Sylvia latched onto Finn’s arm like Quinn might suddenly hex a strong wind to carry her away. “We’re a great team!”

“That’s the problem,” Quinn said. “You play like you share one brain cell and it’s out for blood.”

Muktuk let out a booming chuckle, stroking his mustache. “Indeed! The level of unscrupulous coordination you display is both inspiring and infuriating!”

“That’s called strategy, buddy,” Finn said, burying an elbow into the other man's plush side.

Quinn gave him an exhausted look. “It’s called never being allowed to be on the same team again.”

Sylvia groaned in dramatic dismay, but before Quinn could start threatening to leave entirely, she relented, grinning sideways at Muktuk. “You and me, then, big fella?” She landed a few light punches to his bicep, hopping from foot to foot.

“HA!” He thumped a fist against his chest. “The bond between artisan and alchemist cannot be sundered! Let our synergy strike fear into the hearts of our rivals!”

Finn angled a sharp look Quinn’s way. "Looks like I drew the short straw. But hey, I’ve always wanted to carry an emotional cactus to victory."

Quinn sighed like the very prospect had aged them ten years. “I already hate this.”

The four of them gathered around the long, enchanted shuffleboard table nestled in the back of the tavern. Its lacquered surface shimmered under a soft glow of arcane sigils pulsing blue and gold. Each team had four enchanted pucks and a simple goal: slide your pucks down the board, land in the highest-scoring zones, and—most importantly—prevent your opponent from scoring whenever possible.

Since teammates stood at opposite ends of the board, separating Finn and Sylvia put them side by side. By pitting the members of Team Surf and Turf against each other in an attempt to create a more tolerable experience, Quinn had gravely miscalculated.

Muktuk opened with a clean glide, one enchanted disc landing squarely in the 6-point zone.

Quinn followed up with cautious precision, nestling theirs into the 4-point stripe.

“Alright,” Finn said, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s take it up a notch.”

As he crouched and angled his first shot, one eye closed, Sylvia sidled closer to him with perfect timing. Her hip jostled him just as he let fly. The puck skidded sideways and flopped off the board into the moat of sand with a defeated thunk.

Finn turned slowly, eyebrow cocked. “You good, Minnow?”

She blinked up at him with all the guilt of a sunbathing cat. “You looked tense,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m a real nurturer.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Convenient time for that to kick in.”

Across the table, Quinn pinched the bridge of their nose, still nursing their drink. “How is this even more unbearable than when they’re working together?”

"Because their efforts are no longer focused outward," Muktuk intoned, "they have turned their full power against each other."

From there, the sabotage escalated with the inevitability of a collapsing soufflé; messy, dramatic, and entirely beyond saving.

Sylvia’s next turn? A near success—until Finn happened to shift beside her, murmuring something insufferably smug near her ear. 

Her shot wobbled. He chuckled. She considered violence.

In retaliation, Sylvia stopped pretending to score. She aimed exclusively for his pucks, banishing them one by one with exaggerated flair. The repulsion enchantment sent them hurtling into the sand like they’d been kicked by an angry poltergeist.

“What cunning!” Muktuk beamed, casting a proud look down the table at Sylvia. “Truly a master of the crafty approach. I am honored to witness it firsthand.”

As the match neared its end, Finn stood with his final puck, bearing a blink enchantment. He needed to cancel out at least three of Sylvia’s points to stave off her victory. Stakes were low. Pride was not.

Sylvia lounged against his side, arms crossed, her voice a velvet dare. “No pressure.”

“Keep talking.” Finn’s tail flexed like a switchblade snapping open. “You’re cruisin’ for a post-game dunk in the fish tank.”

“Promises, promises,” she answered with a dreamy sigh.

Quinn mimed retching into Muktuk’s empty tankard. “Please take this whole vibe out into the gutter where it belongs.”

Finn refocused; stance locked in, eyes half-lidded like he already saw the win.

Precisely as he released the puck, Sylvia reached across him with exaggerated care, fingertips grazing his arm under the pretense of swiping away dust that wasn’t there.

The spell activated. Mid-glide, the puck was wiped from existence. It reappeared at the far end of the board.

Dead center in the 1-point zone.

Finn blinked once. Then turned.

Sylvia was cackling, shoulders shaking as she surrendered to it, making zero attempt at decorum.

“You,” he said, eyes narrowing with exaggerated focus, like he was calculating her weight in ounces and whether she’d fit in one bite. 

She tilted her head, eyes bright with mischief. “Me.”

Fondness curled the corners of his mouth, predatory and amused. “You’re a little monster.” 

“I’m a tactician.”

"Mhm. Real tactical." Finn loomed closer with performative menace. “Think you might even call outright theft ‘situational borrowing.’”

A faint flush bloomed on her cheeks at the sideways callout, and she huffed, trying to blow it away like steam.

“Resource redistribution,” she muttered, eyes flicking to the floor as if in search of a better rejoinder before returning to meet his gaze with a spark of silent laughter. “Strudel.”

His lips twitched—just briefly, just enough to suggest that had landed—then split with a glint of teeth. "Strudel," he echoed, as though vowing vengeance that may arrive disguised in a pastry box.

“My suffering is endless.” Quinn flopped onto the table like a dying animal. “I’m in purgatory.”

Muktuk thumped a hand against the wood, delighted. “A spectacular display! Such sport!” He began to send the pucks back to Sylvia and Finn’s end of the board, resetting. “Another!”

Sylvia bent to gather the scattered discs now pocking the sand, placing them on the table with a smirk at Finn. “Need a minute to collect yourself, champ? I can go easy on you.”

As she sauntered past him with that victorious little sway in her hips, Finn dipped low and scooped her up around the waist, spinning them both in a sharp twirl that clipped the toe of her boots against the table leg.

“You’d better not,” he growled into her neck, all bluster and no bite. “Not if you know what’s good for ya.”

She shrieked with laughter, gloved fists pounding ineffectually where his arms cinched around her. “You absolute drama hound!”

Quinn peeked out at Muktuk from under the brim of their hat. “Are they done yet?”

“No,” the artisan observed. “And may they never be.”

Sylvia twisted this way and that in Finn’s hold, howling herself breathless, then jabbed two gloved fingers right beneath his ribs. He flinched with a guffaw that came out like a bark, and she used the moment to slip free, landing on her feet in a half-crouch before the laughter folded her into his chest like it always did.

Muktuk raised his drink with solemnity. “To the endless war.”

“Think Quinn’s plotting our untimely demise?” Sylvia asked, waiting for Finn as he let the tavern door swing shut behind them, the hum of voices and music fading. The streets stretched ahead, quiet except for the occasional creak of a swinging sign and the distant murmur of waves at the harbor.

“Probably stickin’ pins in little felt versions of us right now.” He draped a heavy arm over her shoulders, shifting just enough weight onto her to send her listing sideways. The second she started to stumble, he relented, steadying her with a palm at her side.

“Worth it,” she muttered, tucking her hands into the crook of her elbows as she straightened up again. “That last shot was tragic, even for you.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

She gave him a sidelong look, mentally bracing for the payout of this no-doubt ridiculous windup. “For what, exactly?”

“For takin’ a dive,” he said matter-of-factly.

She stopped walking just long enough to look at him with flat disbelief.

Finn kept on ambling, slow but inevitable, all easy grin and zero shame. His tail curled around her in a casual arc, a light pressure like second nature that nudged her back into step beside him. “Figured I’d throw the match. You're extra cute when you're gloatin'.”

That shouldn’t still hit the way it did. But it kept on landing.

“If you were any more full of it, I’d bottle you for fertilizer.” She grappled briefly with his tail, shoving it off in a mix of protest and playfulness, and their conversation carried them through the winding streets. Sylvia barely noticed how quickly the distance passed until the wooden sign on her shopfront swayed into view.

Finn slowed as they reached the entryway, leaning against the stone wall while she unlocked the door. A familiar glint of mischief flickered in his eyes.

“Say,” he drawled, voice dipping into that syrupy smoothness, dripping roguery with every syllable, “you live alone, or you got someone waitin’ inside? ‘Cause I gotta admit—I wouldn’t mind bein’ that someone.”

A sharp burst of laughter tore from her before she could help it, fumbling the key. “Oh no,” she wheezed, nearly doubled over. “Finn, that was terrible. Did you dredge that line up at low tide on a hot day?”

“That’s vintage.” He looked far too pleased, thumbs hooked in his suspenders. “Figured I’d revive a classic. Last guy who laid a line on ya? Real amateur hour.”

“That wasn’t a classic, it was a crime against charisma.” Still leaking giggles like an old balloon, she shook her head. “I should hang a sign in the shop—‘Warning: Flirtatious Fish at Large.’”

“Harsh, but fair,” Finn said, though the laughter in his eyes gave him away. He gestured toward the door. “Still, what’s the verdict? You lettin’ me in, or am I stuck out here in the cold, left dreamin' of what coulda been?”

Sylvia made a show of considering it, lips twitching despite her best efforts. She should have rolled her eyes at the whole act, really—but watching him ham it up in the glow of the streetlamps, she didn't want to bring it to an end.

“Well, I do have a boyfriend. But… for a face like that, I might make an exception.”

Finn let out a low chuckle, then gave her a crooked half-bow that was more swagger than sincerity. “You’re too kind, dollface. If he shows up, I’ll slip out the back—quiet as a jellyfish in a tide pool.”

With a snort, Sylvia unlocked the door and pushed it open, motioning for him to follow. “Come on, stranger. But don’t get any ideas.”

The familiar warmth of the shop enveloped them when they stepped inside, the faint herbal, acidic aroma of brewing potions curling through the air as the door creaked shut. Sylvia reached for the lock, but before she could turn it, Finn moved in, his presence shifting from lighthearted mischief to something more deliberate. His hands landed at her waist like they’d found their way home, and he kissed her, slow and unhurried.

Sylvia didn’t need to think. Her gloves tangled in his bowtie on instinct and tugged him down. His grip curled more securely around her, anchoring them both. When the kiss broke, his expression gentled, a quiet wrinkle beneath the usual bravado. 

“So,” he said, voice rough at the edges. “This boyfriend of yours—he’s not gonna mind, is he?”

Sylvia tilted her head, eyes glinting with challenge. “I doubt it. He encouraged a man to flirt with me earlier this very night, if you can believe it.” She snapped one of his suspenders against his chest in light admonishment.

Something warm and wicked flickered behind his eyes. “He sounds awful sure you don’t need saving. What’s this guy got up his sleeves? Just trying to figure out what I’m up against here.”

“He’s got a sharp tongue. Always has a smart remark lined up. Makes it impossible to get the last word.”

Finn huffed. “What a piece of work. Anything else I oughta know?”

“Oh, what else… He’s annoyingly sure of himself,” she mused, idly tracing a finger along the edge of his collar. “He’ll walk into a room like he owns the place, charming people left and right—just a nightmare, really.”

“That so? Gotta be exhausting, dealin’ with a guy like that.”

“You have no idea.” Sylvia sighed dramatically, fingers flattening over his shirt as she pushed herself back. “And to make matters worse? He’s thoughtful in this sneaky, underhanded way. Always three steps ahead, like he’s running some secret scheme to take care of me before I even notice I need it.”

Hands firm at her hips, Finn let out a low hum. “Sounds downright devious. Why’s he payin’ such close attention?” His thumbs skimmed slow, deliberate arcs against her waist. “Does he have dirt on you or something? Why’s a smart girl like you keepin’ a headache like that around?”

Sylvia let the question hang between them, pretending to consider before she answered. “Because he’s ridiculously hard to shake. Always there when I need him.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she dropped her voice to a whisper. “And I don’t want to sound shallow, but he’s pretty easy on the eyes.”

Finn stooped to rest his forehead against hers. “Sounds like I’m losin’ this round before I even get my cards on the table.”

“Well,” she said, nudging him back with the heel of her hand, all mock sternness, “you’ve got your foot in the door. But if you want to win me over, you’ll have to put in the work. I don’t even know who you are.”

“I’m just a roving entrepreneur, dollface. Heard rumors that a master potion witch set up shop on Rafta, and I had to see for myself.” His grin spread, lazy and sharp. “Word is she never backs down, never quits—not even when the odds are stacked against her. Got a competitive streak a mile wide, turns the toughest negotiations in her favor. She could talk someone into handing over their last coin and have ‘em thankin’ her for the opportunity, way I hear it.”

Sylvia arched a skeptical brow. “Flattery, huh? That’s your play? You must think you’re pretty slick.”

“Not slick,” Finn said, the words rolling off his tongue like they’d been waiting there all night. “Just optimistic. Thought I’d try my luck before this fella of yours wises up and ties you down.”

A ripple moved through her. Not enough to break the bit, but there it was. A single beat, somewhere deep in her chest.

Oh.

He was still in character, but something in the way he said it rang a little too true. She shifted her weight onto one foot, let her smile curl a little wider, and tossed it right back.

“Oh, wow.” Sylvia settled into her stance comfortably to watch him dig himself deeper. “What’s next? Grand promises to sweep me off my feet and whisk me away from all this?”

Finn’s gaze traveled the interior of the shop with that leisurely consideration. Then his voice dipped into something quieter. “If that’s what you want, Minnow.” Each word came out slow, like it mattered. “But somethin’ tells me you’re exactly where you wanna be.”

"Ah, ah." Sylvia caught the way his focus sharpened when she lifted a single finger between them, wagging it in warning before he could grow too pleased with himself. “Only my boyfriend gets to call me that.”

Finn’s chuckle was low and full of mischief, his head tilting like he was deciding just how much he could get away with. He landed on, “Slip of the tongue.”

Sylvia ignored the glint of satisfaction in his eyes, the way he so clearly reveled in the double meaning. Instead, she straightened, adopting the air of a prim shopkeeper addressing an unruly customer.

“In fact,” she continued, planting her hands on her hips with righteous authority, “there are a few other rules in this shop you’ll need to follow. Rule one—" she raised her index finger "—no loitering without intent to buy.”

Finn’s gaze flickered over her. “Oh, I dunno. Pretty sure I can find somethin’ worth the investment.”

She tilted her head with feigned exasperation, adding a second finger. "Rule two: No sweet-talking the shopkeeper. It’s distracting."

Bridging the last inches between them like a habit, his lips grazed her temple, breath warm against her skin. “What if the shopkeeper deserves it? Hardly seems fair to hold that against me."

“That might constitute a violation of rule two,” she warned, though she settled forward into him.

His mouth trailed lower. “And rule three?” he asked, a rumble below her ear.

Sylvia’s pulse kicked under her collar while she tried to keep her thoughts straight. “No—um…”

His chuckle was low and knowing. “No gettin' under the shopkeeper’s skin? Too late for that one.”

A breathy laugh escaped her. “Rule three,” she managed, “no manhandling the inventory.”

Finn pulled back, a deep humor flashing in his eyes. “What about the shopkeeper? She count as inventory?”

"Only if you’ve got the coin to back it up."

“That's not gonna be a problem.”

But she wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand without a little pushback.

“You know,” she said, her tone edged with dry humor, “this little racket of yours is fascinating.”

“Oh yeah?” Finn tilted his head, anticipating the roast. “Lay it on me.”

Two of her fingers walked up along the path laid by the buttons of his shirt, nonchalant. “You always get the fun part. Charming stranger, impeccable timing, no baggage. Meanwhile, I’m the wayward girlfriend sneaking around on this guy I keep falling for.” She cocked her head, lips scrunching. “Seems a little unfair, don’t you think?”

His expression split into something crooked. “From where I’m standing, I’m the one risking life and limb tryin’ to steal you away from some sea monster.” He spoke low, words edged with heat. “Don't sound so easy to me.”

Sylvia scoffed, but a dimple surfaced, traitorous and soft. “Life and limb? Spare me.” She tipped forward like a needle drawn to a lodestone, expression turning sly. “But I’ll give you this: you’re certainly persistent.”

Finn chuckled and folded her in without hesitation. “Ambition like yours? Practically a force of nature. No room for quitters.” Their eyes caught and held. “You build your wins from scratch. No shortcuts, no excuses.”

Something in her released—small, invisible, but real. Like they'd passed some unspoken threshold where the game gave way to plain truth and they were simply here.

His hand coasted up her spine and landed at her nape, thumb brushing a slow arc. “And you pull folks up with ya. Give 'em chances they probably don’t deserve.” The pause stretched, still yet electric. “Makes a guy feel real damn lucky just to be in your corner.”

The words had weight. She held his gaze, searching, before her voice lowered into something dry and fond. “Finn, you've got half the town under your fin and the rest trying not to get caught in your teeth. You’re not exactly some sidekick here.”

That earned a laugh, low and rumbling. “Well, when you put it like that...”

“I’m serious,” she insisted. “You could’ve kept coasting, but you didn’t. You carved out a space—space no one else could fill. And not just because you’re big and clever. It’s because you actually give a damn. You notice things.”

Her arms wound up behind his neck, catching ever so slightly against his skin. “You’ve got this whole island thinking you’re just some reformed hustler, but you’re watching everyone’s blind spots. Whether they realize it or not.”

Silence pooled in the space between them, full rather than heavy.

“Kinda unfair,” Finn murmured after a beat. “You can't go sayin’ things like that and expect me to keep my cool.”

Sylvia didn’t give him another chance to deflect. She pulled him down and kissed him, slipping into a well-worn rhythm. His mouth found hers with intent, and his hands didn’t shift, didn’t need to; they were already situated exactly where they belonged.

When she finally pulled back, she didn’t drop her gaze. Her eyes held his, focused and fiercely warm, like she was daring him to look away first.

“You make me feel like I can do anything,” she said, unwavering despite the flutter between her ribs.

Finn’s fingers dragged lightly along her jaw, more grounding than tender, before settling just beneath her chin. “Like you needed me to figure that out.” His mouth pulled to one side, wry tugging against sincere. “You’re already halfway to the finish line before most folks even know there’s a race.”

She buried her face in the placket of his shirt, which muffled her voice. “And what if I want you with me when I cross it?”

Finn drew her fully into his frame, erasing the sliver of space that remained between them. “Then I guess I've gotta be there,” he said. “Vampire rules.”

Cheek to his chest, Sylvia let the thump of his heartbeat center her breathing, her arms folding tighter over his shoulders like she couldn’t help anchoring there. Tilting her head, she caught the contentment playing at his mouth as he traced idle circles against her back.

“You know,” she murmured, “all the pretending is fun enough, but I’d rather just have you.”

“Well, you got me,” he said simply, thumb skimming the edge of her glove where it met bare skin. “Hook, line, and sinker.”

She nuzzled in. Of course she adored the teasing, the quips, the fun—and it was moments like this that made them matter all the more.

“Still technically breaking rule two, though,” she whispered. Her hair shifted faintly as his grin curved against the crown of her head.

“I’ll take the fine.”

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

His tail curled around her in a casual arc, a light pressure like second nature that nudged her back into step beside him.

Chapter Text

The shop bell jingled as Finn stepped inside, and sure enough, he caught her in the act.

He was used to it by now: the jolt, the scramble, the half-offended look at being found forgetting herself. But there was something ridiculously endearing about the way she grabbed a few dry crackers off a plate beside her notes and crammed them into her mouth. Trying to pretend she didn’t need the reminder, even as she proved over and over that she sort of did.

Finn raised an eyebrow. “If you’re filling up,” he said, voice rich with mock sympathy, “I guess that means more lunch for me.”

Sylvia, still chewing, shot him a glare that would’ve landed harder if her cheeks weren’t puffed like a squirrel’s. A lump travelled at a painfully slow pace down her throat, and her voice sounded dry when she finally answered, “I could eat.”

“You sure?” He shut the door behind him with just enough swing to flip the sign to Closed. “You look stuffed. Practically bloated with nutrients over here.”

She exhaled sharply through her nose. "Look, you don't have to twist my arm about it. I want to eat."

Finn crossed to her modest kitchen. “Hard to believe a couple of salt bricks ain't enough to tide you over 'til dinner.”

Groaning, Sylvia slinked to the kitchen table after him and plopped herself into a chair. “They were supposed to be a mid-morning snack. That’s the worst part. I even planned for it! Had the whole day plotted out—brewing, errands, snack, sales, inventory—and I still managed to forget to eat them.”

He passed her one of the sandwiches, and her hands wrapped around the wax paper like it was sacred. “The worst part,” he said, settling into the seat across from her, “might actually be watchin' you panic-chew drywall every time you hear the bell.”

“That’s on you,” she muttered. “You’ve made it a conditioned response to your arrival.”

Finn's chin rested in one hand. “Maybe you oughta keep somethin’ a little more appetizing around. You ever thought about fruit?”

“Fruit goes bad.”

“So does your dignity when I catch you chewin' crackers into mortar.”

Sylvia pulled a portion of crust off the bread and flicked it at him. It bounced off his sleeve, water off a duck’s back.

Still, her expression eased as she bit into the hearty stack of carbs, protein, greens and cheese. Enough fuel to erase the tiny tremor in her hands, the way her knee bounced under the counter when she was running on nothing but focus and whatever potion fumes she’d inhaled over the course of the morning.

Watching her relax always felt like getting away with something. Like he’d found the magic word, the right play, and suddenly she wasn’t vibrating out of her skin anymore. She didn’t give herself much leniency, so he’d take what windows she left cracked and pry them open.

“You owe me a game for this, by the way,” he said casually, already setting the wooden deck box on the table.

Sylvia narrowed her eyes over the edge of her sandwich. “You brought lunch and cards?”

“Seems only fair,” he said. “If you make me trek all the way out here to make sure you actually eat somethin', you gotta let me wipe the floor with you.”

“Oh yes,” she said between bites. “The grueling odyssey to reach the center of market, where the vast majority of your clients are located. Truly, your devotion knows no bounds.”

But the toe of her boot coasted down his shin under the table, and her eyes were bright all the while. The next chomp she took was big and eager and accompanied by a three-part hum of satisfaction.

Itsy Bitsy Kaiju was laid out across her kitchen table in no time, plates and glasses pushed to one side. Her gloves were off. The little crease between her brows told him she was plotting a reversal, but none of those details truly had his attention.

She’d tugged her ponytail loose to redo it, ribbon trapped between her lips, fingers combing through the vibrant, limp tresses like it wasn’t a calculated attack on his concentration. Finn propped his elbow on the table as she shook the strands loose, briefly massaging her scalp before beginning to twist her hair back up, smooth and efficient, like it was just one more task to complete on her way to clobbering his kaiju.

The motion stirred the air, dislodged a dozen half-mixed scents from her skin, her hair, her collar. An alchemist through and through, the surface shifted on the daily—steam and solvent, slime and spice—but beneath all that, there was a constant note. Not quite warm. Not quite sweet. Just hers.

He shifted forward in his chair. 

“Y’know,” he said casually, “you’ve got more smells in your rotation than a parfumier.”

Sylvia paused mid-play. “A what now?”

He gave her a sly glance. “Real high-end place. The kinda shop that charges by the sniff even when you’re not buying. I’ll have to take you sometime.” A card flicked between his fingers, rolling fluid like it was nothing. “Point is, you always got something new clingin’ to ya. Little whiffs of ingredients. Scorched hair, now and then. But,” he added before she could object to the subtle dig, “it’s never the exact same twice. There’s just always somethin’ you under it all.”

Sylvia blinked once, then looked at him, simple and open. “That’s sweet,” she said, thumb brushing a smudge off the back of her glove like it needed doing right now. She was smiling as she did it. One of the big ones; lips together, stretched wide, dimple forming.

And that was enough to make something in his chest fold inward, soft and stupid colliding. 

He cleared his throat and dropped the card onto the table with casual flair. “Anyway,” he said, like the air in the room hadn’t thickened several notches, “you ever think about gettin’ another pet?”

She shot him a flat look. “Are you talking about my uncle?"

“Yeah, but the old bird's been back in Club Fingers for a hot minute now. Maybe feels like the place is missin’ a judgy little watcher.”

“Like I don't have enough on my plate?” Her gaze was back on her cards now, studious.

“Thought witches were supposed to have familiars. Magic animal companion. Vibe enhancer.”

She flicked a counterattack onto the board. “Not all witches have familiars.”

“Sure they do.”

“Quinn doesn’t.”

“They got that angry mimic box.”

“Oh, in that case, I'm all set. I've got Vendi.”

“Nah, that doesn't count.”

"Then neither does Boxer."

Finn opened his mouth, paused, then clicked his tongue. “Alright, fine. But most witches have one.”

“Roxanne doesn’t, either.”

“That you know of.”

“Oh yeah,” she said dryly. “Roxanne’s the picture of discretion.”

Finn chuckled, raising both hands in surrender. “Okay, so maybe I was off on the stats. Just figured a new little mascot could be good for business.”

“Because that’s exactly what I need,” she said, searching through her discard pile. “A cat launching radiation tonic off the shelves while I’m in the back.”

“So a cat’s too much trouble.” He squinted at her, visualizing various critters perched on her shoulder. “How 'bout a frog?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Crab?”

“Finn.”

“They’re low-maintenance,” he said with an open-palmed gesture that invited reconsideration. “Tough little guys. Great for haggling. They go toe-to-toe with penny pinchers.”

She let out a groan-laugh and slapped her cards on the board with a loud flap, then leaned forward, elbows on the table, and dropped her head into her hands. Her voice came muttering through her palms like she couldn’t believe him, but wasn’t all that surprised, either.

“You waltz in here, put me on lunch break, oust my snacks with sandwiches, pitch me a crustacean for a roommate. And I let you do it. I'm basically complicit.” 

Finn opened his mouth to volley back, half-formed retort already on deck—

“This feels like cohabitation by inches.”

Something about the way she said it, sharp wit layered over mellow exasperation, shifted the ground beneath him. Not an accusation, not a joke, though it was dressed like one. More like she was holding the thought up to the light to see what shape it really was inside.

“It's not,” he said, too fast. Reflex.

Her brow ticked up slightly. More curiosity than challenge. 

“You stay over,” he said, tone a hair too laid-back as he tugged at his bowtie. “A lot. Which rules, don't get me wrong.”

That got a smile. Small, private. She didn’t disagree.

“So what’s your point?”

It had only been circling his head for weeks. Fact was, she already practically lived with him. Her laugh echoed on the tile. Her scent threaded through the sheets. The place felt empty without her in it. 

“Just sayin'…” His gaze skimmed past her, bounced once off the kitchen wall, then came back. “If you ever got tired of haulin’ a ready-made sleepover around, you could always hang your hat at mine.”

One wrong look and he was prepared to walk it back. He could laugh it off, say it would’ve made a great tax write-off, what a shame. Because her shop wasn’t just a business. It was her stronghold. Her proof, built up from next to nothing. She’d poured more of herself into this building than most folks ever gave to an actual person. And maybe she couldn't loosen her grip on that.

Sylvia paused, and the air between them settled. Not tense. Just... quiet.

"That’s your pitch?" she asked at last, head tilted faintly, like she was trying to figure out if he meant it. Her tone was teasing, but there was something sincere curled behind it. A small surge in her pulse across the table, faint but there. 

The look wasn’t wrong.

“Guess I coulda gone with somethin’ flashier,” he said, tail shrugging. “Made a treasure map. Lured you in with pastries under a cardboard box.” He tried for a small chuckle, but found his throat unexpectedly dry.

“Are you trying to domesticate me?” 

He caught the undercurrent in her voice. Invitation, not resistance. A chance to double-down, or an escape hatch if he wanted it. A joke. A dodge.

“Nah.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “Just thinkin' it might be nice, comin' home and not wondering where you're gonna crash tonight. Waking up and you're not there? It’s startin' to feel real weird.”

Sylvia’s hands had stilled on her cards. Not a dramatic pause—merely a moment of stillness, of reorientation after swimming into a new current.

“Okay,” she said.

An almost distracted agreement, like the answer had been sitting there the whole time, waiting for the moment it was allowed to leave her mouth.

“Yeah?” He tried not to sound like he’d been holding his breath.

“Yeah. Sounds nice.” She gave a small nod, eyes unfocused, looking into the distance like she’d only just caught up to the words. It was in the way she paused, just a second, thumb running across the fanned edge of her hand like she was circling something in her head. “And I mean, it makes sense. You've got a lot more space, and it's a short enough flight. That weird half-loft thing I’ve got going in the back room isn’t exactly luxurious, and Oswald is always complaining about how hot it is down in the basement, so if I…”

That simple “sounds nice” hit harder than he expected. He barely caught the rest. Her voice rolled over him, muted and distant, like she was speaking through fog across the bay.

He’d spent most of his life keeping a sharp eye for the catch, the pivot, the second thought, the retreat. But she was thinking it through now, after the yes. 

And that meant the yes had come from her gut. The logistics were arriving now to back it up.

He leaned back, arms folded, basking for a minute, allowing her to keep mulling it over in a rambling stream of verbal processing. Eventually, aiming to bring her back down to earth, he asked, “You’re gonna take over my closet, aren’t you?”

“Only half.” Her answer came immediately, eyes snapping back to his. “I’m more interested in an equal share of the bathroom counter, anyway.”

Finn clicked his tongue. “Knew this was a trap.”

“Excuse me?” she demanded with an outraged laugh, launching a card at him. “You sprung it!”

“Couldn’t help it.” He raised his arms to shield his face, and the weaponized cardstock fluttered to the table. “Bait’s top tier.”

Sylvia didn’t make a big deal of it.

Just perched on the edge of Oswald’s desk down in the basement, ankles crossed, palms braced behind her. He glanced up from his paperwork like she was interrupting something sacred, which, considering it was just archival tax forms and a lukewarm mug of dandelion tea, she absolutely wasn’t.

“I’m moving out,” she said. “Officially. Just figured you should know.”

Oswald didn’t look remotely surprised. Simply scratched an amount into the ledger and said, “You haven’t already? I assumed you were keeping your worldly possessions in the back room out of sheer spite. Some petty need to prevent my having a dedicated reading lounge.”

Sylvia snorted, but the sound came out too fast, too sharp. Her cheeks burned faintly before she could smother the reaction, and her eyes dropped to a misaligned stack of invoices like they might offer cover.

Oswald took a sip of tea and remarked, tone languidly superior, “I have observed for some time now a certain inexplicable improvement in your general demeanor—a suspiciously cheerful disposition and an abrasively healthy glow—none of which can reasonably be attributed to your personal discipline or diligence.”

She blinked slowly, head tilting with mock curiosity. “You know you won’t drop dead if you say something positive about him, right?”

“I have named no names,” he said brusquely, returning to his jotting.

“I know.” Sylvia leaned back on her hands, letting the smugness rise just enough to be felt. “You’ve heavily implied that these ‘inexplicable improvements’ were spontaneous, like some sort of natural phenomenon, when they’re actually entirely explicable.”

Oswald gave a long-suffering sigh, eyes still on the ledger. “I merely note that your being in a relationship has produced a number of practical benefits. Your energy has improved. Sales are up. You’re no longer fainting from stress in the middle of negotiations. These are objective metrics.”

Sylvia gave an exaggerated wince, like she was sympathetic to his strife, one hand pressed to her heart. “Oof. So close to an acknowledgment.”

“And yet, so far.” He flipped to the next page. “I suppose if I were inclined toward approval, it would be reserved for choices that reflect personal growth and a functional domestic routine.”

Her throat went tight. Not in a dramatic way, just a small, traitorous squeeze.

“Thanks,” she said, quieter than she meant to.

Eyes still fixed on the ledger, Oswald gave a shrug—one that lifted the folds of his cape in a familiar flap, reminiscent of wings. Muscle memory, maybe. 

“The back room will need tidying,” he said after a beat. “I’ll update the inventory once you’re finished. And you should check the insulation behind the west wall—I think some manner of vermin are nesting behind the bricks again.”

Sylvia let out a breath and stood. “I'll take care of it.”

“Better you than me. I occasionally feel the most revolting urges when I stumble across a mouse...”

She was halfway up the ladder before he added, “Perhaps I’ll move the armchair once you’re settled. Rearrange the shelving, finally get some decent light in that corner.” 

The sound of shuffling papers resumed, followed by a pause.

“Of course,” he said, tone offhand, “you’re still welcome to it during breaks.”

She smiled to herself, fingers brushing the rung as she paused. No need to respond. The open invitation was his closing remark.

The front door swung open a few days later, and there she was—just her and that bottomless bag. No boxes. No crates. Not even a spare coat slung over her arm.

Finn leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching her breeze in like the place already belonged to her. “That’s it? You movin’ in or robbin’ me blind?”

He’d prepped for this. Cleared out a few dresser drawers, made space in the bathroom cabinet, condensed his socks to the lower shelf of the closet like that wasn’t some kind of metaphor waiting to happen. It wasn’t about the storage. It was about readiness. About making room.

But seeing her now—all calm, unbothered, just casually reordering the universe—made his thoughts stumble like he'd tripped over something solid in the middle of an easy stride.

She brushed past him with a subdued snort. “You’re really sticking with this ‘crime spree’ bit, huh? I'd say it’s a pretty lousy thief who shows up and starts leaving things behind.”

Her gaze swept the room, slow and deliberate, clearly clocking corners and shelves, hooks and ledges, making a mental map of where her things might want to settle. She dropped her bag on the counter like it had reserved seating and began rummaging through it.

And yeah, his heart was still doing that stupid fluttery thing while he watched her unpack without fanfare. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to mind it.

Sylvia didn’t ask. Just seized upon the cleared handspan of space on the lowest shelf in Finn’s kitchen cupboard, between the coffee and a half-used jar of honey, and slipped the two mugs in. No clink, no scrape. Like she was setting down something more fragile than it truly was.

Cauldron-shaped, with slightly lopsided feet, black glaze, rims like brews bubbling over: one green and one purple. The ones they’d used during the storm, hunkered down in the shop. Spiked cocoa, cold hands, relaxing against the sales counter. The buzz of that first kiss still lived somewhere under her skin, suspended in steam and adrenaline and the crash of distant thunder.

She hadn’t been thinking about it when she packed them in her bag. Not consciously. They were just mugs. Hers. But now, standing here with her fingers resting gingerly on the handle of the green one, it hit her—how it looked. Side by side. Settled.

Her lips curved faintly.

Finn walked in while she was still paused there, stuck somewhere between the shelf and the recollection. His hand landed on the cabinet door and nudged it open a little farther, peering inside.

“Muggin’ a guy in his own kitchen?” he asked, easy and amused. “You’re really on a tear.”

Sylvia let out a groan of laughter, muted and a little helpless, taken by surprise at its arrival. “I was just enjoying a nice memory,” she said, pulling her hand back from the mug. 

Then, unthinking, she turned and wrapped her arms around his waist. No explanation. Just pressing herself into him like she needed to borrow his balance.

“Just let me have this,” she muttered into the fabric of his shirt.

Finn folded his arms around her without hesitation, solid and sure. “Not a hundred percent sure what I’m lettin’ you have,” he admitted, voice low against her hair, “but take all you want.”

He didn’t hear the bag tip—only the low, suspicious rustle that followed.

When he poked his head into the bedroom, he found a lazy flood of miscellany spilling across the bed. “Traveling light, huh?”

“Spatial compression is a gift and a curse.” Sylvia didn’t look up, unearthing spare gloves like she was mid-surgery. 

Finn propped himself against the doorway,watching her navigate like she’d let a hurricane empty her closet. She tugged a belt loose from the snarl, and in doing so jostled the rest. A glass bottle rolled free and made a break for it, skittering toward the edge of the mattress.

He lunged and caught it in one smooth motion just before it tumbled to the floor.

“Nice catch,” she said, extending her hand for the bottle.

“Careful.” He held it back a second before placing it in her palm. “Unless you’re redecoratin’ with alchemical shrapnel.”

Sylvia snorted and turned away to set the glass off to one side.

The movement had disturbed the pile just enough to expose a sliver of browned leather beneath a half-unfolded tunic.

A book, worn and familiar. Dog-eared, the edges fraying in spots from years of handling, the cover etched with that old-school vine-and-herb design he recognized instantly: Illustrated Alchemical Flora of the Western Archipelago.

He pulled it free, thumb brushing absently along the spine. Hadn’t seen her paging through it lately, but when she did, she held it like a touchstone. She’d told him it was a gift from her parents. Said it was the first thing she shelved at Oswald’s when she landed on Rafta and took over the shop, just to make the place feel a bit more like it was hers. Too outdated to be useful for brewing, too important not to keep close. 

He rocked back on his heels, surrounded by the expanding maelstrom she’d unleashed across the bedroom, the book still in his hands. By the look of things, it wasn't getting stuffed back into that bottomless pit anytime soon.

She held up an array of tunics draped over one arm, eyebrow already raised in challenge.

Finn opened the walk-in closet with an unnecessarily dramatic flourish, like he was revealing a secret vault. Inside: rows of shirts arranged by season, suspenders hung by hue, and a partitioned box of bowties rolled like rare scrolls. It looked less like a closet and more like a museum exhibit. Perhaps titled A Study in Excessive Sartorial Charm.

Sylvia peered in, entirely unintimidated.

“This half’s yours,” Finn said, gesturing magnanimously to a perfectly cleared section on the left.

She squinted at it. “This half?”

“Mhm.”

Without hesitation—and without breaking eye contact—Sylvia stepped forward, shoved his hangers three inches to the right, and inserted her tunics into the now-contested borderland purely for the satisfaction of watching his lips part a fraction and then settle into an intentionally neutral line; the expression of someone bearing wounded witness to a minor catastrophe.

Her clothes were practical, lived-in, and stubbornly unbothered about style. One tunic still bore a faint scorch mark. A pair of pants had been visibly darned at the pocket with mimic silk; good for keeping small objects from falling out, slightly too enthusiastic about staying closed. Next to his pinstripes and satin, her wardrobe looked like a band of pickpockets had snuck into a shareholders’ meeting.

But her things worked, and she liked what worked.

Finn surveyed the space with a flat look of disbelief. “And you’ve claimed the neutral zone.”

“Expanding,” she said with a wink in her tone. “Leaving room for inevitable wardrobe creep.”

“Gonna take a big creep to fill all that space. You’ve got six hangables, and one of ‘em’s the getup you wore to Emberweave.”

“And now I have a place to hang it with pride,” she said sweetly.

“You just evicted my favorite shirt.”

Sylvia gasped, scandalized. “So that’s it, then. I’m supposed to wear the same three potion-stained tunics for the rest of my life? Never buy anything new?” She threw the back of her hand to her forehead. “Just slowly decay in threadbare wool in a piddly little corner of the closet while you lovingly lint-roll your bowtie display?”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘loving.’”

She narrowed her eyes. “You iron your suspenders.”

“I steam them,” he corrected, like that made it any better.

She groaned, then dramatically bustled her tunics tighter down the rack, compressing her six articles of clothing with the demeanor of a pathetic, reprimanded creature. “Fine. There. Your beloved shirt can retain its place of honor. Long may it reign.”

The conversation kept on—lighthearted bickering, a petty debate about hanger spacing and the validity of owning multiple identical shirts—but the tone had shifted. Just a touch.

She pulled them out one after the other, like this was a perfectly normal unpacking ritual.

First: the centipus. Floppy, goofy-eyed, and burdened with far too many legs. He’d won it for her at that sketchy Raftan carnival, after deploying his sharpest charming-the-mark smile and a pointed remark to the game attendant that rigged odds made for unhappy customers.

Then came the manta ray. Bigger than he remembered. At the aquarium gift shop, it had seemed like a novelty item; oversized, certainly, but harmless. In his bedroom, it looked like it should pay rent.

“You sleep with both of ‘em?” 

“They have different functions,” she said, with all the seriousness of a court deposition. “Professor Legs is emotional support. Raymond is heat regulation.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it again. She wasn’t joking. Or if she was, she was very committed; she had delivered those names with a totally straight face. He had no reasonable follow-up that didn’t sound like you’re too cute to be legally unsupervised.

“You know we don’t actually fit on the bed with Raymond in it, right?”

“You bought it.”

“For display purposes! Didn’t realize I was buyin’ a weighted boyfriend proxy.”

“Well,” she said breezily, “you should have thought of that before taking me to the aquarium.”

She plopped the centipus dead center against the pillows, limbs splayed and claiming the space by default. The ray, meanwhile, lay draped across the chest at the foot of the bed like a sleepy guardian beast. She adjusted it, one flipper tugged just so, a smoothing touch down its back, completely unaware of how tender the gesture came off.

Finn’s thumb found the smooth surface of a ring, passing back and forth as she fussed over the stuffed critters.

They weren’t just plushies. They were pure Sylvia: bright, excessive, a little ridiculous, and designed to be held close. Not the first time she’d smuggled softness into her life under the cover of practicality. He’d just gotten better at spotting it—and making damn sure it stayed where she put it.

Sylvia was in pajamas by the time the cards came out. She hadn’t seen the point in getting dressed “proper” again after the bath. The post-dinner heat from the stove still lingered in the apartment, and with the blanket draped over her legs, the sofa had transformed into a makeshift nest. Safe. Warm. 

The perfect perch from which to launch her glorious comeback.

Itsy Bitsy Kaiju wasn’t truly a battle tonight; more of a half-hearted skirmish. Sylvia tucked her legs under herself, cards fanned, hair still damp and unbound around her shoulders. Finn lounged beside her, deep in the cushions and drowsy, eyes flicking between her hand and the board with that same sanded-down smugness he wore whenever he knew exactly how this was going to end.

“Bet you’re regrettin’ that early sacrifice now,” he murmured, laying a buff with insultingly casual precision.

“My only miscalculation was overestimating your ability to play nice when I’m running on fumes,” she replied, lobbing down a weak counter with a pitiful noise of effort. “Worked so hard all day, moved in all my things, and now you’re kicking me while I’m down.”

“‘Nice’ ain’t in the rules.”

“House rules exist. We could add it. ‘Be nice to Sylvia after a long day.’”

“Oh, so that’s how it is. Gonna be a one-way street?”

“Fine,” she conceded. “A blanket ruling for mercy. But I’ll need some juicier motivation if I’m really going to put my heart in it tonight.”

Finn cocked his head. “Stakes?”

She gestured loosely at the board. “Winner gets majority share of the closet.”

His eyes narrowed. “You tryin’ to give me my own closet back?”

“Maybe,” she said. “It’s a sweet gesture, but let’s be real: I don’t need that much room. Honestly, I don’t even need a quarter. So if you want to start reclaiming territory, now’s your chance to do it with dignity. Before I annex it by accident.”

“You’re makin’ generosity into a blood sport.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Sylvia smiled over her cards. “This is simply efficient redistribution.”

It wasn’t deflection. It was play. And under the play, sincerity. She didn’t need the space. But she liked that he’d offered it.

Finn made a vaguely suspicious noise, but played his next card anyway. Sylvia saw the curl of smugness beginning to creep in at the corner of his mouth and knew she was done for. As she’d expected.

The match ended soon after, her kaiju detonating in a spectacular chain reaction while Finn leaned back in a modest display of gloating; one slow, tired fist pump.

She groaned, flopped sideways, and draped herself across his lap. “I demand a rematch. Tomorrow.”

Already combing his fingers through her hair, he merely chuckled. “You’re the sorest loser I ever fell for.” He dipped to press a kiss to her forehead. 

Sylvia tilted her head and intercepted his mouth with hers. “You knew what you were getting yourself into.”

They lingered like that for a while; no more words, no more moves. Just the warmth of his hand in her hair and the contented quiet of a long, full day. When she finally sat up and stretched, her muscles sang with the ache of a worthwhile task—as if she’d pulled the shape of her life gingerly past the seams, and it hadn’t quite finished settling. Standing would present a chore.

She lolled her head in his direction. “Bedtime?”

Finn took one look at her, grinned, and scooped her up and over his shoulder with a practiced motion that made her yelp.

“Finn! This is not a dignified mode of transportation!”

“Don’t worry,” he said, voice low and amused as he carried her toward the bedroom. “I’ll drop you real gentle. Probably.”

“Put me down!”

“I will. Just gotta find the right soft surface.”

Her laughter echoed down the hallway, breathless and bright, and she didn’t protest again.

Finn liked mornings.

The streets were quiet. The sea was cold. And there was something about slipping into the water before anyone else had a chance to add problems to the day. So when Sylvia mumbled from under the covers that she didn’t want to leave for work without a first moved-in breakfast together, he’d offered a compromise.

“I’ll be back by six,” he said, tugging on his swim shorts. “Don’t go stir crazy.”

“I guesssss I’ll find something to do,” she groaned, dramatic as ever, rolling over like the blanket had betrayed her. Her head tipped back against the pillow, lips pursed in theatrical suffering, eyes still closed—clearly awaiting a goodbye kiss like it was the bare minimum owed.

Finn obliged and then walked out with an easy grin.

The swim was crisp and fast. Familiar. The kind of cold that shocked the fog out of his thoughts and reminded his muscles he kept them around for more than looks. He’d barely toweled off by the time he was back up the front steps, still damp, waves of hair dripping sea salt down his back.

The apartment smelled like citrus. Also toast. And something savory that carried a certain… burnt aroma.

Sylvia stood at the stove, spatula in hand, elbow-deep in what could only be called a multi-front breakfast campaign she was barely winning. Cabinets hung open like casualties. Beside the sink, a mixing bowl sat in defeat, half its contents caked to the rim. The salt cellar had a halo of crystals around it like a spell circle gone wrong.

Finn’s hand stayed on the wall a beat too long.

His spine itched. That low, reflexive prickle of something encroached upon. She’d cooked here before, sure. Teased her way in with a wink and a daring reach for his mixing spoon. But always with him, beside him. That was fun. This was her, full volume, filling space like steam.

And this—his kitchen, like this—hit wrong. Not just the mess. It was the colander hanging on a cabinet knob—to dry?—like a festive wreath of poor judgment. His skillet, seasoned to perfection, crusted with something thick enough to have personality. 

Not chaos. Not quite. But definitely grating.

Sylvia turned, bright-eyed, spatula raised in one hand like a wand mid-incantation. “Hey! Good timing.”

He gave the kitchen another slow once-over. “You cook like you’re brewin’ without a cauldron.”

Sylvia threw him a pleased, expectant glance over her shoulder.

“Explosively,” he added, bending to pick up a measuring scoop from the floor.

Her brow dropped and she blew a loose, sputtering breath through her lips: half sigh, half swarm-of-unbothered-bees. “You get your swim, I get to play in the kitchen. Everybody wins.” 

Finn reached for his mug—already filled, warm. Not a fix. But proof she’d thought of him, even as she overtook his kitchen like a one-woman siege engine.

He leaned against the counter by the stove. “You makin’ toast or auditioning for an elemental mishap?”

“Breakfast alchemy,” she declared, flipping something eggy with flair. Droplets of oil hissed onto the stove like they were trying to escape. “It’s edible, most likely.”

He took a sip, gave her a sidelong look. “Long as you didn’t summon anything monstrous.”

“Only your appetite,” she said, nudging him with her hip.

He bumped her back. Not quite a pardon. But not not one.

Then his gaze wandered back to the countertop. Pot half-sliding off the back burner. Open drawer like a tripwire. 

“You put the sugar in the spice rack,” he said, tone mild but vaguely affronted.

“Did I?”

“Mhm. And that skillet’s seen things, Sylvia. Unspeakable things.”

“I’m going to clean it,” she said, waving the spatula like a white flag. “I’m just a little busy right now.”

He didn’t scoff, exactly, but it was a near miss. His smile thinned.

Sylvia caught the shift. “Is it that bad?”

“It’s like a cookbook hacked up a lung in here.”

She laughed, then rallied. “In my defense, everything I touched improved in flavor by at least twelve percent. Some collateral clutter was a necessary sacrifice.”

“Just sayin’. This place ain’t gonna scrub itself.” He reached for the skillet—

—and recoiled. The handle was, unfathomably, slimy.

Nothing she had strewn across the counter should’ve produced a glaze like that. His lips pulled back, a grimace formed of teeth. This was how frying pans died.

But Sylvia’s fingertips ghosted over his elbow. “Hey. Leave it,” she said, more gently now. “I have a system. It’s just… all-at-once cleanup mode.”

She wasn’t careless. Just moved like she was always fifteen minutes late to a house fire. Burning through prep, handling tidying later, if at all. It was how she brewed. How she ran sales. Fast hands, fast plans, crash later.

“This was supposed to be a nice surprise,” she added, a bit firmer. “Let me take care of cleanup.”

Finn hesitated. Then released the skillet and stepped back, wiping his hands on the towel hooked over the oven handle.

“Alright. Your mess, your method. But that skillet’s gonna need a little extra TLC.”

She perked up. “Yeah?”

“Cast iron’s fussy,” he said, nodding toward it. “You clean it wrong, it holds a grudge. Like a cursed pirate treasure. Or Quinn.”

That made her grin return, playful. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want a vengeful frying pan waiting for its chance to brain me. Teach me the ritual. If I’m going to clean it, I want to do it right.”

Finn snorted. “No soap apocalypses.”

She laughed and turned back to the stove.

Out of reflex, Finn closed one drawer. Then another. It felt like the lamest meditation.

“I knew it,” Sylvia said without looking. “You’re physically incapable of following directions.”

“Could be.” He picked up the mug again to help occupy his hands. “But the colander’s about to decapitate the spice rack. At least park it somewhere safe.”

She turned, half-cocked and clearly preparing a quip—but when she caught his expression, the retort faded. She blinked, paused, exhaled. Then she shuffled to the side, reached up, pulled the colander down from the cabinet knob, and set it carefully on a folded towel beside the sink. No commentary. Just realigning.

Finn watched her do it, and some small knot in the back of his neck eased.

She hummed a satisfied sound and shifted her weight to one foot as she went back to the pan, poking with her spatula.

His eyes swept the kitchen again. The spill by the salt cellar hadn’t been wiped. A cabinet door was still hanging open. But there was a wedge of citrus balanced on the rim of his plate. The skillet’s handle was turned inward, away from the edge of the counter, like he’d shown her. And she added a heaping spoonful of salt to the eggs left in the pan after plating her own portion.

Not how he would’ve done breakfast. He liked being able to find utensils without launching a full-scale scavenger hunt, for starters.

But he liked her more. 

And if she ever stopped treating meal prep like a timed obstacle course—if he could have her and a kitchen that didn’t look like it lost a bar fight with a bakery—well… then he’d really be living the high life.

Until then, this would do just fine.

The mess she made for him.

She didn’t expect it to feel that different.

She’d spent the night at Finn’s place a hundred times, it seemed. Enough to know which floorboards creaked, how warm the kitchen got when he had the front burner going a while, and exactly how much pressure to use to unstick the bathroom window. It was familiar. Comfortable. Practically routine. She’d landed lightly out front, broom slung behind her and the day still clinging to her like shop dust, same as ever.

But tonight, stepping through the door after her first full workday since the move, something shifted.

Her bag landed with a quiet thud by the sofa, beneath the little shelf where she’d unpacked her tea tins yesterday. One of them—her mandrake blend—was still cracked open. A spoon sat tucked neatly inside. 

Waiting, almost.

She kicked off her boots by reflex, peeled her gloves down finger by finger, and padded into the kitchen. Her muscles were still coiled from a long day on her feet, her shoulders tight from inventory surprises and a shrewder-than-average customer who’d absolutely tried to short her. Twice. But the savory smell that greeted her wasn’t merely calming. It was grounding.

And it came with no clutter. The counter was wiped clean. Every knife was rinsed and drying. The cutting board was already propped behind the sink. Finn stood at the stove, back turned, sleeves rolled up, almost done cooking… but there was no aftermath to be seen. She had to admit—grudgingly, internally—this really did seem like the smarter way to go about it; no tower of dirty dishes lying in wait on the other end of the meal. Maybe it got easier when you didn’t have to spend half your brain cells decoding what all the jargon in the recipe meant.

“Clockin’ more overtime, huh? Glad you made it back.” He glanced over his shoulder and met her eyes with a broad smile. “Welcome home, Minnow.”

That was all. Nothing big, nothing theatrical. Like it didn’t even need saying. Except maybe it did, just this once. Because it landed like a truth overdue.

She hadn’t thought about it when she was saying goodnight to Oswald, nor on the flight back. Hadn’t noticed how automatically she’d veered left around the clocktower. Now, though, standing in the kitchen’s glow, the knowledge finally settled. For so long, her shop had been her domain. But it never made space for her to rest.

Finn did.

Sylvia stopped at the kitchen island a moment, coming to rest with her arms crossed on the cool marble surface, and the answering smile came easy. Tired, yes—but warm all the way through, dulling the edges of the day.

“Hey,” she said. She drifted a few steps closer, eyes on the stove before skating back to him. “Smells amazing. Who do I have to bribe to get a plate of the good stuff?”

There was a crooked slant to his lips when he answered. “You’re in luck. I know a guy.”

“Oh yeah?"

“Real generous type,” he said, pressing something in the pan flat with absent-minded precision. “Bit of a pushover if you butter him up while he’s plating.”

Sylvia sidled up beside him, slid an arm around his waist, and leaned in until her temple bumped his shoulder. “Then you should warn him he’s about to get shamelessly flattered.”

“That so?” Finn huffed a low laugh. “You're only a couple sweet words away from an extra portion of crispy potatoes on the side.”

She grinned, eyes slipping closed. Her nose nudged against the soft crease of his shirt sleeve, catching, beneath the aroma of garlic and lemon, the lingering trace of salt and sea. Warm skin, chill breeze.

“Dangerous deal,” she said, a whispered warning. “With an exchange rate like that on the table, I might just get stuck here. You'll have to pry me off with a spatula.” 

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Didn’t realize I was buyin’ a weighted boyfriend proxy.”

Chapter Text

It had been a week since Sylvia moved in.

Long enough for routines to settle. For her mugs to migrate to the dish rack. For her bits and bobs to show up in corners they hadn’t before.

Long enough for her to find the box.

She had every right to be in the bedroom closet. After all, she lived here now, and it was only practical to get familiar with the storage situation. She wasn’t digging for secrets; she was trying to organize her clothes in a way that didn’t make her feel quite so slipshod in comparison to Finn’s side of the closet.

The box was shoved deep in the back, like it had either been forgotten or hidden. Which, of course, made it infinitely more interesting. She wasn’t snooping. Still, her hand paused on the cardboard flaps like they might bite. Then she pulled them open.

Inside sat the single ugliest statuette she had ever seen. 

A ceramic fish about the size of a boule of bread and posed like a strangled question mark lay nestled in crumpled paper. It had been painted—poorly—in blues and greens, its bulging eyes misaligned, its mouth twisted into what could only be described as an existential grimace. The brushstrokes were uneven. The glaze was lumpy. One of the fins was chipped off halfway down.

It was hideous.

Sylvia was thrilled.

“Finn!” she called.

From the living room, he answered, “What’s up?”

“Who’s this handsome gentleman you’ve been hiding?”

“...What?” A few moments later he appeared in the doorway. “What are you—?” When his eyes landed on the statue, he had the appearance of a man whose soul was attempting to leave his body. He dragged a hand down his face. “Oh, geez. Put that back.”

Instead, Sylvia turned it over in her hands, studying the craftsmanship—or, rather, the utter lack thereof. “Finn,” she said, far too amused for his own good, “did you make this?”

A long, suffering pause. Then, gruffly: “I was just a pup.”

She laughed, bright and delighted. “This is fantastic. It’s adorable.”

“Don’t start.” Finn strode forward, reaching for the fish, but Sylvia twisted away and hunched down like an armadillo over the poor abomination. That was when she noticed the writing on the bottom. Her laughter cut off into an excited gasp.

Because in one corner of the base, in a clean, careful script, was: Finn, 6

And scrawled underneath it in messy, barely legible, childish handwriting: Gillbert

“You named him Gillbert?” she wheezed. “So you started on the fish puns early, I see.”

Finn dove, trying to pry the fish from under her where she'd curled protectively around it. He got a hand around the base, but Sylvia locked her grip and refused to budge, clamping down like she had every intention of being buried with the figurine in her arms.

“Give me that,” he said, half-chuckling, half-panicked, as if wresting a cursed relic from a goblin. He lifted her off the ground trying to pull the statue free, muttering, “I really shoulda tossed that hunk of junk…”

She clung on with grit, voice juddering as he attempted to shake her off it. “No way! Finn, this is—” Looking up at him, eyes sparkling, her grin split wide. “Oh, this is my new favorite thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Real collectors’ item.”

Finn's grip on the statue loosened. When he set her back down on the floor, Sylvia was nothing short of jubilant. He pressed both hands to his face, then let them fall with a long exhale.

“I love him,” she declared, plopping onto the edge of the bed with Gillbert sitting on her lap. "Look at him. So brave in the face of a tortured existence.”

Finn sat on the dresser, arms crossed. “He’s a fail.”

Sylvia gasped and planted her hands on either side of the fish's head, covering its non-existent ears. "Why do you still have it if you hate it so much?"

“Dunno. Provin' some kinda point, maybe,” he said with a shrug. “Pops said it was a waste of shelf space, so I stashed it. Guess I’ve been luggin’ around a conversation piece I never really let anybody take a gander at.” He gave a short, dry chuckle that sounded like it had been stuck in his teeth for decades.

Smile faltering just a touch, Sylvia’s attention moved down to the statue she held in her lap. The idea of telling a little kid their art wasn’t worth displaying made something pinch in her stomach. It was no masterpiece, sure, but that wasn’t the point. 

A montage of all her terrible little projects that had rotated through the house growing up played in her head: glue-globbed constructs, finger paintings, the early I'm-going-to-make-potions-like-Uncle-Oswald phase where her parents gamely choked down truly repulsive mixtures of condiments and fruit juices. Nothing had ever been tossed. At least, not where she could see. There were certainly more than a few “potions” polished off far too quickly, dumped into unfortunate houseplants when her back was turned.

Her grip on the ceramic shifted, thumbs brushing over lumpy glaze like it might bruise. It wasn’t pity pulling at her. It was something fossilized bone-deep. The kind of reflex one developed in a house where every glitter-glued monstrosity earned fridge space.

“So… what, it’s got sentimental seniority?” she asked, gently ribbing, trying to match his chuckle with one of her own; fond and light, like tossing one pebble after another into a small pond.

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed with a snort. “And maybe a little sanity check. Figured if I ever made somethin’ worse, I’d know I was really spiraling.”

Sylvia laughed, a bit more genuine. “Well, that makes him the most misshapen safety net I’ve ever seen." She patted Gillbert’s head like he’d earned it. He gaped in eternal ceramic horror.

Finn gave a rueful shake of his head, releasing a breath that tapered off into something like a sigh.

“Ain’t he just?” 

Finn didn’t clock it right away.

He was mid-zest, the citrus rind curling off in tidy strips, when something tickled at the edge of his awareness. A slow, creeping itch—not quite danger, but the kind of pressure that said someone—or something—had eyes on him. 

He turned. Paused. And there it was.

Gillbert.

Perched dead center on the open hearth shelf, nestled between the framed map of Rafta and a hand-painted tile neither of them remembered buying. The ceramic beast sat atop a repurposed dish towel like it was the crown jewel of a gallery installation. Lit from one side by the soft gleam of morning sun, its bulging peepers cast a suspicious glare across the living room like a grotesque sentinel. Or a deeply confused house spirit.

Finn blinked once. Then again. Slowly, he dried his hands on the nearest towel.

“Minnow?” he called, tone even.

A beat. Then: “Yeah?”

“You do this?”

From the next room: “Define this.”

She stepped into view a moment later, tea in hand, looking way too pleased with herself. No guilt. No hesitation. Not even a flicker of confusion.

He pointed at the abomination with his wooden mixing spoon. “The shrine.”

Sylvia took a slow sip of tea, head tipped toward the shelf like she was admiring a painting she’d recently hung. “He’s got a great view up there. Natural light. Commanding presence.”

“You put him in the alcove.”

“It’s prime real estate,” she said without blinking. “Optimal foot traffic, good airflow, spiritually resonant. I think it’s what he deserves. And honestly, I like having him where I can appreciate him.”

He stared at her. “You gave him a stage.”

“I gave him a home,” she corrected, like he was the one being ridiculous.

He opened his mouth to fire something back—probably about cursed idols or jinxed décor—but the words fizzled before they rose to his tongue. Because Gillbert, for all his chipped glaze and haunted expression, was… gussied up. Dusted. Official.

Finn exhaled slowly, leaning his weight into the counter as a smile tugged at his mouth. “You keep this up, I’m gonna get a big head.”

Sylvia, utterly unbothered, blew lightly across her tea. “You could use the space. Practically eighty percent teeth as it is.”

A breath of a laugh slipped out of him. His gaze lingered on the hideous little mistake suddenly promoted to a fixture of the apartment.

On the couch, Sylvia curled into the armrest like she’d always been part of the furniture. Legs tucked under, shoulders soft, mug cradled between bare hands. Comfortable in a way that tugged something loose behind his ribs.

He watched her for a beat longer than he meant to. 

“You actually like it?” he asked, the words leaving him too casual, like he hadn’t been turning the question over in his head for the last thirty seconds.

Her eyes met his then. No smirk, no setup. 

“Of course I do,” she said. “He’s cute and awful.”

A small laugh rolled out. “He’s in good company, then.”

“Exactly.” Her nose crinkled over the rim of her cup. “You’ve clearly got a type.”

* ~ * ~ *

The produce stall smelled like crushed citrus and wet burlap, the air thick with steam rising off the cobblestones after the morning drizzle. Sylvia was mid-haggle over a bruised piece of fruit—it had damage, she insisted, not character—when something small and slightly sticky latched onto her gloved hand.

She flinched, spinning by reflex, one foot pivoting on damp stone before her eyes dropped to the source.

A child. Four, maybe five—she wasn't great at discerning ages. Round cheeks flushed from exertion or panic, the hood of his little rain jacket slipping back as he looked up at her with a wide, startled stare. His face shifted in real time: relief to confusion to horror. Like she'd just threatened to eat him

Wrong hand. Wrong person.

The kid recoiled so fast he nearly toppled and tripped over his too-big galoshes. Sylvia instinctively reached out to steady him but stopped short of touching his shoulder. His eyes were glassy.

"Whoa, hey," she said gently, crouching. "Are you lost?"

He nodded, a tiny jerk of his chin that made his bright red curls bounce. His bottom lip quivered, but he held it together. Barely.

Crisis scale: moderate. Manageable. One small, misplaced human. No blood, no screaming.

"Okay," Sylvia said, modulating her voice as though trying not to spook a skittish familiar. "Let’s find your grown-up. Can you tell me their name? What they're wearing?"

Blank stare. Nervous, uneven breathing. His little fingers curled against his palms like he was trying not to cry from the pressure of being perceived.

She exhaled and rose to full height, sweeping the crowd. Red hair? Harried expression? Empty-handed and panicking?

Finn returned to her elbow, towering and unhurried, depositing a bunch of leafy greens from the neighboring stall into her satchel. He paused for half a beat, gaze flicking from her to the child now hovering close to her leg and drawing stuttering breaths. Sylvia hadn’t reached for him again, but her body was angled protectively toward him, a barrier against the shifting bustle of the market throng.

"You accessorizin'?"

"Lost kid," Sylvia explained. "We’re mid-reunion search."

That was all Finn needed.

"Alright, squirt," he said, voice pitched easy. He hooked his hands under the boy’s arms and hoisted him overhead. "Let’s get you some altitude. Anybody missin’ a little guy?” he called like he was auctioning the kid off, scanning the market.

The boy squeaked as he rose up past the awnings, hands grabbing instinctively at Finn’s fingers. Wide eyes blinked across the sea of stalls and shoppers, until—

"Mama!"

Finn turned. Sylvia followed the little outstretched arm like a divining rod.

A woman, not a few dozen feet away, had frozen mid-step. Her red ponytail clung to the back of her neck like a soaked ribbon, her eyes huge with relief. She crossed the square like she meant to speedwalk straight through any obstacle in her path.

"There you are!" She pulled him down from where Finn had lowered him to dangle and squeezed the child like she could fuse him to her chest. "Thank you," she breathed, her words coming in one whoosh. Then, to the boy again: "I told you to hold—don’t run off like that," terror and fury and compassion vying for control over her tone.

Finn's hands hovered an extra second, not quite releasing the handoff until the kid’s arms had locked around his mother’s neck.

The boy buried his face in her shoulder, shame overtaking fear. Sylvia recognized the type; that level of public embarrassment left scar tissue. Shaky fingers crept up to clutch the drawstring of the woman's raincoat, and Sylvia saw his breathing start to slow. He gave a little sniff and twisted to hide his face further.

"Thank you," the woman said again. Her eyes flicked between them before landing on Sylvia. "He must’ve thought you were me. From behind."

Sylvia gave her a sympathetic smile and a what-are-you-gonna-do shrug. "Glad we found you."

Finn let out a theatrical sigh, loud enough to carry, one hand on the back of his neck. "Real close call. ‘Fraid we were gonna have to keep him for a second there."

The kid peeked up in silent distress. His mother let out a short laugh; grateful, primarily, with just a flicker of nerves. Sylvia snorted. Risky material, considering the audience was recovering from a fraught separation, but it landed. Mostly.

It wasn’t a joke meant for them, anyway. It was for her. He said it like they were any other affable couple at the market, like there was no predetermined level of menace in his aura people registered in their hindbrains. Like being next to her granted him entry to some kind of not-that-exclusive club where harmless banter with strangers didn't set off alarm bells. And it was because of that note of aspirational camouflage that she simply turned and gave him a slow, sidelong look, more wry than sharp, weighing how much trouble he was worth as though she didn't already know the answer was 'a lot'.

"What?" he said, palms out, toothy grin on full display. "You got the tried-and-tested mentor creds. Gotta start 'em young if you want a protégé worth their salt."

Sylvia rested her hand on his arm and let out a dry little huff, easing half a step into him. A subtle move, giving the mother more space without making a thing of it. "Oh, I don’t know, strudel," she said, placing emphasis on the tooth-rotting endearment still a little clumsy on her tongue. "I got a hold of you pretty late, and you still turned out okay."

Finn’s mouth twitched, the corner curling up like he couldn’t quite help it, even though he must have known she was deliberately amping up softness as a buffer for his default appearance of bite. 

"Aw geez, Minnow," he murmured, voice dipping into a bashful rumble, "you’re makin' me blush over here."

The woman shifted her son higher on her hip, and her shoulders eased. The tension in her jaw unhooked slightly. She let out a short breath and gave a small, tired nod. 

"Well, take care," she said, disappearing back into the crowd with haste, muttering to the boy as she smoothed over his curls.

Sylvia waved and watched them go before bumping Finn with her hip. “Can't imagine why you ever had trouble with the mom demographic.”

“Eh," he said with a flip shrug as he began to walk along, "she laughed.” 

Sylvia’s head tilted. "You clocked the retreat too, though, huh?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just adjusted one strap of his suspenders, a gesture easy to mistake for casual indifference unless you knew how clipped his movements got when something landed too close to the bone.

“What can ya do?" he said after a beat. "Hard to hide these pearly whites.”

Her mouth tugged into a lopsided smile, brows drawn up together. "Maybe just workshop the part where you imply we were seconds from claiming someone else’s child as a dependent."

He clapped one hand over his heart and dropped the other onto her shoulder. “Don’t downplay it, Minnow. That was a pivotal moment. The universe knockin'." He shivered, shoulders bunching up to his ears like he’d just seen a portent of a grim future. "We barely escaped.”

“Escaped what? A child? He was, like, forty pounds, tops.”

“That’s how they getcha. All big eyes and misplaced trust. Next thing you know, you’re hawkin' your finest potions to buy tiny socks.”

Sylvia made a gagging noise, tongue stuck out. “Please. One lost kid and you think I’m about to torch my schedule and pivot away from my dream vocation? I’ve got enough headaches without adding snacks and naptime to the mix.”

His expression turned sly. “You were awful quick to step up, though. Coulda awakened somethin' in ya. Lotta folks out there in the market for a junior business partner.”

“I'd prefer any future employees of mine housebroken,” she said, slouching her shoulder to nudge his arm off. “And capable of basic inventory tracking.”

“I'm on board.” Finn flashed a sharp, satisfied smile. “We got a good thing goin’. No need to bring on unpaid interns.”

“Glad we’re aligned on the long-term, no-growth policy.” She elbowed him with levity, the motion carrying all the relief she wasn’t saying outright. The type that settled low and certain in her chest, not only because a minor crisis had passed, but because this, too, was a kind of alignment. No hesitations. Simply a shared aversion spoken in jokes and jargon, laced with an undercurrent of certainty that neither of them had any desire to change the shape of their lives to make room for someone in tiny socks.

“Oh, I had my exit plan ready just in case.” He waved a hand lazily. “Was gonna fake my death, flee to another island, change my name—”

“Wow. You'd leave me in the lurch, managing the shop and the kid you 'napped. Some partnership, Finn.”

He leaned in as they started walking again, the market folding back around them in a blur of scent and sound: grilled bread, ripe fruit, someone hawking amulets at full volume.

“Hey now, I’d send postcards. ‘Wish you were here.’ Maybe scribble it on the back of a juice box, help ya cut down on costs.”

"You're impossible," she said, but the words had no teeth. Her attention lingered on the crinkle at either end of his grin. “One day, I’m going to build up a tolerance to your nonsense.”

“Not if I keep uppin' the dosage,” he said, looking terribly pleased with himself.

“You’re comparing your charisma to poison.”

“Only the slow-acting kind,” Finn said, flashing teeth. “Real potent stuff.”

Sylvia huffed, but her lips were already curving. She slipped her arm around his waist and leaned into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt in a brief squeeze.

“Mm,” she said, warm and resigned. “It certainly is."

* ~ * ~ *

Sylvia stepped through the door with the smell of mana vapor still clinging to her clothes and a crick in her shoulder from hunching too low over the cauldron that may have taken up permanent residence. Her gloves felt like they’d been fused to her hands. But she registered the rhythmic thud of a knife, the clatter of a cutting board, and the scent of something briny, and ever-so-slightly charred filled the apartment; comfort roasted directly into the air.

She was trying to quiet a mental inventory of what ingredients would need duplicating in the slime pots tomorrow—more hocus locust, all set on sphinx flea—and simply enjoy being home when something on the kitchen counter threw her tally out the window.

It sat like a discarded lawn ornament; loaf-sized and faintly glistening as though recently wiped with a damp cloth, squat and pebbled, akin to a mossy rock that had been left to stew in its own discontent. The setting sunlight from the window hit it just wrong, casting a long shadow across the far wall. At first glance, it looked like a stretched-out toad carved from shale and regret, with the addition of a chunky little tail. Six stubby legs tucked neatly beneath a rotund belly gave it the silhouette of a creature with a distinct lack of mobility. Its coloring was a muted mess of browns and greens and greasy gray, as though mold had tried to organize a palette and failed.

The face was the worst part. Flat, wide, and inexplicably judgmental, with half-lidded eyes and a perma-frown that suggested centuries of disappointment. Sylvia squinted at it. Then took a cautious step closer.

Because if Finn had excavated another of his childhood art disasters, this one came with deeply unfortunate, malformed realism.

She cocked her head. “Finn?”

His attention shifted the moment she stepped into the kitchen, a half-smile tugging at his mouth before he turned back to the saucepan, giving its contents a quick stir. The steam rising from it smelled rich—garlic, wine, and something clean and salty enough to suggest squid, caramelized at the edges. Finn flicked the heat down with one hand, adjusting seasoning with the other like he was squaring off the last knot on a deal.

"Hey, Minnow," he said, extra warm in that way he got when he could tell she’d been at it for a while. “You’re home late. Rough one?”

“No, actually. It was all going smoothly and I got lost in the flow state for a bit. Sorry.” She dropped her satchel on a barstool with a relieved little sigh, but her eyes inevitably snapped back to the craggy lump of stone on the countertop. “If this is Gilbert's long-lost cousin,” she said, brow furrowing, “he needs a different spot. And the hearth shelf is full.”

Finn reached for the oil without missing a beat. “No worries,” he said, entirely too casual. “Don't think he'd stay put up there anyway.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What.”

The statue shifted. Not much, but enough for one damp foot to schlorp against the marble and drag itself forward an inch, deeply resentful of the effort.

Sylvia recoiled a step, drawing her head so far back she had to look down her nose at the creature to keep it in view. “That thing’s a live hobblenewt?!”

Finn slid the knife aside before reaching to remove the pan from the heat. A little smear of sweet-spicy smelling sauce clung to his knuckles as he nudged the burner off and gave the pan one last swirl. “Soon as you laid eyes on him, I knew you'd be a goner—just like that,” he said with a loud snap of his fingers.

The hobblenewt made a low, warbling hrrrnk in response, as though life itself were an inconvenience it was too exhausted to properly complain about.

“Salt and Pepper finally coughed up that haul they owe me,” he added, turning to plate a healthy mound of calamari from the skillet, carefully arranging each piece with a little flick of the wrist for extra drama. “Remember? Helpin’ ‘em get their cargo through customs the boring way, without having to declare it ‘whoops, slipped off the deck’ again?”

She squinted as her thoughts made the leap. “And this thing was… inside the chest they paid with?”

“Dead on. Little fella was buried under a heap of glitter and attitude. The dwarf kraken holed up in there with 'im came at me like a bookie with a grudge.”

He fished in his pocket beneath the apron, withdrew his hand, and that’s when Sylvia caught the line of red suction marks running up the inside of his forearm like a trail of tiny, pissed-off welts. Her focus shifted from the marks to the dinner, then back again, realization dawning with a delighted horror. She didn’t comment.

With a casual flourish, he tipped a silver ring inlaid with rough-hewn coral onto the counter in front of her. “Speakin' of the loot—this one looked like it might fit ya.”

Sylvia hesitated, then tugged off her glove and took the ring between her thumb and forefinger. The ring was simple but striking, with a kind of scrappy elegance befitting something that had survived a shipwreck with its dignity intact. She slipped it onto her finger, watching it settle above the knuckle.

A little loose around her skin. She flexed her fingers, testing.

“Shoot. Just a teeny bit too big. It’d probably end up sitting in a drawer most of the time anyway,” she said, conciliatory, passing it back to him. “I've never really loved the way rings feel under gloves. Thanks, though.”

Finn gave a rueful smile, flicking the ring up into the air and catching it again before sliding the piece back into his pocket. “Guess it’ll make a better bartering chip. But hey, if the cats keep haulin' in questionable imports, at some point I’m bound to turn up the kinda pirate booty you'll actually wanna hang on to.”

She snorted. “You don’t have to go treasure hunting on my behalf. I've already got my hands on some top-tier booty.” Rounding the counter toward him as she dropped the corny line, voice lilting with affectionate sass, she delivered a flirty little smack with zero shame.

Finn began moving to retaliate—until the back of her hand came up and, instead of another playful gesture, pressed firmly against his forehead.

“Hold on,” she said, brows knitting with theatrical concern.

He blinked, half-laughing. “You anglin' for a stay of execution? 'Cause I'll just get you back later.”

“Checking your temperature, actually,” she clarified, lips curling. “Because the only way I can imagine you accepting misshapen fauna as payment for services rendered is if you're in the grip of a delirious fever.”

“Wasn’t exactly supposed to be part of the deal.” Finn eyed the hobblenewt, who blinked slowly. “He followed me off the docks.”

As if on cue, the creature took another two-inch shuffle forward, pausing dramatically afterward.

“And you didn’t shoo it?” Sylvia dropped her hand with an expression of deep concern that didn't quite hide her amusement. “You wouldn't even have to. A brisk walk and you'd have been home free!”

“Stopped for coffee, ran into Luna, chatted a bit while the little guy played catch-up. He ran a long con.”

“You—” She cut herself off, staring at Finn. Then at the creature, who was now staring back at her with what she could only describe as resignation.

She lifted her hands in disbelief. “You stopped at the cafe. And yet,” she said slowly, scanning the kitchen, “I spy no pastry offering to defray my suffering.”

Finn gave her a wounded look that barely covered his smug satisfaction, then flipped open the breadbox. Inside, next to the loaf she’d baked the day before, sat a fruit tart topped with a delicate curl of candied ginger.

“What kinda chump do you take me for?” But he said it as if some applause wouldn't go amiss.

“Huh. Well played.”

Behind her, the hobblenewt emitted another hrrrnk , louder this time. She turned just enough to catch its line of sight—aimed directly at the breadbox. Its bulging eyes seemed… interested.

“That little monster’s not getting any,” she muttered, sliding the lid shut.

Blinking out of sync, it made another despondent noise.

Sylvia leaned in cautiously, head tilted, elbows on the edge of the counter next to Finn. “I can’t tell if it’s sick.”

“He's just built different,” Finn said proudly. “I’m thinkin’ of calling him Barnacle.”

“Oh no, you’ve already named it,” she said, half-laughing, half-horrified, dropping her face into her hands. “Finn, he’s a wad of petrified phlegm.”

“Hey now, he’s tryin’ his best over here.” Finn scooped the hobblenewt up with worrying familiarity, cradling it in the crook of one arm like a damp baguette. The creature sagged immediately, apparently having given up on the concept of bones. “Not his fault his best is flotsam.”

Sylvia gawked as it slowly exhaled against his shirt with all the enthusiasm of a rotting sponge.

“You’re coddling it.”

“He had a long day,” Finn said, scratching a lumpy patch behind some stumpy fronds that might’ve been its ear. “Gotta be an adjustment, bein’ outside a wooden box again. Lots to take in.”

Sylvia shut her eyelids, silently negotiating with the universe, already feeling the tension that had built up behind her forehead transferring deeper into her brain. “You know there are creatures that carry actual curses, right? Plague with teeth.” She stilled. "What if he's got selkie lice?"

“He just needs a little spiffin' up, is all.”

“And maybe a containment circle.”

Sylvia rested her forehead briefly against Finn’s shoulder—on the far side of the baggy lifeform now tucked in his arm.

Barnacle made another sound somewhere between a gasp and a burp. A long silence stretched. The hobblenewt shifted again, slow and deliberate, like it cost him something.

Sylvia stared at it, her mind fighting against the growing sense of pitiful sympathy that was starting to creep in. She wanted to resist. She should resist. It had the air of a creature that had been rejected by nature itself and simply accepted that fate. So pathetic it nearly looped all the way back around to endearing.

But there was the principle of the thing to consider. Finn had brought this creature home without so much as a preemptive “hey, I found some awful thing,” which, at this point, felt like a breakdown in domestic guidelines. If she did something that left a visible mucus trail on the kitchen counter, there would’ve been a discussion. But no, Barnacle got to ooze all over the marble and somehow earn a cuddle for it.

It was injustice, is what it was.

And yet, Finn was so pleased, cradling the creature like a prize. It wasn’t fair. He had that stupid glint in his eye that made her ribs loosen despite themselves. Like this—this horrible, glistening goblin—was load bearing, and now she'd be a monster to evict it.

She tilted her head slightly to bury her face in his arm, sounding indulgent and mildly whiny. “What happened to the no-growth policy?”

“Minnow, this is a rock garden with legs. Even came pre-boxed.”

Sylvia blinked, then followed the nod of his head toward the living room window. Sure enough, a treasure chest sat tucked against the wall beneath it, lid propped up to reveal the edge of a blanket draped over the side. Like something had made itself at home.

“He’s been locked up who-knows-how-long and came out kickin',” Finn added. “That’s zero maintenance. Barely counts as a pet.”

“Fine,” she muttered eventually. “But if he starts leaking, I’m billing you for mop time." Her gaze travelled the slime pooling faintly in its cracked folds of skin. "Zero maintenance,” she repeated, shaking her head with abiding skepticism.

His answering chuckle shook a long, weary breath out of her. But if she truly didn't have to invest any time in it, then she didn't have much room to complain.

“... Does he bite?”

“Only at the squishy part of your heart,” Finn said, both diagnosis and dare.

The creature slumped against his chest and emitted a sound somewhere between a sigh and a floorboard settling under too much weight.

Sylvia pointed a finger at Barnacle like she was scolding a guilty pet already too familiar with the furniture. “You’re on probation,” she declared, but the edge in her voice didn't hold water.

“Ya hear that, pal?” Finn jostled the hobblenewt slightly in his arms. “You're in.”

Sylvia sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through one of Finn’s old card binders like it was a private collection she’d been waiting her whole life to plunder. Her fingertips smudged the edges of the plastic sheets. Finn lounged on the couch behind her, stretched dramatically sideways, utterly relaxed.

“Why do you keep three of this card?” she asked, jabbing a finger at a dull green kaiju with no synergy and terrible stats. “It’s practically wilting.”

Finn yawned. "Legacy pack. Collectible."

“It’s hot garbage.” She flipped the page.

Halfway through the turn, her eyes narrowed. Something was… behind the backing. Just barely visible between the two cards on either side of the slot. She pinched it free with delicate precision.

The card was pristine, sharp and crisp, its edges glinting gold in the light. The kaiju on the face was a pangolin the size of a teacup, wrapped in a spiked tea cozy for regal armor and brandishing a sewing needle like a scepter. The background was chaos incarnate: toppled buildings and terrified kaiju ten times its size fleeing in the distance. Paragraphs of card effects sprawled out beneath the art.

The title was embossed in sparkling type: Pint-Sized Overlord

“Oh my gods,” Sylvia breathed. “What is this?”

Finn’s head lifted. The moment he saw the card, he sat bolt upright. “No way. You actually found Pint-Sized Overlord? Been missing so long, I figured that thing was sleepin’ with the fishes.”

Sylvia tilted her head, mock-thoughtful. “So… under your pillow?”

Finn gave her a long look—half affronted, half begrudging humor—before leaning in like she had her foot on the pressure plate of an ancient trap with a hair trigger. “It got banned before the ink was dry. No counters, no balance. If it hits the board, you're losin' your hand, your lead, and maybe your will to live.”

“Finder’s rights,” Sylvia declared, pressing it to her chest.

"Hey, hey—hands off. That's my binder you're pilferin'."

“Negligence,” she countered. “You left a time bomb unsupervised in a plastic sheet.”

“It ain't even legal.”

“That’s part of the appeal.”

“You're not layin' that down in a match, Minnow. Not happenin'.”

“I’m absolutely building a deck around—”

A heavy, damp thump interrupted them.

They both glanced to the side.

Barnacle had shuffled several feet across the living room rug without either of them noticing until he dropped his fat tail on the floor. He now sat motionless about six inches from Sylvia’s knee. His wide, flat face stared directly at the card in her hand. Silent. Unblinking.

One elbow braced on his knee, Finn had the appearance of a man trying to solve a riddle that had grown legs. "How long has he been…?”

Barnacle did not move. He looked. Long and profound. As if weighing the moral implications of finders keepers in collectible card games.

Sylvia eyed the creature warily. “What does he want? Does he have to go to the bathroom?” Turning back to Finn, she started, “This is your—”

Barnacle’s tongue shot out with shocking speed; faster than a thought, faster than reflex. It turned out to be, by a comical margin, the fastest thing about him.

One second, the card glimmered in Sylvia’s hand.

The next, it was gone, snatched mid-air like a firefly off a fuse.

Sylvia yelped, “No!”

But it was too late. With an unapologetic squelch, Pint-Sized Overlord vanished into Barnacle’s mouth.

Silence fell. Sylvia peered sideways, looking at Finn without moving her head. He was already staring back at her with the exact expression she was wearing: eyes huge, mouths parted in synchronized disbelief. Neither of them spoke. There was a shared moment of mutual panic that seemed to go on much longer than the actual time elapsed before Sylvia sprung into action.

“Barnacle,” she hissed, scrambling to grab him by his ridiculously squat middle. He didn’t resist. He didn’t flinch. He just… became heavier. Her arms strained. “Ugh. He’s gone deadweight. Bad newt.”

Finn stepped over the coffee table and joined her, both of them now crouched over the loaf-sized lump as Sylvia’s gloved fingers pried gently at his cold, clammy jawline.

Barnacle blinked slowly, pupils like lazy dashes. His frond-like gills gave a slight, unhelpful twitch.

“At least he’s not chewin',” Finn muttered, attempting optimism.

“No, he’s contemplating. Which is worse.”

Finn crouched lower, one hand braced on the floor for balance while the other hovered near Barnacle’s jaw, fingers working with the cautious insistence of someone picking a cursed lockbox. His brow furrowed deeper with every second of stubborn resistance. "Alright, sneak thief, cough it up. No digestin' your crimes."

Sylvia suddenly froze, then leapt to her feet with a burst of realization. "Wait. Wait wait wait—"

She sprinted to the kitchen and yanked open the breadbox. Seconds later, she returned with a loaf held aloft. Barnacle’s pupils tracked it immediately, transfixed.

"Oh, now you’re paying attention." Sylvia tore off a hunk and waved it in slow, tempting circles just above his nose. "Does Barnacle want tasty, tasty bread?" she asked, voice high and sweet. Then her tone dropped to a hardball offer. "You have to trade for it. One shiny card for one home-baked miracle."

Barnacle blinked once. Twice.

"Come on, buddy." She tried to ignore the fact she was attempting to reason with a barely-mobile terrarium. "No barter, no bread."

After a moment of passable thought, Barnacle opened his mouth wide enough for the card to slide out. It flopped wetly onto the floor. Curled. Glossy with regret.

Sylvia stared down at it in horror. “He licked the foil right off!”

Barnacle let out a low groan that sounded like a wet boot being pulled from a swamp. It echoed with the kind of urgency only a creature denied a snack could muster. He looked at the card on the rug, then back at the bread still in Sylvia’s hand, demanding payment in full. With a grumble about how he’d better not get used to this, Sylvia extended the promised chunk to him. Barnacle’s tongue zipped out, snatched the bread, and reeled it back in like a fishing line. He didn’t chew. Merely let it sit in his mouth, soaking patiently, preparing it for osmosis.

Finn picked up the card, inspected the warping and shimmer-less border. “Still technically readable,” he muttered, but his voice lacked its usual dry humor. “This thing was mint. You could see the first edition embossing.”

Sylvia groaned, collapsed backward onto the rug, and threw one arm over her face. “I can’t believe I was robbed by a rock with gills.”

“It was banned anyway,” he responded, though it sounded more like he was trying to console himself than her.

Barnacle began to plod away with slow, remorseless gravity, clearly having had enough excitement for one day.

Finn stood over her, card in hand, turning it over like he was still hoping it might somehow restore itself. “Figures,” he said, the word dropping like a stone. “Throw a tiny monster into the mix and he eats my rarest card. That’s some kinda poetic.”

"I tried to warn you." Sylvia cracked one eye open, letting her head roll lazily toward him, ready to toss another jaunty jab until she caught his posture: the slump in his shoulders, the card pinched delicately between his fingers like it might crumble if he held it too tight.

“Hey,” she said more gently, nudging the side of his ankle with her foot. “Sorry, love. That really sucks.” 

One brow quirked. “Love, huh? You testin’ upgrades, or did that one just slip out? I mean, it’s no Minnow,” he allowed with faux modesty, “but I’ll take it over ‘strudel’ any day.”

Her eyes rolled, but her smile was small and real. “Glad it passed focus testing.”

Then she pushed herself up onto one elbow and bumped his shin this time, lighter, like a reset. “Guess we need a Barnacle quarantine zone at game night,” she observed, shaking her head at the satisfied lump nestled into the fibers of the rug. “But hear me out: what if we built a decklist around him? ”

“You wanna run a Barnacle-themed kaiju deck?” Finn asked with the kind of incredulity usually reserved for midnight infomercials.

“Passive-aggressive, impossible to remove, and slowly ruins everything it touches? Tell me that’s not meta.”

A reluctant smirk broke through. “Name it Sludge Tactics.”

Sylvia nodded decisively. “In memoriam Pint-Sized Overlord.”

The two of them sat amid the fallout: a soggy card drying on the table between them and a mildly resentful river rock resting nearby, still gumming a wad of bread. But their heads had tilted close, shoulders bumping as they swapped ideas in eager, scheming tones, searching for cards. Traps that prevented opponents from targeting creatures under a certain speed stat. Cards with sticky mechanics—anything that clung to the board and refused to be cleared. Ooze Hatchlings that split when destroyed, or Digestive Downtime to suspend enemy draws after consuming resources. A passive toxin effect that built with every turn, quietly corroding enemy stats like mold creeping under a floorboard.

It didn’t redeem the glorious downfall of the Overlord, but something scrappy, misaligned, and half-serious took root there anyway. The kind of collaboration that gleefully built upon whatever nonsense they had on hand.

And the beginnings of a truly unhinged decklist.

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Chapter Text

Sylvia stared at the ceiling, every blink catching on the crisp line of moonlight bleeding through the curtains. The air was still. Too still. Her pulse felt loud in her ears.

Inventory numbers reeled behind her eyes like a ticker-tape. Potion vials: low. Curse cure stocks: even lower. The adventurer influx to that damn ark in the Crater had nearly cleaned her out, and demand would only spike higher. She should’ve started one more batch brewing tonight before she came home. She should’ve—

Finn exhaled beside her, a slow, even breath that made her stomach tense purely by contrast.

He was sprawled across most of the bed, a pillow half-crushed under his cheek. His tail draped off the edge like a lazy line cast into deep water. He looked absurdly at ease. Sleeping like someone who didn’t have five cauldrons to scrub and a parcel of aging barrels to wrangle in the morning.

She turned onto her side, her body stiff despite the mattress’s give. Her fingers twisted in the hem of the sheet, restless and twitchy. She hadn't realized how tightly her hands were clamped until the ache set in, knuckles stiff from holding tension too long. One hand smoothed over the linens, aimless, seeking occupation while her thoughts kept looping.

Carefully, she slid closer, tucking herself into the heat radiating from Finn’s side. Not quite touching, but near enough to feel his low rhythm. That steadiness. That anchor.

His breathing hitched.

“Mmnnn… Minnow?” The word came low, rough, voice climbing its way out of sleep. He hardly moved, just cracked one eye open and angled his head faintly toward her. “You alright?”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Finn let out a soft grunt, slightly more laugh than gravel. He yawned. A beat passed. Then his arm curled around her without fanfare, gathering her in like a reflex. His hand settled gently under her side, thumb drawing slow, idle arcs along the curve of her ribs.

“Can’t sleep?”

Sylvia rolled over and pressed her forehead to his shoulder. “My brain’s running laps. Inventory. Ratios. Surges. That one idiot who haggled for ten minutes over a stamina potion while the line was out the door and still almost walked out with the wrong one—”

“Sylvia,” he said, half-smiling into her hair. “It’s two in the morning.”

“I know.” She huffed a breath that wasn’t quite frustration, nor quite guilt.

Finn shifted, palm smoothing down her spine. “Ain’t a crime to crack the lid on the cauldron. Gotta let the steam breathe.”

“Yeah. But it's all embedded in my mind." Her fingers clenched before curling loose. "It’s not just the brewing, finding that sweet spot where something unstable turns useful—it’s how the potions move, where they go, how the trends shift. I like knowing what someone needs before they even say it. Strategy stuff."

She chewed her lip, realizing she had simply traded in her ceaseless internal monologue for an external ramble instead. Her fingers, which had begun to drum against his chest without her intending to, stilled.

"And I can’t shut it off. That's the problem."

“Ain’t a problem. That’s passion. 'S your whole thing.” The words were soft and slurred with sleep, but carried weight nonetheless.

“Usually it works in my favor.” She drew in a deep breath through her nose and sighed. "It would be nice to have an off switch, sometimes. To control it.”

He made a quiet, snorting sound. “Could always ask me to conk you out. These meat hooks'd probably do a decent job.”

Sylvia’s laugh was small and tired. “Hmm. Think I'll pass on being body-slammed into dreamland,” she said, even as she nuzzled a little closer. “Thanks, though.”

“Y’know,” Finn murmured after a beat, voice rough with sleep, “Your uncle’s a champ about it, but even he’d say… keepin’ up with you’s a job and a half.” A yawn half-swallowed the next word. “Ever thought about bringin’ on another pair of hands?”

“Some apprentice? They’d wreck my shelf symmetry.” 

The half-sincere joke didn’t stick. She stared through him for a moment, the quiet holding too firm.

"I know it’s the smart thing. I really do. I just—every time I get close to the idea, it feels like saying I can’t keep up. Like admitting the thing I love is getting too big for me. And I don’t want to feel that way. I want to handle it. All of it. I love my job."

He didn’t answer right away. Simply pulled her in a little tighter, like he could fold her loud thoughts into the space between heartbeats.

“’Course you do,” he said, technically above a mumble. “But—you grow it like that, can’t expect to run it solo forever.” His arm curled tighter. “Even a shark’s gotta school now and then. Doesn’t make you… any less toothy.”

She huffed a small breath at the sleepy muddle of metaphor. "That doesn't even make sense."

But the tension in her head had eased. The tight coil didn’t vanish, but it loosened, one loop at a time, as her breath steadied against him. Her hand went slack over his side, fingers no longer curled tight.

"Go back to sleep," she added, fully nestled.

Finn leaned down, brushing his lips to the top of her head in a kiss so light it almost didn’t register. “Mhm. Sweet dreams, Minnow."

She meant to answer. Or at least respond. But the thought slipped away somewhere between blinks. The last coherent sensation she registered was the steady beat of him beneath her cheek. Her breath slowed. Her mind emptied. And then sleep opened its jaws beneath her, slow and soundless, and closed around her without a ripple.

Sylvia surfaced slowly, cozy and pliant, blinking against the morning light leaking in through the curtains. A persistent, low noise had threaded through her dreams—merrily bubbling brews, chattering customers—until it rose to a clamorous hum and yanked her awake too soon. She stretched one arm out across the mattress... and hit nothing but sheets.

Frowning as her hand met a suspicious amount of empty space, she pawed at the rumpled covers beside her, still half-asleep. The fabric was cold. The mattress had already forgotten the weight of him.

Betrayal. Utter betrayal.

When she lifted her head just enough to squint around the room, there was only Barnacle, parked like a lump of regret on the floor next to the bed, his craggy little body facing the half-open bedroom door. He didn’t blink. Didn’t groan. Just sat there. Still.

“…What’s wrong with you?” she asked, voice scratchy and flat.

Barnacle didn’t react.

Not turning to look at her was weird, but not implausible. She was, after all, second place in Barnacle's heart. Perhaps third place, coming in behind a slice of delicious, moldy bread. But to get no response from him at all? A cold worry flickered in her gut. She leaned over the edge of the bed, hair flopping messily into her eyes, and poked him—firmly—in the side. His clammy skin barely yielded. 

Still nothing.

“Oh, no. Don’t do this to me. Don’t you dare die while Finn’s not here—”

Finally, blessedly, he loosed a low, mournful groan from somewhere deep in his mossy soul; the sound that had stirred her from sleep. Even her dreams weren't safe from Barnacle's slothful menace. His gaze remained locked on the door.

Sylvia dropped her face to the mattress with a thump. “Oh. You’re pining. Poor little guy. He’s probably just out for a swim, you know.”

Barnacle blinked once. Very slowly. Very tragically.

She sighed and dragged herself upright. Her head throbbed from the rapid motion, but she reached down anyway, hanging half off the bed, and gave the hobblenewt’s head a few awkward pats. “You are way too emotionally complex for a stone with scales.”

He leaned into her hand. He looked up at her. And for one glorious second, it was kind of sweet.

Then—slap.

His tongue shot out like a damp whip and smacked her right between the eyes.

Sylvia let out a strangled squawk and flailed backward, clutching her forehead.

“Why?! ”

Barnacle made no reply. He simply returned to gazing mournfully at the bedroom door. Sylvia burrowed back under the covers and groaned into her palms. Her eyes watered faintly, blinking away the strike.

“Well, same to you, pal.”

Finn toweled his hair with one hand as he nudged the apartment door open, trailing saltwater footprints up the walk behind him. His skin still carried the slick edge of seawater and early sun, sharp and briny, like a good wake-up slap.

Inside, the living room was dim, curtains still closed against the rising morning. He’d hardlytaken two steps in before:

“Hrrrnnnnk.”

A low, guttural groan reverberated from the bedroom.

Finn paused. Cocked his head.

“Nnnnghhrhh.”

That one sounded… higher-pitched. Almost familiar. And like someone on the verge of hurling. 

A beat of silence.

“Hrrrrrrrrrrrrnnnnnk.”

“…Okay,” he muttered to himself, adjusting his towel around his neck. Someone was having a real dramatic morning. Maybe a couple someones.

Another duet of operatic whines filtered through the bedroom door. He didn’t hurry, exactly, but his pace picked up as he crossed the apartment. He eased the door the rest of the way open, then stepped into the doorway and paused mid-grin, his weight shifting to one hip as the scene hit him like a splash of cold tidewater.

Barnacle sat planted on the floor in his usual squat, his moony eyes tilted up toward the bed with theatrical despair. He let out another hrrrnk. The little guy was a damp, algae-coated tragedian. All pout, no paddle.

From under a tangle of sheets and blankets, a voice groaned back, “Nnnnnnngh.”

Sylvia: one small lump beneath the covers, hair peeking out in a chaos of bed-snarl, arms presumably wrapped around her head like a hungover bagpipe.

Barnacle: emitting sounds heard on ships in thick fog.

Finn exhaled a slow breath through his nose. There it was: that morning spark. That weird little electrostatic crackle that fizzled when she was borderline feral, refusing to open her eyes. Sylvia let out another long, weary sound, and Barnacle answered. Two kaiju on a sympathy call.

“Welp. I leave for a measly hour and ya both go off the deep end.”

Sylvia’s response was a muffled, “He’s pining.”

Finn crossed the room. “You’re both pining. He's just louder about it.”

“I’m not pining,” came the indignant burr of someone very much not a little ball of sunshine. “I'm communing with the creature. Bonding, even! You should be thrilled.”

Barnacle issued another soulful, aquatic grumble. Finn crouched next to him and gave his mossy head a pat.

“Bonding, huh? That why he’s goin’ full crisis mode?”

“He slapped me,” Sylvia said, curling tighter under the covers. “Tongue first. It was aggressive.”

Finn barked a laugh and stood, tugging the curtain just enough to let in a slash of light before heading to the closet. She hissed when the sun hit her face. Still, after he sat on the edge of the bed and began getting dressed, she wormed her way toward him, forehead bumping into the small of his back like a sleepy suckerfish.

“You can’t let him out before I’m up. He gets too depressed. I was rudely awakened by a haunted kelp mound.”

From the floor, Barnacle released a gurgling honk, a little softer this time. With great effort, he lifted his chubby tail off the floor and then let it slap back down against the wood in an admirable attempt at a wag.

“Snuck out quiet, even gave Barnacle breakfast so you could catch up on your beauty sleep.” He smirked over his shoulder. “Almost worked, too.”

A hand snaked out from under the blanket and jabbed one knuckle into his side.

Finn snorted, caught her wrist, pressed a brief kiss and nibble to the heel of her hand before releasing her. “Alright, alright. No more unsupervised sea beast wailin’. You can pop open his treasure chest at your leisure from now on.” 

Sylvia’s fingers snagged lightly on his skin when he bent to pull on one sock, and he tilted his head. A little less clenched than they'd been in the middle of the night, but already winding tight again. Base-level tension was still humming in her aura.

“Minnow,” he said, voice pitched low, “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

She muttered a fresh complaint into the pillow, but this one sounded a bit intrigued.

“Game stakes,” he continued. “One match, winner gets control of a full day of activities. No complaints. No rescheduling. No sneaky caveats. Whaddaya say?”

She took her time responding, but when she did, it was clear she was on to him.

“You just want an excuse to force me to relax.”

“Guilty,” Finn said, eyes gleaming. “You always unwind real pretty when I’m in the mix. Just wonderin’ how you'd do without the usual hands-on encouragement.”

She lifted her face from the blankets just enough to squint up at him with one bleary, unimpressed eye.

“I’m even offering a gesture of goodwill: You pick the name of the game." His teeth flashed in a quick grin.

Sylvia merely blinked, still faintly suspicious.

“I pick the stakes, you pick the rules. C’mon. When have I ever been more fair?”

She pushed herself upright with the groggy grace of someone rising from the grave. Finn watched her, warmth low in his chest. Sharp even half-asleep. Always playing to win.

“Deck swap,” she said.

Bold. Mischievous. Dangerous.

She was already crawling out of bed. “If I lose, I want it to be with a deck you built me. Then I can say it was all your fault.”

He chuckled as she rummaged around in the dresser for her gloves. “Alright. I’ll take whatever glitterbomb, fire-flinging gimmick cards you throw together, and you can try not to drown in synergy.”

Sylvia paused. “Wait, wait, is it too late to change my—?”

“Yep. Already locked in. Just like your schedule’s gonna be when I mop the floor with you.”

Sylvia let loose a monstrous sigh, and Barnacle harmonized with her like the chorus of a sea shanty. 

“Fine,” she declared, sharp and sure. The covers went flying with renewed purpose. “One match. Tonight. Winner controls tomorrow.”

Finn barely had time to blink before she was summoning her gloves to hand with a flick of her wand, muttering about the shop and sleep debt and clingy pets as she shimmied out of her pajamas. Clothes came flying out of the closet, clipping past Finn, affording glimpses of soft skin, of the way her hips tilted when she fought with one pant leg like it had personally betrayed her.

“And of course,” she added while hopping in place, “I was forced to wait for my goodbye kiss.”

Finn made a low sound in his throat, somewhere between smug and heat. “That all you were waitin’ on?” he drawled. “Not planning to bolt without breakfast, were ya?”

“Never,” she said, mid-wriggle, the leg finally cooperating after a stubborn stretch at the knee. “Kiss and carbs before I'm out the door. That’s the law, right? And I’m a law-abiding citizen.” She cursed under her breath, then straightened. 

The moment her foot was planted, Finn slipped an arm around her waist and reeled her in like he meant business. The kiss was warm and indulgent, long enough to leave a pleasant buzz in his chest. She hummed against his mouth, continuing to fasten her tunic by touch alone.

“Alright, better get those carbs toasting, big guy,” she murmured eventually, nudging him toward the kitchen with her hip. “I’ll need proper fuel to catch up on work and come up with a deck for you.”

“Bossy.”

Finn started toward the kitchen, the echo of her voice like the tail end of a spell. 

She really had no idea how dangerous it was, looking like that and demanding breakfast in the same breath.

That evening, Sylvia sat cross-legged on the couch, elbows braced against her knees, a hand of cards fanned out in front of her like a magician preparing an elaborate trick. Across from her, Finn lounged sideways in the armchair, one leg hooked over the side, tail dangling over the other, her lovingly crafted deck balanced casually in his lap.

“This right here,” Finn said, drawing another card like it might lunge at him, “is either a bold display of trust... or the opening volley in a real classy grudge match.”

“Why not both?” Sylvia replied, eyes narrowed as she stared down at the slow-churning mess of her own hand. “You’re the one who gave me a deck that’s basically strangulation disguised as a meditation exercise.”

Finn gave her a beatific smile. “A well-tuned resource engine is a thing of beauty, Minnow. All about tempo, restraint, internal balance—”

“Ugh,” she groaned, throwing her head back. “I can feel my soul calcifying.”

He chuckled, drew another card and casually slotted it onto the table. “Meanwhile, I’ve got a deck full of broken dreams over here. Did you intentionally remove every win condition, or was that just a happy accident?”

“I left in a couple of options,” she said, smiling sweetly. “They’re just… a little buried.”

Finn snorted. “Sh’yeah, about 20,000 leagues down.”

Despite the largely affectionate sabotage, the game had teeth. Every turn felt like a slow dance through a minefield. Sylvia’s deck hummed with potential—but only if she waited. Which she proved to be consistently bad at. Finn’s plays were a scattershot of near-misses, almost-combos, and lingering frustration.

“You know,” he mused, reorganizing his hand for the third time, “this’d go a lot smoother if you didn’t have a recipe for gettin’ under my skin.”

Sylvia slapped down a mid-tier kaiju purely out of spite. “Like you've got room to talk.”

Finn raised an eyebrow. “That kaiju doesn’t even do anything until turn six.”

“It does something now. It exists. I get to engage with the game.”

“You’re a piece of work.” He shook his head with a low chuckle, biting back a grin.

She pointed at him archly. “And yet, you’re still losing.”

“Mhm.”

The tide turned. Slowly, steadily, Finn’s malformed synergies began to take shape—not perfectly, but enough. The combos didn’t hit their full potential, yet they chipped away at her, turn after turn, relentless.

Sylvia tried to accelerate. She blew through her energy pool in a desperate play that backfired, leaving her exposed for a punishing counter.

“And…" Finn placed his final card with terrible satisfaction. "That’s game.”

Sylvia blinked at the board. Then again.

“No,” she said flatly.

He leaned back, arms folded behind his head. “Yep.”

“Oh, come on! I was finally getting my footing! I was adapting!”

“You did,” he agreed. “You adapted into a big ol’ loser.”

She gasped, clutching her chest as though he’d stabbed her. “You snake. What fresh horror are you going to inflict on me with your totalitarian day of victory?”

“Hmm." Sitting up then, both feet grounded, Finn rested his jaw in one clawed hand in a caricature of thought that had Sylvia rolling her eyes. Eventually, he gave an anticlimactic shrug. "Eh, haven’t decided yet.”

“Liar!” 

Sylvia launched herself across the couch, tackling him back into the cushions. Her fists bunched in his shirt collar as she loomed over him with theatrical menace. Finn let himself sink with a grunt, wearing the look of a man who’d just orchestrated a flawless con and was enjoying every second of the fallout.

“Confess, damn you!" She gave him a few shakes, like she might jostle the scheme loose from behind that smug grin. "Or I’m stealing the good blanket and revoking your coffee privileges.”

“Alright, alright, ya got me.” Finn raised both hands. “I already got somethin' cooked up. But it ain’t rolling out tomorrow,” he added, unbothered, calm in a way that made her immediately mistrustful. “I’m thinkin’ this weekend.”

“Mhmhmhm.” A skeptical laugh remained trapped behind her close-lipped smile. “Dishing out some of that famous Boss Finn mercy, are we?”

“Gotta build the suspense.” He leaned forward as if to dispense a secret, but instead snapped his teeth shut just shy of her ear. Close enough to make her jump, and precise enough to make her squeal as she did. “Let it simmer.”

“So I get to spend the next three days wondering what terrible fate awaits me, instead?”

“Only if you think relaxin' is terrible. Plus, now you got time to clear your schedule. Get ahead of the curve, even.” Still pinned, Finn wiggled his shoulders just enough to adjust and settle in, perfectly at home under threat. “You're welcome.”

Sylvia groaned and flopped backward off him and onto the cushions, her legs unfolding like a broken deck chair as she went. One foot kicked up mid-sprawl and nearly caught him in the face.

“Incredible." Both arms raised to the ceiling, plaintive. "This is psychological warfare.”

Barnacle, dozing in air-jail on a barstool positioned nearby—out of card-swallowing range—let out a sympathetic gurgle.

“Little bit." Finn tapped the side of his nose. "But I’m softenin’ you up for a reset.”

“Finn.”

“Mentally destabilizing. In a self-care kinda way. You’ll see.”

That… did not inspire peace.

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

She hummed against his mouth, continuing to fasten her tunic by touch alone.

Chapter Text

The sound of indoor water trickling over polished stone was far too serene for Sylvia’s current emotional state.

She sat rigid on the edge of an overstuffed chaise, feet planted like she might make a break for it if the tile floor offered better traction. In the seat next to her, Finn lounged as though this were his natural habitat, casually flipping through a brochure while a bamboo water feature burbled smugly between them. He’d promised “mentally destabilizing,” and this aggressively soothing ambiance was delivering.

Not that she hadn’t tried to anticipate it. She’d run the mental gauntlet from mildly inconvenient options like being dropped off at Saffron’s for supervised meditation and forest-gazing session, to more confronting possibilities like an emotional unpacking circle moderated by Muktuk, where she’d be forced to chant affirmations at her cauldrons by candlelight. A spa was less absurd—but all the more insidious for it. It had the gall to sit there, steeped in tranquility, a sneak attack on her sense of time management.

There were at least ten things she could be doing instead of sitting here, wringing the life out of her tunic’s hem.

“This is silly,” she muttered.

Finn didn’t look up. “Nah. It’s practically medicinal. Big difference.”

“I relax, you know,” she said, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of her glove. “I’m excellent at it. I just… usually like to be doing something at the same time.”

“Sure. Nothin’ says ‘rejuvenation’ like reorganizing your ingredient shelves by explodability,” he replied, flipping a page with a lazy flick.

Sylvia huffed. “I mean hanging out. Playing cards. Dunking on terrible TV. I don’t need a flute of cucumber water to decompress.”

“That so?” He arched a brow, glancing up. “What’s with that pose, then? The one like a clam tryin' not to ripple the water before it jets off.”

Sylvia opened her mouth to toss something back, but all that came out was a vague noise of protest and a squint. 

“I don’t know what to do in here,” she said after a beat, flapping her hands in a shrug before they found her tunic again.

That got Finn’s full attention. His brochure folded shut with a soft thwap. “Nothing, alright? You don’t gotta optimize every second.”

“I know."

“Sure you do." He settled back in his chair with a shake of his head. "Still runnin’ your brain like there’s quarterly reports you gotta file on chilling out. You’re overdue for some quality nothing.”

She echoed, less convincingly, “I know.”

A spa attendant called their names with honeyed politeness. Finn rose in a fluid stretch, already halfway to loose-limbed bliss. He offered a hand. She stared at it, considering. Took it.

“You’re not even slightly nervous about letting strangers knead you like dough?” she asked under her breath as they followed the attendant down a warmly-lit hall.

“They’re pros. I get two masseuses workin’ me over,” he said, unreasonably proud of that fact. “Lotta territory to cover. Tail gets its own handler. This joint is top notch.” He glanced sideways. “If it weren’t, you know I’d've picked a different prize.”

Sylvia frowned. “I didn’t ask for—”

“I know, but you’re gettin’ it anyway.” His fingers squeezed hers once. “And hey, if you really wanna bail, now's the time. Still pre-robe."

Which was a pretty generous escape clause, honestly. It wasn’t like he’d dragged her here kicking and screaming. He’d won fair and square, and she'd followed willingly enough. More curious than cornered, with a mere dash of sulk thrown in as obligate flavor.

Exhaling slow and dry, she tipped her head, appraising. “You sure love steering these wagers straight to the edge of my comfort zone, don't you?” 

Finn only smiled wider, the picture of smug benevolence. Then he straightened, hands at his suspenders, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Nah. But I figured I’d cash in for somethin’ big. Stretch the definition of winning a little. And I'm bettin' you’ll thank me once your brain turns to pudding and you forget how to pronounce ‘sublimation thresholds’... or ‘magimin’... or your own damn name.”

Sylvia narrowed her eyes and hooked a gloved finger over the tip of his elbow fin, pulling it down and letting it sproing back into place. “You are disturbingly confident about how much I’m going to like this.”

The massage room was dim and humid. Soft light glowed behind rice paper panels. Steam hung like a soft veil in the corners. Performing her best impression of someone not catastrophically tense, Sylvia lay face-down on a padded table, draped in a thin sheet, unmoving only by dint of great effort.

When the first hand pressed between her shoulder blades she nearly flinched off the table. Her feet hooked reflexively, digging into the pillowed surface.

This is fine. People do this. People pay for this. You can enjoy this.

A second hand worked its way down her back, firmer, slower. Her breath caught when the pressure hit a knot just beneath her shoulder blade, then released in a slow exhale even as her mind clung to objective facts: the oil smelled like dragonegg citrus. The towel’s weave comprised exactly nine rows per inch. It was peaceful, technically. Luxurious, by all metrics. But the stillness felt like standing on the edge of a high dive. Nothing between her and the drop but her own overactive brain.

There were no quips to volley. No timing to perfect. No clever moves to play. Just a hush. And no excuse to dodge it.

That was the part she hated.

Because in the absence of activity, her thoughts filled the space too fast and too loud. Not only the endless lists or idle calculations, but the quieter, trickier questions underneath. If she admitted how good this felt, that was one step closer to admitting she’d needed it. That maybe she needed more help.

And that was harder to stomach than being rolled out like over-risen dough.

Okay, but you’re just on a table. A very soft, expensive table. Getting an experience you didn’t request, but also didn’t refuse, because your boyfriend thinks your brain's been left on a low simmer for three months straight. And he's right.

Her thoughts wandered, unmoored, and she tried to pull them back from the lip of the whirlpool mutely roaring in the center of her mind, tried to send them spinning in a different direction. She imagined Finn administering this treatment with those dinnerplate hands of his. Focused, underqualified, yet absolutely sincere. He’d probably narrate it, too, crooning vaguely threatening nonsense in a spa-like voice: “Now gather all that stress up in a bag, toss in a couple bricks, and throw it off the pier.”

The mental image made her snort into the headrest.

Across the room, Finn’s voice drifted like balmy air. “What’s got you gigglin’ over there?”

She didn’t answer right away. She let the question hang. Let the light touches sink in.

“Nothing. Just picturing stress physically fleeing my body.”

“Sounds effective. Oughta trademark that.”

-----

Some blurry stretch of time later, Sylvia sat buried in a too-plush robe in the silent lounge, hair damp, cheeks flushed. A delicate cup of herbal heartleaf tea warmed her hands. She wasn’t sure exactly when her body had stopped clenching. But it happened. Between the enchanted oil and the twelfth vertebrae cracking like popcorn, most likely. And the silence wasn’t so loud anymore.

Finn appeared at her side as though summoned, hair mussed, tail trailing a faint scent of kelp and eucalyptus. He dropped into the cushion next to her like a stone skipping once and settling deep. 

“How you doin’?” he asked.

Sylvia looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling before leveling her gaze at him. “I think I’m dead.”

“Dead gals don’t drink tea.”

“Fine. I’m undead, then.” She sipped. “Recently resurrected.”

“High praise. Usually gotta pay a cleric a king’s ransom for somethin’ like that.”

She gave him a sidelong look. “Honestly, after the sounds coming from your side of the room, I’m surprised you’re still ambulatory. That wasn’t a massage—that was practically a sanctioned tenderizing.”

Finn stretched his neck with an audible pop, then grinned. “Yeah, but I ascended during the shoulder pummeling. And that deep-tissue tail treatment...." Sighing, he arched off the chair before sinking down, legs stretched long and straight, heels sliding across the floor. "I tell ya. If I go belly-up right here, just push me out to sea and let the waves do the rest.”

The float chamber wasn’t what Sylvia expected.

No tiled walls. No steam. No piped-in harps or disembodied whale sounds. Only a wide, circular pool set in volcanic stone, the water dark as ink and perfectly flat. Inlaid sigils pulsed beneath the surface; luminous lines that shimmered like breath held in stasis. Overhead, the ceiling vanished into enchanted blackness, stars wheeling in slow, impossible arcs like some illusory sky. The pool’s edges blurred in the low light, as if the space didn’t have boundaries at all.

“The enchantment isolates sensory input,” the attendant explained, her voice the kind of composed that made Sylvia want to fidget on principle. “Once submerged, the spellfield will align to your individual frequency. Time will feel irrelevant. You will hear only yourself, and then only barely. If at any point you wish to stop, simply lift your head.”

Sylvia squinted at the eerily motionless water. “So it’s like floating in a magical void?”

“A controlled one, yes,” the woman said. “With exits.”

That helped. A little.

Sylvia glanced at Finn, lingering near the stone benches, not yet in the pool. “You’re not going in?”

“In a minute,” he said. “Thought I’d let you win this round of relaxin’. Go first. That way if the magic swallows you up, I can break the news to Barnacle.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was something reassuring in knowing he’d wait. That he’d follow. Not lead. Her choice, all the way down.

“This is so weird,” she muttered as she walked up to the pool.

“Humor me, wouldja?"

And because it was him, she did.

The first foot dipped in the water felt like stepping into memory. Cool without being cold. Not as yielding as a typical liquid. She sank slowly, suspended by the spell rather than buoyancy. The instant her ears slipped beneath the surface, the world vanished. No noise. No pressure. No gravity. Even her breath didn’t echo inside her own skull the way it should. Her eyes were open, but all she saw was gentle starlight and the curve of nothingness. The quiet was so absolute it rang, and for a terrifying second she felt like a flame with no candle—a thought without a body.

Panic nudged the contour of her ribs.

She lifted her head.

Instantly, sensation returned: the ripple of water, the echo of breath, the chamber’s dim warmth, Finn giving her a big thumbs up. She drew a deep breath. Tasted the mineral tang in the air. Heard the gentle lap of displaced water against stone.

Then she exhaled, plopped her head back, and let herself float again.

The second descent was easier. Her pulse no longer raced. Her limbs went still, and stillness didn’t feel like weakness. It felt… honest. Slowly, the silence began to resonate. Not with sound, but with presence: her own thoughts, her pulse, the twitch of relaxed muscles too used to coiling—all laid bare with nowhere to hide. The water’s magic didn’t erase the noise inside her. It simply stripped everything else away.

She wasn’t certain how much time passed before she felt him join her, Finn’s presence entering the spellfield like a tide easing up beside her. No splash, no ripple. Simply a shift in gravity, then a brush of warmth. A hand ghosted across hers under the surface, slow and careful. A tether in the void.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t even squeeze.

But she didn’t let go, either.

By the time they emerged from the float pool—limbs loose, almost heavy with placidity—she’d mostly stopped trying to act impervious to the effects of the spa. Now they sat side-by-side with green clay crusting on their faces. Sylvia tried to stifle a giggle as she glanced at Finn, who lounged like a king surveying his kingdom through cucumber-tinted glasses.

“This is weirdly fun,” she said, adjusting the cucumber rounds over her own eyes.

“Told ya.” He lifted one slice to peer at her in self-satisfaction. “And you look good in green, Minnow. A real vision. Regular swamp nymph over here.”

“Oh yeah?” she said, voice lilting with mock offense. “Brace yourself for consequences.”

Her gaze darted around the lounge, scanning for ammunition; something light, throwable, and vaguely threatening. Her eyes landed on the tray of fruit and vegetables carved into delicate flower shapes. She plucked a melon blossom from the array as though drawing a dagger and whipped it at him. He snapped it out of the air with a satisfying, crisp crunch.

“Fruit assault neutralized,” he announced. “Perp's still at large.”

Another melon petal bounced off his chest before he could finish the sentence.

“And still armed,” Sylvia said, already taking aim with another intricate piece of sliced produce.

The clay left her skin tingling. Raw, in a good way. Like she’d shed something invisible. Sylvia’s awkwardness returned in full force for a flash as a staff member guided her to a table lined with soft towels. The exfoliating scrub was coarse but gratifying, the circular motions working away the grime and stress of the endless days in her workshop that caked all manner of vapors in her pores.

Across the room, Finn lay on his stomach, his broad back glistening as an attendant worked a similar scrub over his shoulders. His tail flicked lazily every so often, splattering the floor with stray droplets of water.

“You’re taking this a little too well,” Sylvia called over.

“This bod was built for luxury,” Finn replied, his voice muffled by the towel beneath his head. “You just gotta embrace it, Minnow. Let the magic happen.”

Sylvia snorted, shaking her head as the attendant worked over her arms. “This feels more like being sanded down.”

“Exactly. You’re a pearl, just gunked up in all the oyster spit. Gotta polish you up to shine.”

“Mmm, gross. But flattering.” Sylvia shifted her grip on the table as more blue paste was scrubbed into her arm. “Honestly, I’m shocked this place doesn’t have those creepy little fish that eat the dead skin off your feet. Feels like they’d fit the whole ‘let’s exfoliate everything until you’re reborn’ vibe.”

“Y’know, they were fresh out,” Finn replied. “But I could sub in, if you’re not too attached to your toes.”

She let out a sharp snort-laugh, equal parts entertained and horrified.

“C’mon, you got ten of ‘em. You lose one, it’s barely a rounding error.”

"Finn!" she said, mock-scandalized. "You don't get to joke about that after you almost bit off my finger that one time."

"I ain't culpable for that!" he declared, not bothering to lift his head as he launched into an impassioned self-defense that had Sylvia chuckling. "You can't go 'I think you've got somethin' stuck in your teeth,’" he mimicked, terrible falsetto included, "and start jamming fingers into my mouth. There's reflexes! And I gotcha a replacement glove, anyhow."

He stalled when he caught her expression across the dimmed room: smile crooked, chin tipped into her folded arms, eyes warm. It was the look she saved for these victories, the fun little winding-him-up ones. It slipped on smoother than a brand new pair of unbitten gloves.

Finn’s lips twisted, caught halfway between indignation and that stupidly-broad grin. Eyes narrowing, he shook his head.

"You little—Unbelievable," he said in a scornful way that managed to sound like I love you regardless. "I come here to relax, not relitigate involuntary jaw movements."

"Sounds like a you problem," she mumbled, melting deeper into the scrub. 

The coarse touch felt like work being done; a translation her body understood. As the motion circled her shoulders, the pale blue grains darkened, like ash settling into water, before crumbling harmlessly into a fine, dry powder. Sylvia watched them vanish with fascination, one fleck at a time.

The hot tub was the final stop—because, clearly, after having the top layer of skin scrubbed off of her, the next logical step was to be gently boiled. Sylvia sighed as she sank into the steaming water by increments. She exhaled through her nose, the sound barely audible over the burble of jets. Her shoulders dropped before she realized they’d risen again. Steam curled up from the surface, tangling her bangs in damp wisps, and for the first time all day, she didn’t feel the urge to fill the empty air with words.

This was what people meant when they talked about recuperation. Not the collapse after too many late nights in a row. Not zoning out in front of the cauldron until you forgot how long an hour was. This was... softer. Rounder at the edges.

“Feelin’ brand spanking new yet?” Finn asked, sloshing in next to her.

“Okay, fine,” she admitted, letting her head tip back against the rim, hair floating free around her shoulders. “You were right. This was a good idea.”

Finn hummed. “You can say it louder. I accept groveling.”

“Don’t push it.” She gave him a low-effort kick underwater. When it glanced off his velvety skin, she flicked water at him instead.

Finn leaned back against the tile, elbows up, watching her with a sly sort of satisfaction. “Y’know, this whole thing only works ‘cause you let me drag you into it.”

Of course she went along with it. He knew the weight of her hours. The ache behind her fingers. He orchestrated this because he saw burnout on the horizon before she could admit it to herself. Probably felt it sizzling in the air around her.

She huffed a contented breath. “If my arms are too limp to stir a cauldron tomorrow," she said, wagging a noodly appendage at him on the surface of the water, "I’m blaming you.”

“Blame away." He sounded pleased as punch. “Long as you remember who put the float back in your boat.”

She didn’t answer. Just let her eyes close. The steam, the jets, the heat... it wasn’t a fix. But it was a pause. A clean inhale. 

An off switch.

"Hey." Finn bumped her knee underwater. “Don’t fall asleep. I ain't carryin’ you outta here.”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Me, limp and dripping, helplessly relaxed. You, the hero, center stage.”

Finn clicked his tongue and snapped his fingers like he’d missed a golden opportunity. “Almost had you.”

She lolled her head enough to aim a lopsided smirk his way.

They returned to the apartment flushed and tender and emanating residual eucalyptus. Affectionate bickering heralded their approach. 

“You’re never going to let me live this down. I can feel it.”

“Nope,” Finn said, sharp smile glinting warm. “Not when you look like a sun-dazed tiger seal.”

“You’re lucky I need working bones to hex you properly.” 

“See, that's another reason you gotta get an apprentice. They could stock shelves while I drag you back to the massage table. Key to my long-term good health.”

Sylvia snorted. “So you want a buffer. And a conspirator.”

“Exactly,” he said, snapping his fingers. “You won't do it for you; you clearly don't care about that sucker. So you just gotta do it as a favor for me.” His smile stretched wide and ingratiating, thumbs hooked in his suspenders as he loomed. “Now you won't be able to resist, ‘cause you love that guy.”

Half-exasperated, Sylvia realized, “You’re trying to make the spa a regular thing, aren't you?”

“Already on the books. Monthly. Call it maintenance. Like tunin’ a broomstick.”

“You don't tune a broomstick,” she said with a groaning laugh. “And I don’t think I could let a stranger behind the counter at my shop while I'm elsewhere getting kneaded.” A shudder passed through her at the thought.

"Oh, sure," Finn said, having none of it. “Get a load of Little Miss 'my favorite hobby is networking.’ I've never seen somebody stay a stranger around you for more than five minutes, tops." He jabbed a finger toward her mid-stride. "You practically started a coven with the massage therapists. Going all 'when shall we three meet again' in the lobby on the way out."

Grumbling, Sylvia scuffed at the cobblestones. But the worst part was that the idea was growing on her, taking root. For someone who'd tolerated the Botanic Gardens solely for her benefit, Finn was tending to this 'apprentice' seed he'd planted with a surprisingly green thumb.

"What's that?" He stooped, fingers fanned theatrically by his ear. “Is that a grumpy revelation I’m hearin’?”

“Having more help wouldn't be terrible," she said, catching him with an elbow before he could get too cocky. "I just need a simulacrum. A clone. Or something close,” she added as she turned her key in the lock, the door clicking open to reveal—

Barnacle.

Parked directly in front of the threshold, a sodden sentinel, eyes wide and glassy with angst. He let out a low, crooning noise that seemed to echo off the floorboards.

“Oh no,” Sylvia said, hiding a laugh behind her hand. “He’s been waiting like this the whole time, hasn’t he?”

Finn stepped over the embodiment of wet guilt-trip. “If he had a pocket watch, little guy’d be tappin’ it.”

Crouching, Sylvia scooped Barnacle up around his licheny midsection with less internal protest than she would have believed possible. Even without going limp, he was heavier than he looked. Slightly damp. Utterly pathetic.

“Alright, you gelatinous drama king,” she said, hefting him under the middle pair of legs and facing him out toward Finn. “Look, I brought your shark dad back. Happy now?”

Barnacle blinked up at her. Then angled forward and licked a long stripe up her forearm.

“Hey!” she yelped, nearly losing her grip on him trying to wipe the slobber. Whether it was intended to be a gift of gratitude or a punishment for not being Finn wasn’t readily apparent. “That is not for eating! That’s premium oil and sea salt scrub! I earned that glow!”

Finn barked a laugh, falling back to stretch out on the couch. “That’s the sound of a gal who’s got her spark back. Wonder what coulda done the trick.”

“For the love of—This is what happens when I let my guard down!” she cried, waving the arm in question, which glistened where Barnacle had slimed her.

“Sure, sure. But you did let it down.”

Barnacle gurgled. Sylvia glanced down at him in her arms: mold-dusted, drippy, radiating what passed for contentment. Then looked past him to Finn, who was now fully sprawled across the sofa like a man who’d single-handedly conquered stress and claimed the cushions as his throne. His grin was lazy and smug, eyes slitted.

“Alright,” she said. “Fine. You win. Again.”

Without ceremony, she strode up to the couch, shifted her grip, and dropped the meaty bowling ball that was Barnacle squarely onto Finn’s stomach.

“Wh—oof!” he wheezed, catching the meteoric hobblenewt too late to prevent impact. Barnacle, deeply pleased with his destination, curled all six legs up under himself and began nestling in. Following him down, Sylvia flopped bodily along Finn’s lap and chest, knocking out whatever sliver of breath he'd had left. She displaced Barnacle, who tumbled into the backrest with a grumble.

Finn groaned under the successive blows. “I scheme you up a ticket to paradise with Grade-A care, and this is the thanks I get? Double-whammied by Rafta’s resident pond scum and his knockout of an accomplice?”

“Consider it an aggressive act of gratitude,” she said, nose squished into his neck. “Very on-brand.”

His hand found the curve of her back, settling there naturally, holding her steady as he shifted beneath her. “You feelin’ recharged?”

She sighed, eyes slipping shut. “I feel… good.” Her tone held no surprise; only relieved admission. Cracking one eye open at him, wary, but not defensive, she mulled the thought. A beat passed. Then she let out a small, resigned sound. “It’s weird. Like if I stop moving too long, I’ll forget how to start again.” Her arms wormed behind his neck.

“That’s why ya gotta make it into a habit. You keep grittin’ your teeth through all the fussing and pampering, and eventually you won't even need me along to translate it into potion gremlin for you.” He chuckled when her elbow dug into his shoulder in admonition.

Barnacle burbled from the crevice between Finn and the couch. They snorted in unison. And then, quietly, tucked in amid steam-soft skin and sofa-warm limbs, Sylvia let herself come to rest without a to-do list or a clock in the back of her mind.

Suspiciously comfortable with doing absolutely nothing.

Chapter Text

“This is a tragedy,” Finn declared, voice thick with drama. The front door shut behind him with a sound that didn't quite qualify as a slam, but it was a close thing. “A freakin’ injustice. Oughta be a crime.”

Curled on the couch with one knee tucked under her chin and a book in hand, Sylvia lifted her head and peered over the backrest. He stood at the kitchen counter, staring down at something in his hands with a hollow devastation usually reserved for shipwreck survivors.

“What's the matter? Did Barnacle eat another Kaiju card?” She looked down at the cushion next to her and said, lightly, “Bad Barnacle.”

Barnacle loosed a deep sigh and ignored her, just as he'd ignored her half-hearted scolding to get off the furniture earlier.

The object of mourning was revealed to be a small bottle when Finn turned it upside down. A few drops swirled inside, refusing to let go of the glass. “They 'updated' my moisturizer,” he said with bitter air quotes. “New formula. New label. Tried a sample at the shop, and it felt like greased sandpaper. It’s total garbage.”

Her back straightened. The book folded shut. “Wait, really?”

Finn rubbed at his forearm. “This stuff holds the whole routine together. Props up every other jar and cream I've got. Used to, anyway. Now I gotta ration it until—” His mouth twisted, then he heaved a sigh and collapsed across the kitchen island. He wasn’t being dramatic—well, no, he was being dramatic, but underneath the performance was genuine distress. “Until I find a replacement. Guess I gotta start the hunt all over.”

He buried his face in the crook of his elbow, half-muffled and wholly defeated. “Or maybe it's time to give up. Pack it in and slither back into the sea. Lay low. Grow barnacles.” 

The hobblenewt lifted his head at the sound of his name, lowering it to the cushions again when he discovered no attention was forthcoming.

“You’ll come down to the beach and wave, won’tcha?” Finn gave a pitiful sigh that paired well with puppy-dog eyes. “We can make it work.”

“Wow.” Sylvia crossed her arms over the back of the sofa. “Full aquatic exile?” Her voice tilted playful, but a flicker of unease curled beneath it. He wasn’t serious, of course, but the idea still landed with a weight she had to consciously shrug off. Her eyes lingered on him a beat longer before she added, more briskly, “That’s a big leap. How about instead—and stick with me here—we track you down some new goop.”

“Be nice if it was that easy.” Finn dragged a hand down his face, then let it fall limp. “Every time I try somethin’ new, it’s dicey. Is it gonna absorb at all, is it gonna dry me out worse…” He snorted, shaking his head. “That’s if it doesn’t straight-up burn.”

“Burn?” Her brows drew together. "Sounds like the opposite of what they're going for."

“Sure, but merfolk skin’s a mixed bag—reptile, fish, mammal.” He grumbled something venomous about dolphins below hearing and tapped his arm. “Us dried-out sandhuggers aren’t exactly flooding the market, and nobody formulates for the shark demo. Or if they do,” he added in lament, “they go and leave me high and dry. ‘New and improved,’ my tail.”

Sylvia hesitated. “Maybe they'd tell you the formula for the old version? I mean, if they're not putting it out anymore..."

“Tried that. They said it's proprietary. Bundled under the same patent as the new junk.” His fingers scraped over his scalp, claws catching in the roots. “Tried buyin' it off 'em. Tried bribery. Started leaning on the manager a bit,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand across his mouth to smear the words away. “Askin’ about inspection schedules, vendor compliance, licensing paperwork. Helpful stuff… ‘til it don’t sound so helpful.”

He paused, thumb grazing the stopper on the bottle. “Got halfway into the spiel before I figured the next step was buying out their supplier and squeezin’ ‘em for the recipe. Y’know. Some real, uh, vintage maneuvers.” He made a pass at a grin; shallow, dying off quickly. "Not lovin' how smooth the backslide was.”

Sylvia’s mouth pulled into a thoughtful line. The irony wasn’t lost on her—that he of all people was now being stymied by a patent. But pointing that out would be more a twist of the knife than a loving jab. 

Instead, she studied the way his fingers skimmed over the back of his wrist in an old, absent habit, like he expected the skin there to be patchy or irritated. Reliving discomfort. It broke her heart a little.

“Aww, hey, it's not like you went full Boss Mode,” she said gently as she slipped over the couch and joined him at the island. "It was panic mode. Flirting with villainy under duress. You’re still saving the classic hardball for predatory lenders and such, right?" A bump with her hip knocked the incident from existential crisis territory to justifiable lapse in judgment.

She tipped her head onto his shoulder and jerked her chin at the serum. "How long did it take you to find this ocean lotion, anyway?"

Finn huffed a not-quite-laugh. “Ages.” He held the bottle up in both hands like an offering to some drowned god, forehead dropping to the marble with a thunk heavy enough to make Sylvia’s teeth click.

“Let me see that.” She plucked it from his raised hands and squinted at the label. Ingredients, application directions, the faintly iridescent residue it left on the interior of the glass...

She nodded once. “I can make more.”

“What?” He pushed upright with a reluctant shift. “You can just do that?”

“Finn. I literally fine tune rare, high-quality formulas for a living. This is potion-making without the magimins. Same muscles,” she said, one eye closed, tipping the reliquary of hydration back and forth under the light, “different weights.” 

When she looked back at him, Finn had one elbow planted on the counter, chin in hand. His grin curved broad, sharp and delighted as he watched her un-crane her neck and lower the bottle.

“What?” she demanded, hinging forward into his scrutiny.

“Nothin’. You got that puzzle-solving look on, and it kills me every time.” He stood, one hand hooking casually around her waist and pulling her in close while the other swiped through the air overhead to sketch an imaginary marquee. “Genius alchemist girlfriend at work.”

Her eyes flicked upward briefly before she pulled him down to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Hopefully that'll read ‘genius alchemist girlfriend cracks the code’ soon enough.”

“What’ll it take?” Finn rubbed his hands together, eager and willing. “Muscle? Funding? Touch of legal ambiguity? Hypothetically.”

Sylvia’s laugh came out in a surprised snort. “Oh no, you’re on a roll today.”

He held up both hands. “Kidding. Mostly. Mostly kidding. Just—whatever you need, alright? Say the word.” 

“I need time,” she said, shaking her head with a trailing chuckle. “For research. Trial and error. You've got a little more of this stuff, right?”

“Couple jars in reserve.” Tugging absently at the loose bowtie draped around his collar, his tone sobered. “Better stop slathering it on, huh?”

“Please do. I need enough for analysis and comparison testing, and to keep you from disappearing into the brine before I brew up a dupe. Like I’d let a perfect catch slip the line that easy,” she added, dry as driftwood, slipping the nearly-depleted moisturizer into her pocket. “This is now a controlled substance, mister.”

Finn placed a hand over his heart and dropped his weight on the island. “Livin' a life of restraint. This has gotta be my darkest hour.”

“I thought you had a thing for discipline.” She stuck out her tongue and gave him a shove toward the living room, where Barnacle awaited with what passed for excitement, hooded eyes protruding over the back of the couch. “Go on. Wallow somewhere noble.”

Finn ruffled her hair before she could swat his hand away. “Don’t work too hard.”

She was in front of the bookshelf a moment later. “I could take a skin sample,” she muttered, her train of thought already hopped to a parallel track. “A superior health potion would get you right as rain, but…” She trailed off, waving the thought away. “No, no. Detached tissue won’t absorb the same. Never mind.”

Behind her, Finn made a choked sound that landed south of horror. “You know I’m into that mad-alchemist streak, Minnow, but maybe let’s not harvest me for parts.”

“Unclench your pearls, I said it’s not viable.” Her hand trailed the spines until it stopped on a mildly warped hardcover. Coastal Formulary, Volume I. She pulled it free one-handed and dropped into the armchair, thumbing the tome open. “We’ll have to go with live patch-testing. Does that work for you?” Her brows knit, eyes locked on the section covering sea-derived stabilizers.

“Better than havin’ to hide the potato peeler.” Finn sprawled on the couch, a mightily pleased Barnacle crawling onto his lap, slow and inexorable.

"Mhm," she replied absently, not looking up. Her lips moved silently while she skimmed the ingredient index.

“Guess that's a 'no' on not workin' too hard, huh,” he muttered. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Love you too.”

Sylvia didn’t answer, but one corner of her mouth quirked as she flipped back through the pages.

Sylvia quickly determined that making a potion and crafting skincare were two different beasts.

Potions were temperamental, potent, occasionally explosive, but they all followed the same basic logic: extract magimins from reagents, distill their essence in the proper ratios, and bottle the results in a stable medium. But this? This wasn't about the magic side of alchemy. It was primarily about the chemistry. Skin chemistry, to be precise.

And Finn’s skin wasn’t exactly standard.

She had a certain familiarity with denticles by now. The microscopic, tooth-like scales that covered his skin, giving it that directional texture she loved to nuzzle into; like a kiss you had to angle just right or risk abrasion. They formed a ridged, interlocking surface that repelled moisture rather than retaining it, and while that was great for reducing drag underwater, it disrupted the absorption of anything not specifically engineered to bypass that barrier. It was no wonder almost nothing worked for him.

And he shouldn’t have to ration comfort like it was a black market good. Not when she had the skills to step in. Not when he put his faith in her.

Her serum notes had consumed her workbench at the shop: ingredient lists, alchemical references, and a dog-eared textbook on marine physiology. The bottle of Finn’s old serum sat propped in front of her, a few precious drops left swirling at the bottom. She had carefully partitioned a small amount onto a dish for analysis, working to separate the serum into its component parts: isolating the base, coaxing the oils to rise, and drawing out traces of subaquatic compounds.

“So,” she muttered to herself, absently tapping a black spot onto her chin with the tip of her quill. “What are we dealing with?”

The label described ingredients in a mixture of botanical and alchemical terms: Hydratis sal root, squalene, abyssal kelp distillate, glycerin, coral rosewater, brineleaf resin, urea, nereid’s dew concentrate… the list went on. A few were standard enough—humectants she’d seen in dehydration potions, additives that improved the aroma of a brew—but the pelagic components were rarer, not the type you picked up from a dockside merchant.

Sylvia rolled out a sheet of parchment and started categorizing:

1) Base ingredients – Things she already worked with; the components she could handle blindfolded.

2) Marine extracts – Coastal ones, she knew well. But deep-sea variants like abyssal kelp and nereid’s dew would require specialized acquisition, like a dive down to the merfolk supplier circuits from Finn, if it came to that. He was already getting twitchy looking for ways to contribute.

3) Mysteries – Substances that sounded engineered or proprietary. They wouldn't crop up in guild catalogues or open reference texts.

She jotted down potential suppliers, but sourcing was only half the battle. For the terms that weren’t in any of her usual references, she’d need to hit the restricted archives, maybe see if Luna had clients in dermatology. If she couldn’t match them exactly, she’d have to work backwards from theory and composition, then check Quinn’s inventory for acceptable substitutes.

Sylvia blew out a breath and stretched her interlaced fingers. “Alright, let’s do this.”

The simplest approach seemed most appropriate to start: replicate the listed ingredients as closely as possible, emulate the proportions of the separated serum, patch test, and fine tune from there. “Batch One” was simply the first that didn’t backfire outright. After a few questionable mixtures, she'd finally landed on something skin safe. It hadn't done much to moisturize her—wasn’t meant to—but at least it didn’t sting, burn, or light her on fire before washing off. Hopefully that mild-mannered behavior held up on shark skin.

Finn, lounging at the sales counter, watched as she scooped up a modest amount with an applicator and dabbed it onto a freshly-rinsed patch of forearm. They both waited in silence as it absorbed.

“…Sure is sticky,” Finn said, attempting neutrality.

Sylvia prodded the area experimentally, finding it tacky against her fingertip. “It really is.”

Finn flexed his arm. The serum stretched. Sylvia winced. What was normally a highly enjoyable visual had turned into a live demonstration of her formulation error.

"Okay. Noted. That’s not how the substance is supposed to behave." Sylvia exhaled sharply and pressed her forehead against the counter, the cool surface refreshing. “Maybe the humectants overcompensated? Or the base emulsified wrong...”

Ever the hype man, Finn waggled his fingers at her even as she continued muttering into the wood. “I dunno, Minnow. Built-in grip tech. Could be great for climbin' walls. Or eel wrangling.”

She shot him a look, but it lacked heat, her mouth twitching despite herself. "Do not humor me," she said, laughing through the sigh. "This isn't the next big thing."

“Just gotta find the right market. Cat burglars, maybe.” He dipped closer, resting his arm on the counter. "Still—helluva first swing. You’re out here tearin’ down some chemical black box like it owes you money. And looking damn good while you do. Kinda ruins me for anyone else, if I’m bein’ honest.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes and leaned across the counter. She caught the ends of his bowtie between her gloved fingers, tugging him toward her with a smirk, only to blink when he tilted forward… and stopped, arm rooted firmly in place.

They both stared down at it.

A nervous huff escaped her. "You’re really stuck, aren’t you?"

Finn tried to lift his arm. Then his other hand got involved, wedging under his wrist and heaving. His skin stretched, the spot with serum refusing to let go, and he eyeballed it with the unblinking deadpan of a man calmly mourning his freedom of movement. Then he looked up at her and quirked a brow.

Lips slanting, Sylvia narrowed her eyes. “You might want to be careful with the attitude, mister. You’re technically at my mercy right now.” Her fingers drummed the counter beside his locked-down limb. “Maybe I should hang onto this batch. For science.”

“Can’t blame you. Lotta folks would pay serious coin for permanent decor that looks this high class."

“I'll get the solvent," she said with a chuckle, disappearing into the back room.

Finn nodded. “Good call. Can’t distract the customers. Bad for your bottom line,” he added with a toss of his hair.

On screen, a contestant shouted, “I added double the bedazzled custard. It just felt right in my soul!” A decision that resulted in their bubbling petrification cure going full volcanic.

Sylvia made a sound like a squeaky kettle and buried her face in Finn’s shoulder. “That’s not a soul choice ratio,” she wheezed. “That’s a ‘this cure now peels paint’ ratio.”

By the time the sun ducked out, the couch had swallowed them whole. Dinner was long gone, and the first episode of Brew It Yourself! threw chaos across the screen in jump cuts and questionable lighting. Finn wasn't sure what was more absurd: the show or the fact that Sylvia hadn't stormed off to file an official alchemy malpractice complaint via sternly-worded letter.

Thumb dragging indulgent, habitual circles over the curve of her arm, he let himself sink into the moment. “You’re takin’ this real well, Minnow. I wasn’t sure if you’d be fascinated or horrified when ya picked this out.”

“Both,” she groaned. “They have no idea what they’re doing. It’s like a slow-motion accident unfolding every second. It might be too much for me. Maybe I can't be trusted with this responsibility.”

One arm slung along the backrest, he let Sylvia curl into his side, exactly where she fit best. She’d been running herself ragged bouncing between the shop and skincare concoctions. Now she was home, content and close, and that felt like a rare kind of alchemy to him: wildly potent and impossible to bottle. She could keep the remote forever, no contest.

Barnacle had muscled his way between them, a wedge of entitlement oozing from Finn's lap onto Sylvia's with glacial speed. He stared straight ahead, his default disdain making him look personally insulted by the amateur alchemy on display even as Sylvia absently pet him behind the frond.

Another contestant on screen began carefully slicing rounds off a silver stag antler, muttering, “I think it needs texture.”

She jerked upright, visibly scandalized. “He’s slicing it? Slicing ? You powder antler! It’s packed with marrow chambers! You’re gonna lose all the compound suspension!” Righteous fury with a side of scientific footnote—pure Sylvia. One of his favorite flavors.

Seconds later, one judge leaned toward another and said, dry as the Bone Wastes, “Ah yes, slicing antler. An excellent strategy if your goal is a chunky, under-activated slurry with no compound suspension whatsoever. Bold choice.”

"That's what I'm saying!" Sylvia cried, arms raised.

She was so indignant in his periphery, so adamantly, outrageously right, that Finn barely managed to smother the first laugh crawling up his throat. One direct glance at her—shoulders squared, eyebrows furrowed in academic rage—and the dam broke. He was done for, and judging by the sudden hitch in her breath, so was she.

What started as shared snickering quickly unraveled into the kind of shoulder-shaking laughter that fed on itself. That laugh of hers—wild, breathless, unguarded—wrecked him every time. He doubled over, one hand clutching his ribs to keep his side from splitting. Sylvia let out a high cackle and dropped her head against his tail, face buried, practically vibrating with helpless mirth.

Barnacle uttered an irritable, squished grunt and slunk off the couch.

“Shoulda powdered it, Minnow,” Finn said through his wheezing. “Can't believe you didn't catch that."

“I said it!” Pounding a fist weakly against his back, she fought for breath through the cracking laughter, eyes welling. "If I wind up with an apprentice like that, I’m going to be in the news. ‘Local witch snaps, starts yeeting cauldrons.’" She slid partway down the cushions, holding her stomach, wiping at her glistening cheeks with the back of her hand. “Total PR nightmare. Even Luna couldn't dig me out.”

Finn, still chuckling into the heel of his hand, straightened up and brushed the pad of his thumb under her eye. “If you had an apprentice like that, you’d whip ’em into shape in a week. Two, if they're a real hopeless case.”

“You’re biased,” she said, shoving weakly at him, blinking through the tears.

“By personal experience.”

A thin breath slipped out of her, and then she spilled sideways into his lap like gravity had won the war. Finn caught her without thinking, grinning down at the ridiculous heap of affection.

“I want one, okay? But the kind I’d actually trust with anything more than sweeping floors isn’t going to just fall through the ceiling.” She made some vague gesture skyward, fingers twirling like she was about to lasso a candidate from the air. “Interviewing, vetting—it’s a whole project even before the training. And projects require time, which, spoiler alert, I’m currently using to resurrect your deep-sixed skincare."

"Doin' too much to stop doin' too much," he said with a click of his tongue.  "That's some kinda hustle-ouroboros you're caught in."

She’d barely gotten out of a rhythm of overwork, and now she was simply pouring her energy into his mess instead. A flicker of guilt tightening in his chest, he dabbed another tear off her cheek. Sylvia narrowed her eyes at him.

“Hey. Are you stealing my moisture?”

“Desperate times, Minnow.”

“Well, if you're that hard up for it...” she said, lifting an arm to swipe damp fingertips across his forehead with ceremonial flair. “There. My love and my electrolytes.”

He snorted. “You’re too good to me.”

Credits rolled without ceremony, like even the show was embarrassed, and Sylvia let out a sigh that sounded mostly content, tinged with disbelief. “None of them even touched the mortar and pestle. It’s a miracle everybody left with their eyebrows.”

Finn reached for the remote. “Wanna watch another?”

She looked up at him, playing suspicious. “Are you just hoping for another bout of hysterics?”

“Hey, I’m on rations here. Gotta stretch what’s left.”

Sylvia shifted upright and snuggled in tighter as the next disaster of an episode got rolling, a sleepy little huff escaping her against his chest. Finn curled an arm around her, content to soak in the aftershocks of laughter still twitching through them both.

By the third attempt, Sylvia was feeling good. The texture was smooth. Truly smooth, not sticky-slick or slow-moving like doomed pudding. She dabbed a bit onto Finn’s forearm and rocked back with a sense of cautious triumph.

“No tackiness,” she noted. “No… spontaneous bubbling like Batch Two. I think we might be close.”

Finn tilted his head, watching the serum sink in. “Feels decent. Kinda nice, even. Definitely not trying to climb back off me.”

Sylvia folded her arms, pleased. “See? We’re making strides.”

And then the smell hit.

It was subtle at first—a faint herbal sharpness, maybe salt. But the longer it sat, the more it… turned. Something acrid crept in, damp and vaguely decaying, like kelp left in a bucket too long.

Finn paused. Sniffed his wrist. His entire face contorted for a moment, but he didn’t move. “Huh.”

That was all he said at first. Mild and noncommittal, though his eyes had started to water. He rubbed at his arm with the edge of the dish towel like it was a casual fidget, not a quiet plea for mercy.

Sylvia's face fell. “You smell like low tide."

He gave a weak laugh. “Do I?”

Then he started fanning his arm a little more deliberately, clearly trying not to cough. “Alright, maybe a little like low tide. On a hot day. In a cave. That’s sealed shut.”

Sylvia was already crossing the room, unlatching the windows with a clatter. A rush of cooler air spilled in, not nearly fast enough. She rested her brow on the window frame as she flipped back through the steps in her head. Nothing had seemed off. The ratios made sense. The emulsifier had balanced. The abyssal algae extract was fresh. Maybe too fresh? Or too concentrated? Increasing the extract neutralized the bubbling reaction. The briny undertone hadn't been this potent when it was sitting in a vial...

Barnacle stirred from his perch and waddled over with unnatural interest, nostrils flaring.

“If he's into it, that ain't a good sign.” Finn shoved his arm under the faucet. 

Sylvia pinched the bridge of her nose. “You can say it,” she muttered. “It's vile.”

He hesitated a beat, then cracked a grin. “You tryin’ to get me blacklisted, Minnow? Go out smellin' like this, I’ll be banned from three districts and the farmer’s market.”

Snorting despite herself, she scrawled a new header: Batch Three – Aggressively Hydrating, Terminally Foul.

“This is beyond loofah territory. I'm gonna need exfoliatin’ with steel wool.”

She didn’t laugh this time. Simply stood still for a second too long, lips pressed tight, eyes locked on the middle distance as though, if she thought hard enough at it, the formula might apologize.

Finn hooked his tail at her hip and pulled her in while he scrubbed at his arm and the kitchen sink foamed with runoff. The half-step she spent correcting her balance pulled her focus back to him. 

“Y’know, I admire the hell outta how you do this.”

“What, find new ways to chemically sabotage you?” she asked with a sly smile, as though she couldn’t fathom his meaning.

“Keep goin’ when somethin’ flops,” he said, drying off his arm with a dish towel. “Like it never even scratched you.”

“That’s just how it works, Finn. Trial, error, refine, repeat.” 

“But you do it with everything,” he insisted, waving an encompassing arm and in doing so scattering an arc of droplets across the kitchen. “This whole mess? Shoulda been my headache. But here you are, workin' the angles like you got a personal vendetta against dry skin. Don’t know how you keep it up, but I’m damn lucky you do.”

That pulled a breath from her; half-chuckle, half-release. She tipped her forehead into his chest and looped her arms around his waist. “Your mess is my mess. I can’t let you go around molting,” she muttered, voice muffled against his shirt. “Besides, if you flake too hard, I lose my favorite pillow.”

Craning to hang the dish towel back on the oven door handle without breaking her hold, he said, “If I end up flakin’ too hard to go out in public, you better be ready to smuggle me fresh fruit.”

“No deal.” Laughing, Sylvia locked her arms and squeezed tighter. “Smuggling’s off the table. Moisture is mandatory.”

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Her serum notes had consumed her workbench at the shop: ingredient lists, alchemical references, and a dog-eared textbook on marine physiology.

Chapter Text

The cauldron burbled gently, releasing a pulse of steam that curled toward the rafters of the shop before dissipating. Sylvia stirred with a steady hand, eyes on the potion’s surface but mind firmly elsewhere.

Batch Four hadn’t been a total disaster. The absorption was quick, the consistency light, the smell—thankfully—neutral.

But the glow...

Sylvia frowned, switching her stir from clockwise to figure-eight. The faint sheen had seemed a potential bonus at first. Functional and fabulous. A little extra flair for a man whose appearance was branding. After a full evening with no adverse reactions, Finn had gone all-in and used the batch for his usual nightly routine. And everything seemed fine! … Until they got into bed and turned out the lights. Then he lit up like a deep-sea jellyfish; a glaring, bioluminescent night light. He'd nearly blinded her.

Not exactly an ideal finish. Great for a nightclub, he’d offered helpfully. If Rafta ever got one.

She blew a loose strand of hair out of her face and ran through potential stabilizers that could suppress the latent radiance of the nereid’s dew anemone. Maybe something in the anti-scrying family? Or an oil binder? Or—

The bell over the door jangled.

Sylvia didn't look up. Of course someone had ignored the Closed sign hanging in the window. She was between rushes for a reason. An hour of quiet to wrap up this thunder tonic, troubleshoot the glow-in-the-dark moisturizer, and maybe sneak in some lunch. Not play surprise receptionist for the chronically sign-blind.

"Hi there," she said, already flipped into her customer-service voice. "We're actually closed at the moment. I'll be open again in about half an hour if you don't mind swinging back then—"

"But it's an emergency," said Finn, lacking any urgency. "If I don't see the witch that runs this joint, I’m not gonna make it through the day."

Perking up at the sound of his voice, she turned around already smiling.

Then she saw the bouquet.

It was enormous. Vibrant. Alchemical. Courtier's orchid, fairy flower bloom, bramble rose, jelly blossom; all bundled in a woven wrap of beetle-silk paper, glittering faintly at the edges with shimmering, arcane pollen. Looking between him and the veritable shrub he carried, eyes wide, something caught in Sylvia's chest. She needed a moment to properly process the surprise.

In that time, he crossed to the counter and held up the bundle with a flourish. “Thought you could use a little pick-me-up.” The pause stretched as she stood there, and Finn’s grin curved sharper with the awareness he’d landed a critical hit. “Didn’t mean to fry your circuits there, but I'd be lyin' if I said I minded. Sweetest jolt I’ve had all day.”

“You can’t just show up with a—a whole garden and expect me to function!" Her voice teetered between a laugh and a lack of breath. She cleared her throat, trying not to smile like too much of an idiot. "Seriously, these are gorgeous. And practical components. You didn’t have to—I mean, thank you.”

“Figured you’d get more outta ingredients than chocolate,” he said, chest puffing with casual satisfaction. “I ate the chocolates on the walk over, anyway.”

“Oh, har har,” she said before reaching to take the bouquet from him. “I didn’t think my standards for mid-day interruptions could get any higher, but here we are.” She staggered back a half-step under the mass of flora. "And I'm not getting demoralized by the repeated failures, by the way. No pick-me-up required. Really! I'm happy to do it."

“Yeah, well, I'm happy to getcha a little something. Besides, this is an educational visit,” he added, shifting so she could see around the flowers where Barnacle had been hidden from view, perched like a bored gargoyle on his shoulder. “Brought the little guy for a field trip. Thought he oughta see where you vanish to all day.”

Schooling her smile, Sylvia squinted at the hobblenewt with faux skepticism. “He’s not exactly trained in lab safety.”

“He promised to be on his best behavior.” Finn tilted his head conspiratorially. “Didn’t you?”

Barnacle blinked, expression blank. His scaly lips smacked, tongue protruding and folding before disappearing again.

“... Fine. But keep him away from the cauldrons. I don't want him drowning in the seeking enhancer.”

She carried the bouquet to the back room for storage, humming as she separated and jarred the various blooms, already plotting out the brews each would end up in. When she returned to the front, Finn was propped casually behind the counter. Barnacle wasn't on his shoulder anymore.

He was on her workbench. On the corner of a stack of parchment.

Finn spread his arms with used-cart-salesman enthusiasm. “Look at him! Already pullin' his weight. That’s Rafta’s premier paperweight right there.”

“Oh, good," she said lightly, returning to the cauldron. "Maybe he can file the invoices next.”

With a chuckle, Finn eased up to sit on the counter's edge. “So listen, I’ve been thinkin’ about the apprentice deal. Sounds like you need someone to drum up and screen candidates—save you wasting time on the wrong ones before you even sharpen a quill.”

“That would certainly take a load off,” she said in suspicious consideration. She shifted to rest her hip against the bench as she stirred. “And I'm guessing that someone should be... you?”

“Small business whisperer, remember? Seen a lotta talent out there just waitin’ for the right shop door to open. And you can’t dream up a better mentor than Rafta’s champion potion slinger.” One hand fluttered up and down, indicating all of her. “If someone’s got the spark, they deserve a shot with someone who’ll teach ’em right. I’m talkin’ mutual gain here. Win for you, win for them.”

“Alright, alright, I’m listening. What’s your filtering process look like?” Sylvia asked, arching a brow and setting her stirring rod aside with exaggerated solemnity. “Cauldron literacy? Minimum slime-handling experience? Enough composure under pressure to survive a game of Itsy Bitsy Kaiju? ”

“First round: speed-packing empty flasks. No butterfingers working with volatile mixes.”

“Makes sense,” she said, chin in hand.

“Second round: what’s the proper preparation for antler reagents? Powdered, or sliced?”

Sylvia snorted. “A hot-button issue, but I think I can teach that. What next?”

“Third round’s a vibe check. Gotta make sure they pass the Barnacle Sniff Test.”

Barnacle made a low warbling noise. Possibly in agreement. Possibly mere indigestion. Sylvia gave him a sideways look. 

“And the final round…” Finn leaned in a fraction, voice low. “One simple question, guaranteed to separate the cauldron-stirrers from the pot-stirrers.”

“Oh no,” Sylvia said, drawing the words out like a bad omen. “That’s the tone you use right before something completely deranged comes out of that big, toothy mouth.”

More teeth showed in response, and he took a beat to soak in her mock dread before continuing. 

“Are you hot for teacher?”

Sylvia choked on a laugh, burying her face in both gloved hands. “You cannot ask that in an interview. I’ll end up on a list.”

"Listen, I know it sounds selfish, but I'm lookin' out for you here. Remember how it turned out with your last pupil?” He gestured to himself with both thumbs before hooking them through his suspenders, wearing the kind of smugness that practically had a theme song. Sylvia groaned, which only made him stand taller. "You got a weakness for the whole teacher/student thing. Can't risk you havin’ a relapse."

She gave him a long, pointed look, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Mhm. Better safe than sorry, I guess. I might have a problem.”

He braced both hands on the countertop. “You definitely have a problem.”

Sylvia turned back to the workbench with a roll of her eyes which conveyed that her problem was standing at her counter in a dangling bowtie. “Putting aside the blatant slander about my fidelity—come look at this. I’m trying to nix the glow without wrecking the absorption. I’ve got two maybe-solutions, and I hate both of them. Feel like talking me out of them?”

She reached out, lifted Barnacle from his spot... and the parchment stack came with him. Several sheets clung to the film of mucus on his underside, trailing like reluctant streamers.

Sylvia paused mid-motion. Looked at Finn, brows raised, eyes half lidded.

He coughed into his fist, entirely unconvincing. “Man, he's really got those papers on lock. You can't buy that kind of dedication to the gig.” 

Her gaze flicked from Barnacle’s glossy hide to Finn’s too-innocent grin, lingering on the latter with a mix of fond disbelief and weary affection. Then, submitting to the laws of cosmic comedy, she delicately peeled a page from Barnacle’s belly and held it up like it might drip.

“Thank you, Barnacle. So, as I was saying: hydration, minus the rave energy—”

Then she stopped.

The underside of the parchment shimmered faintly where it had pressed against Barnacle’s skin, a translucent film. She squinted.

“No… Maybe?” With the tip of her gloved pinky, she dabbed the residue and rolled it between her fingers. It didn’t soak into the leather. Didn’t evaporate. Simply clung, thin and elastic.

“The membrane’s hydrophilic,” she muttered, more to herself than to Finn. “I’ve been trying to synthesize the nereid's dew into a pseudo-mucosal, non-luminescent binder all week and it won't stop fighting me. But this?" She held her hand up in front of Finn’s face and pulled her fingers apart, letting the viscous strand stretch and glisten in the light between them. "This is already adapted for amphibious skin. It’s like starting the race a few steps behind the finish line.”

Her hands shot out, elbows bent, frozen like she was braced against the air. “Nobody move. I need a vial.” She was already through the storeroom door before Finn could reply.

“Only she’d look at a puddle of newt slime and see ‘breakthrough’ in flashing lights, huh?” he said to Barnacle with a jerk of his thumb toward the back of the shop. The hobblenewt merely closed his eyes and settled back onto the papers.

Sylvia returned holding a glass ampoule aloft, breath quickened. Without breaking stride, she bent over Barnacle and gently scraped the lip of it along his side, collecting a stripe of the glossy secretion. He let out a disgruntled trill and swiveled both eyes toward Finn with the solemn betrayal of a creature who had not consented to becoming deus ex caudata.

Stepping in beside her, Finn set one palm on the counter. “What’s the verdict?”

“It's raw," she said, raising the glass to one eye. "But viable. I’ll need to stabilize it. Maybe with a cuttlewort distillate…” Scritching Barnacle's head in apology, she glanced up again. "If this works, he's getting promoted to mascot."

The newt gurgled, perpetually unimpressed.

Late afternoon light fell fuzzy through the apartment windows, catching on the edges of glassware. Traces of mineral and salt permeated the air.

Finn leaned one hip against the kitchen island, shirt sleeves pushed up, arm extended in front of him. Sylvia smeared a dollop of Batch Five over the inside of his wrist with a glass applicator. Hovering, breath caught, she watched for some form of chemical revenge or olfactory war crime to ruin it.

None came.

“...Feels like the real deal,” Finn said, and his voice didn’t quite match the usual casual pitch.

Sylvia’s hand gripped the edge of the marble slab, not quite ready to pull back. “You're sure?” 

Finn's shoulders gave a sharp bounce, like his body wanted to laugh before he could form words. “Minnow. This is it.” He dragged a hand through his hair, eyes locked on her with a kind of reckless pride before the current pulled back into mischief. “You cornered the market. Talkin’ capital-M Monopoly.”

“Well, well, well,” she said, matching his tone with devious delight. She steepled her fingers. “Better bow down to Big Moisture.”

“You could bleed me dry, extort me to hell and back—” he framed her face in both hands, nose bumping hers "—and I’d call it a bargain. This is the best kinda shakedown, and I am an extremely willing patsy."

“In that case," she said, arch and dry, "let’s talk terms. You want hydrated skin? I could charge custom order rates, plus an overtime labor surcharge, and throw in an emotional wear-and-tear fee.”

“Uh-huh. Sounds steep.”

“Oh, it will be. I’m a vicious negotiator.” The corners of her mouth curled with mischief. “Let’s see. I could demand access to your secret ingredients. Your most overpowered cards. Or... Ooh! I could demand forfeits whenever you're about to beat me at Itsy Bitsy Kaiju.” 

He snorted. “You don't even want that.”

“No, you're right. That’s too far.” Sylvia’s gaze flicked to his mouth, then back up, a spark behind her eyes. “Guess I’ll just have to stick with our usual payment structure.”

She waited a beat, savoring the prolonged inevitable.

“Smooches. Frequent. Nonrefundable.”

“Tempting terms. But I oughta toss in a couple extra. Seems only fair for customer service this personal.”

She rolled her eyes and pushed up on her toes, cutting off his grin with a kiss. His thumbs traced over her cheekbones, warm and certain. 

She hadn’t recognized how hard she’d been bracing against the misfires, the quiet strain from weeks of late nights spent chasing the perfect mixture; not only for the challenge, but because it was his. The exhaustion hadn’t dulled her drive, and now, with the solution in hand and his lips on hers, it transformed into something electric. There was giddiness, yes—relief laced with accomplishment—but it wasn’t about the formula. It was the way he sank closer like something essential had unknotted inside him. 

She leaned into the heat of his palms, let herself be held there a few seconds longer. Then, with a deep exhale, she nudged her forehead lightly against his. Her body hummed with renewed focus. The kind that only came after seeing something through. She didn’t want to slow down. She wanted more of this: the momentum, the closeness, the effortless fit.

“Alright, your account’s all trued up. Wanna play a couple of games?” she asked. “No capitulation required.”

“You’re not spent?” he asked, nosing into her hair. "Workin' yourself to the bone, big brain all tuckered out."

“No way! I’m riding the high of a perfect yield.” She pulled back and capped the jar with a theatrical little spin, her grin curling wider as she met his eyes. Then, with mock gravity, she narrowed them to slits. “Loser cooks dinner?”

He scruffed her gently, fingers combing through her hair in a playful tousle. “It's cute you think you're ever lifting a finger around here again.”

The last of the sunlight had given way to lamp-glow. Sylvia and Finn sat across from each other at the dining table, chairs angled inward, feet occasionally bumping underneath. Two used glasses pushed aside on the table, a few sauce-speckled plates abandoned in the sink, and a battlefield of Kaiju sprawled between them like the wreckage of some absurd miniature war; all evidence of a full evening.

Sylvia narrowed her eyes at the mat, one elbow braced against the table as she stared down her lineup with a mixture of disbelief and resigned hilarity.

“Welp,” she said, drawing a card with all the reverence of a skeptic consulting the bones. “That’s a rubber fish with a soggy aura and no offense to speak of.”

Finn offered a low whistle and leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head. “The mighty Drenched Gupper.” His tone dripped mock reverence. “He’s gonna turn the whole game around for ya. I feel it in my gills.”

“Bite me.” She played the creature anyway. It flopped uselessly onto the field. “This format is torture.”

“Nah, the Extinction rules got that old-school appeal,” he said, one elbow up on the back of his chair. “Real endurance game. Gotta make sure ya hold onto some card’s that’ll still work after half your deck is gone. You chucked your Gargantumite game one like it was burnin’ through your gloves. I tried to warn you.”

“I won that game.”

“And waved goodbye to your best card for the rest of the night. That’s classic kaiju karma.”

He grinned around the words, but his knuckles had drifted to his jaw again, brushing at a spot near the hinge, smoothing something invisible. She’d seen it earlier, too; his wrist turned palm-up at the edge of the table, thumbnail grazing across the heel of his hand. Tiny, absent motions. Unconscious self-checks. Ordinary, unless you were watching for them.

Which she was.

Sylvia drew another card and made a face. “Trash,” she muttered, mostly to cover the way her gaze kept snagging on him. Her chin dropped to her palm and she stared through the game.

The serum had lasted through the first two matches, through cooking, through dinner. It should still be lasting now. But those little scratches weren’t nothing. Not irritation, not yet. Just the early signs.

Finn tilted his head a fraction, and she felt the tiny pulse of his attention. That subtle ripple of awareness that told her he’d caught something in her field.

“You’re starin’ awful hard for a gal with no hopes left,” he said lightly, focus narrowing on her.

“I’m trying to get a glorified pond prop and two cards that negate each other to add up to victory,” she huffed. “You say the final game is supposed to be some epic, strategic showdown, but this feels more like a pathetic slap fight with the dregs of our cards."

Finn chuckled, then looked down at his hand and groaned. "Yeah, I'm lookin' at real bottom-feeder picks here." He tapped one. "This fella might just kill me for you."

Sylvia perked up, all faux brightness. "Ooh, definitely play that one then. Sounds like a crowd pleaser." Her heel bounced on the floor once, twice before she stilled it. Then, tone exceedingly casual, examining her cards, she asked, "Hey… serum still holding okay?" 

"What?" He blinked. Paused. Gave a shrug that tried for offhand but came a fraction too slow. “Yeah. It’s great. Feels good, sinks in fast.” Eyes skating away, he rubbed his neck. “I mean… I guess it doesn’t last as long as the old stuff. Maybe gotta reapply a bit sooner, but it’s workin'. Honest.”

A knot of almost-satisfaction refused to settle in her stomach.

“I’ll just keep tweaking it then,” she said easily. The formula she had now was serviceable; there was no ticking clock anymore, no deadline looming. “If I can get saltwatermelon to bind as an occlusive—really lock it in against the evaporation curve—that might stretch the hydration window by a couple hours. It holds onto saline like nobody's business." She blew out a breath, drumming lightly. “I kind of missed this. An actual challenge.”

Finn leaned forward, interest sharpening. “Yeah?”

The spread of cards sat between them, skewed and ridiculous. She reached to nudge one straight again.

“Yeah.” Her lips curled. "Lately, everything's been quantity, not complexity. Cauldron of this, barrel of that, fifty bottles of common mana potion for another Heroes’ Guild expo... I forgot how good it feels to work something weird. Like, really weird.”

That made something soften behind his grin, a bit sly. “Just wait 'til you get a helper in there, and suddenly all those unhinged custom orders you secretly love aren’t a time-sink. You could take 'em on whenever you get a hankering.”

Sylvia half-laughed, half-sighed, eyes flicking skyward. She set her cards down, then flopped forward across the table, arms outstretched until she brushed the edge of his play area. She wiggled her fingers in a wordless summons until Finn swallowed up her hands in his.

“You know what?” The rhetorical question held more enthusiasm than bite. “Sure. Go ahead and start the legwork. I am ready to bring someone on. If it frees me up for unconventional projects—like really nailing this serum—it might actually be worth it.”

Finn wasn't quite smug, but definitely pleased and making no effort to hide it. “Then I’ll get to shakin’ trees. Scare up a few applicants.” He paused, long enough for her to catch the shift, the sincerity under the swank. “But you don’t gotta keep bashin’ your head against this thing. You already blew it outta the water.”

“I know.” She gave a small squeeze, gazing thoughtfully down at the table. “But I want to. I'm not really about 'good enough,' and especially not for you. You’ll have something totally custom tailored by the time I’m satisfied. Better than the original."

Her expression was soft when she looked up again. “There’s not much I wouldn’t do to make sure you’re happy as a clam, up here on land with me.” Her voice couldn't hope to convey the swell under her ribs. “You know that, right?”

“Can’t not be happy with you, Minnow,” he said simply. Steady and guileless, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The words hit harder than they had any right to. No warning. No teeth, no swagger. Sylvia bit the inside of her cheek to keep from beaming.

“You can’t just one-up me like that when I'm trying to be sweet. It’s illegal.”

Finn was flagrantly unabashed. “Guess I’m guilty, then. Lock me up, throw away the key,” he said, thumb running an arc along her knuckles. “Long as you’re in the cell with me.”

"Incredible. You actually can’t help it," she said, half-chuckling. She redoubled her grip on his fingers—awkward over the webbing, like trying to throttle a bony fish—and lingered long enough to notice the faint dryness at the crests of his knuckles. 

Not perfect. Not yet. But she'd fix that.

She gave his hands a dramatic shake before tossing them back at him. “Go on. Take your turn before I melt into the table.”

“You say that like it’s gonna be a problem,” Finn said, drawing a card with panache.

“It is. It makes shuffling harder.”

﹏﹏﹏﹏𓂁﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

She leaned into the heat of his palms, let herself be held there a few seconds longer.