Too innocent to have fear

Kyle stirred in his sleep, an odd sensation pulling him slowly from dreams.

Something was resting on his chest.

Not heavy.

Warm.

Soft.

It smelled like dew and wild grass—fresh and light, like a spring forest waking from slumber. The scent stirred something in his memory before his thoughts even settled.

He didn't need to open his eyes to know.

Still, he did.

And there they were. Two luminous green irises, inches from his face. Calm, amused, gently adoring.

Buer smiled at him like the sunrise itself had whispered a secret in her ear.

"Good morning, my baby," she cooed, her voice a melodic whisper. "Hehe… though, mm, you're already so big… not quite a baby anymore, are you?"

Her head rested on her propped elbows, which pressed gently into his chest. Her long hair spilled over him like a silken curtain, catching the morning light through the windowpane. She looked perfectly at ease, as if this—lying draped over him—was the most natural place in the world to be.

Kyle blinked once.

Twice.

"…What are you doing?"

Buer's eyes sparkled. "Checking your heart. I had to make sure it still beats for me."

Kyle groaned softly, dragging a hand over his face. "It's too early for riddles."

"Not a riddle," she purred, drawing little invisible shapes.

"You've started to skip pleasantries entirely, getting a bit too comfortable?"

Buer giggled softly at that, the sound like wind-chimes caught in spring breeze.

"Mm… maybe," she admitted, voice lilting with amusement as she traced another lazy swirl on his chest. "But isn't that a good thing? I only get a few days a year with you like this. Should I waste them with formality?"

Kyle gave her a sidelong look, skeptical. "So draping yourself over me while I'm half-asleep counts as quality time?"

"Absolutely," she replied without hesitation, nodding like it was the most obvious truth in the world. "Besides, you're warm in the mornings. Like a sun-baked stone. You don't get to blame me for wanting to bask."

He narrowed his eyes, but her grin only widened, that mischievous glint sparkling again in her gaze. She tilted her head, letting her chin rest fully on his chest this time, her fingers now idly toying with the thin collar of his robe.

"You're bolder this year," Kyle muttered, not quite sure whether to sit up or keep lying still.

"No," she corrected gently. "You're just older."

The words sank into the air like petals falling onto still water. Buer didn't say it with flirtation this time—but with something quieter. Something almost sad. A kind of wistful fondness that pulled a thread deep in his chest.

He felt it. That unspoken thing hovering behind her smile, behind her words. A truth wrapped in softness. One she didn't want to make heavy.

"…Buer."

"Mmh?" Her fingers paused.

"You're still not answering the question."

"I did." She smiled again, tilting her head to peer up at him. "I'm comfortable because you're mine. Just a little. In the same way I'm yours. Just a little."

His breath hitched. He wasn't sure how to process that. Not when she said it like it wasn't even a question.

He sighed, covering his eyes with the crook of his arm. "You're going to get me in trouble."

"With who?" she asked, genuinely curious. "Egeria?"

She giggled softly. "She knew I was here before she even opened her eyes. You think those temple wards don't whisper when I slip past them?"

That gave him pause. "Then why hasn't she come in?"

Buer stretched languidly, arms raising above her head before resting her hands against his shoulders like anchor points. "Because she knows I'm not doing anything… bad." A teasing pause. "Yet."

Kyle groaned. "You're impossible."

"Ah-ah," she sang, pressing a finger to his lips. "You used to call me kind. Gentle. Lovely."

"That was before you decided to use me as your mattress."

"Mmm. But you're so comfy now~"

He pulled the blanket over his face in defeat.

And Buer, ever content, simply curled into him with a quiet hum—like a cat that had found its favorite sunlit windowsill.

Buer leaned in slowly—no grand gestures, no teasing smirk this time. Just that same soft, maddening affection she always wore when he wasn't looking. Her lips pressed lightly to his cheek, barely a breath away from his mouth.

Kyle froze, breath catching in his throat.

His eyes widened as she lingered a moment longer than necessary. Long enough for her breath to mingle with his. Long enough for his skin to burn where she touched it. Long enough that it no longer felt like play.

He instinctively retracted—head tilting lower into the pillow, trying to shy away from the proximity while still… accepting the kiss. His body stayed still, unwilling to push her off. But his thoughts reeled, flailing for answers to emotions he couldn't name.

Warmth.

Confusion.

A twinge of guilt.

He didn't return the kiss. But he didn't move away either.

That seemed to satisfy her.

Buer drew back with a soft, satisfied hum that vibrated through her chest—and into his. It was a sound that wasn't quite laughter and not quite a sigh, something in between. Her smile had softened from mischievous to something far more dangerous: gentle, wistful, and knowing. The playful glint in her eyes had faded, replaced with something quieter. Something ancient.

Her gaze, half-lidded and soft as moss beneath moonlight, studied him with an intensity that made him feel bare. Not exposed in body, but in heart. Like she could see every hidden thread inside him—his guilt, his longing, the fractures he never spoke aloud—and loved him not despite them, but because of them.

"You're still so easy to fluster," she whispered, her voice a caress, her breath brushing his skin like spring wind over still water.

Kyle turned his face, jaw tense. His heart thudded louder than it should've.

"You knew that was too close," he murmured, the words tight at the edges.

Buer blinked slowly, her smile never faltering—but it changed. It curved with quiet sadness now, like the edges of an old song remembered too late.

"Too close for who?" she asked softly. "Me? Or her?"

The question lanced through the air and settled heavily between them.

The room, lit by warm slivers of morning light, suddenly felt heavier—not with dread, but with stillness. Charged, like the moments before a spring rainstorm, when the wind stills and everything holds its breath.

Kyle didn't answer. Couldn't. His breath hitched in his throat, caught somewhere between shame and yearning. Because it was too close. And yet… not wrong.

She didn't push him. She never did. Buer had this way of peeling him open without ever laying a hand on the wound. She asked no questions that demanded answers, and offered no truths that felt like obligations. She was simply there. Soft and steady and unafraid of the mess inside him.

He looked up at her—at this goddess whose smiles carried riddles and whose affection never seemed to falter, no matter how he hesitated to return it.

"You're not just playing around, are you?" he asked quietly. Not accusing. Not afraid. Just… asking.

Buer's gaze didn't waver.

"No," she said.

Just that. No flirt, no sugar. Just the naked truth wrapped in a single word.

And it was that simplicity that hit the hardest. There was no game in her eyes now, no mischief in the tilt of her smile. Just tenderness. And something heartbreakingly sincere.

Of course she wasn't playing. She never had been. Buer, for all her teasing, all her playful smiles and too-close touches, was never cruel. Never careless. She was gentle. She was soft. She was kind in ways that unsettled him because they asked for nothing—and that kind of love was the hardest to hold.

Kyle let out a breath. It slipped past his lips like something that had been held too long.

And then—without fanfare, without permission—Buer leaned forward and draped her arms around his neck, pulling him into her warmth.

He froze for a heartbeat… then let her.

Her body curved into his like a vine seeking the sun, every movement unhurried. She buried her face into the crook of his neck with a sigh that vibrated into him, and her hands pressed softly against his back—no tension, no claim. Just the touch of someone who wanted to stay. Just to stay.

Her scent—dewy leaves, faint citrus, something green and floral—wrapped around him. Her body was light against his, but her presence was consuming. She didn't demand closeness; she simply offered it. And when he didn't resist, she melted into it with that same contented hum, the one she'd made the moment she first curled against him.

Kyle closed his eyes.

It was too much. And not enough.

"You shouldn't say things like that," he whispered, his voice hoarse now, almost lost to her hair. "You know what they do to me."

Buer's voice was barely audible, like mist curling through leaves.

"I say them because they're true."

Silence. Heavy with meaning.

Then she added, so quietly he almost missed it:

"I've waited a long time for you to catch up."

Kyle felt that like a stone dropped in still water.

He didn't know what to do with her love. He didn't know how to return it. Not yet. Not completely. But gods, she made it hard not to try.

And through it all, Egeria did not enter the room. Did not break the stillness.

She knew.

She always knew.

But for now, she let them have this moment. Just like she had every year.

But Kyle knew the boundary.

He also knew—next time Buer kissed him that close to the lips, Egeria might not stay behind her cup of tea.

[A.N:- What do you all think about Buer and Egeria being secret girlfriends since ancient times? I've already written the next 8 chapters with that plot.

Ps stones please! Also this is not a translation, I think some people had that confusion.]