FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Folly was not nervous.

That would be ridiculous.

He was, however, acutely aware of where he was standing, what time it was, and the undeniable fact that he was waiting for someone who might not even show up.

His tail flicked sharply. Annoying. He needed to stop that.

It wasn't as if he cared whether the celestial returned. It was just that—he hated unfinished things. And last night had felt...

Unfinished.

Folly despised things that lingered. And yet, here he was, waiting in the very same clearing, pacing, ears twitching at every shift in the underbrush, every soft rustle of wind through the leaves. Not because he was anxious.

Absolutely not.

And yet, the thought curled at the back of his mind like smoke—dangerous, choking. What if Nova didn't come back? What if Folly had misread him entirely? What if last night had meant nothing, and he was standing here looking like a fool, waiting for something that had already slipped through his fingers?

He hated that thought.

He hated all of this.

A breath of change in the air. A sensation rather than a sound. Folly knew before he turned.

And then—there he was.

Nova stepped into the clearing, far less certain than before. His movements were careful, measured—like he was stepping onto unsteady ground. The ethereal shimmer of his galaxy-dappled fur pulsed erratically, betraying whatever he was feeling beneath the surface. His golden eyes flickered, searching, but the glow radiating off of him was unsteady—like candlelight caught in a draft.

Folly—who had spent the entire day convincing himself that last night had been nothing—

Realized, immediately, that it had not been nothing at all.

Because Nova looked nervous.

Which was a problem.

Because Folly did not know what to do with that.

Nova had been so certain before. So sure of himself, so casually devastating in his honesty. But now? Now he was standing there, shifting his weight, ears flicking back like he'd caught himself doing something wrong, hands uncertain at his sides, as though unsure whether he was allowed to use them at all.

Folly shouldn't have found it endearing.

(He did.)

And that was a bigger problem.

He swallowed against the weight in his chest, forcing his tail into stillness. He couldn't do this. Not again. He knew how this story ended. He knew how people looked at him when the shine wore off, when the rush faded and they realized that Folly—loud, quick-witted, untouchable Folly—was just another thing that was easy to leave behind.

So he made a decision.

If he just treated this as something light, something fun, then it couldn't hurt him. If he got ahead of it, then he wouldn't be left behind. This was just a bit of cosmic entertainment, a game with a celestial who didn't know the rules. He could enjoy himself, burn bright, and walk away unscathed.

That was all.

Nova cleared his throat, far too formally. "I have returned."

Folly blinked. Then scoffed. "Yeah, I noticed."

Nova nodded once, solemnly. Too solemnly.

Then they just... stood there.

A beat too long. Neither of them moving.

Nova did not know what to do with himself.

He had spent the night thinking about this. About Folly. About how being near him made his chest feel strange, like something was missing and being found all at once. He had spent too long staring at the sky, trying to read the stars the way he always had, only to find that they felt distant in a way they never had before. The cosmos did not call to him as sharply as they once did.

But Folly did.

That was terrifying.

He was used to certainty. He was used to knowing things—how to guide the stars, how to keep the balance, how to exist as he had always existed.

He did not know how to do this.

And Folly—beautiful, unreadable, devastating Folly—was watching him, sharp-eyed and assessing, and Nova suddenly felt very, very mortal.

"Well," Folly said, shifting his weight onto one leg, arms crossing tightly. "That was a dramatic exit last night. Pretty rude to leave me standing there like some abandoned maiden."

Nova froze.

Folly smirked. Got him.

Then—Nova's ears flattened, his tail twitching in a way that was unmistakably anxious. The shifting constellations in his fur dimmed, stars flickering unsteadily.

"...I did not intend to vanish," Nova muttered, gaze flicking away. "It was... a reaction."

Folly arched a brow. "A reaction to what?"

Nova hesitated. His shoulders stiffened. Then—

"To the thing I said."

Folly blinked. "The thing you said?"

Nova nodded once. "Yes."

A long pause.

Folly waited.

Nova did not elaborate.

Folly narrowed his eyes. "You're gonna have to be more specific than that, starlight."

Nova shifted uncomfortably, visibly struggling for words. His tail curled slightly behind him, then uncurled, betraying the turmoil of someone experiencing an emotion they did not know how to name.

Then—very, very quietly—

"...The thing about kissing you."

Folly's breath caught.

Nova's glow pulsed unevenly, betraying his embarrassment.

And oh, gods, this was bad.

Not because Folly didn't want this.

But because he did.

And wanting had never done him any good.

His tail flicked sharply as he looked away, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Yeah. That thing."

Nova fidgeted. His ears twitched like he wanted to fold them back completely, but was resisting the urge. "It was not meant to be spoken."

Folly let out a breathless laugh. "Well, that's unfortunate for you, because you said it."

Nova groaned softly, his glow dimming slightly. "I am aware."

Folly bit back a smirk. "Relax," he said, voice shifting into something easy, something practiced. "I'm not asking for a grand declaration."

Nova's shoulders remained stiff. "Then what are you asking for?"

Folly hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Something simple. A little fun." He took a step closer, the tip of his tail brushing against Nova's as he passed. "No strings. No complicated emotions. Just fun."

Nova blinked at him, as if processing the words one at a time. Casual. Fleeting. Temporary.

It did not sound right. But if this was the way to stay near Folly, to keep this tether between them, then...

Nova exhaled. And nodded. "I see."

Folly grinned, triumphant—this was good. He had control of this. He had dictated the terms, he had set the boundaries. This was how you kept things from hurting. Keep it light, keep it fun, don't let it get too real.

This was the part where he walked away, right?

Except Nova was still watching him, golden eyes bright with something unreadable. His tail twitched behind him, slow and deliberate, like he was calculating something.

"You are asking me to... engage in physical intimacy," Nova said, carefully, "but without intention?"

Folly's stomach twisted. Yup, that's all this is and all it should be.

"Sure," he said, his voice easy, flippant. "If you wanna put it that way."

Nova's ears flicked, his brow creasing in something like thought. "But intention is the thing that makes an action matter. Without it, what is the purpose?"

Folly's chest tightened. That's not what this is. "It's about having fun," he said, forcing a smirk. "Not everything has to mean something."

Nova tilted his head, considering. Then, after a beat, he asked, "Would you like for it to mean something?"

Folly's throat dried. No. No, I wouldn't. Because if it means something, it can be taken away. If it means something, I won't be the one who gets to leave first.

"Gods, you really need to loosen up, starlight," he said instead, voice still teasing. "You're thinking about this too much."

Nova didn't look convinced. His tail flicked behind him again, slow and thoughtful. "But if you do not care about the outcome, then why does your pulse shift when I ask these things?"

Folly hated that. Absolutely despised that Nova could just say things like that with the same tone he'd use to comment on the weather. No tact, no pretense—just throwing out the kind of truths that Folly had spent years avoiding.

Nova blinked at him, his expression still mildly perplexed. "If this is simply 'fun,' as you say, why do you look as though you are afraid?"

I'm not afraid.

"I'm not afraid," Folly said coolly.

Nova stared at him, unblinking. Folly shifted under the weight of it.

"I'm just... giving you an opportunity to learn something about how things work down here," he added, shrugging. "Think of it as a lesson. You like learning things, don't you?"

Nova's expression shifted slightly. He was considering it. Then, at last, he gave a small nod. "Yes. I like learning things."

Folly exhaled, feeling a strange mixture of relief and... something else. Something he couldn't name.

Nova continued, "And I like learning things about you."

Folly's stomach lurched. No. No, that's not—

He clapped Nova on the shoulder before he could think too hard about it. "See? This'll be fun."

Nova blinked down at him, looking slightly startled at the touch but not displeased. His tail twitched, and then—slowly, carefully—he mirrored the gesture, pressing his palm flat against Folly's shoulder.

Folly almost jumped out of his skin.

Because Nova wasn't just touching him. He was studying him. Like he was learning something in real time, cataloging the way Folly tensed beneath his grip, the way his breath hitched despite himself.

Folly swallowed, stepping back and flashing a grin, trying to seem unaffected. "You're a fast learner, huh?"

Nova nodded. "I am highly adaptable."

Folly felt like he needed to get the fuck out of there.

But he didn't.

Because Nova was still looking at him, his expression calm but unreadable, as though he were waiting for something. Not expectant—just patient. Like he had already figured out something Folly hadn't, and was willing to let him take his time catching up.

Folly shifted his weight, suddenly restless. "So, uh..." he cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck, "if we're doing this, maybe we should... set some ground rules."

Nova blinked. "Ground rules?"

"Yeah, you know. Guidelines. Things we agree on." Folly waved a hand vaguely. "To make sure neither of us gets the wrong idea."

Nova's tail twitched. "You are concerned I will misunderstand."

Folly exhaled sharply. "Yes."

Nova considered him for a long moment. Then, earnestly, "Are you certain it is not you who will misunderstand?"

Folly huffed a laugh and took a step back, only to realize that Nova had stepped forward in tandem. They weren't quite close, but they weren't far either. And gods, it was so much worse that Nova didn't seem to notice that he was standing a little too close, or that his presence felt like a hum beneath Folly's skin, or that his golden gaze was far too steady.

Or maybe he did notice, and just wasn't saying anything. Maybe he was just waiting for Folly to be the one to react first.

Folly licked his lips. "Okay, so, first rule—no falling in love."

Nova nodded immediately. "Understood."

Folly paused. That was... too easy. He squinted. "You got that? No feelings, no strings, no messy attachment."

Nova nodded again. "I understand. You do not wish to acknowledge what could be."

Folly sputtered. "That's—that's not—"

Nova tilted his head slightly, looking unbothered. "You say 'no falling in love' as though that will prevent it from happening."

Folly pointed at him, flustered. "That! That right there, that is what I mean! You can't say stuff like that."

Nova blinked. "But it is the truth."

Folly groaned. "Gods, you are impossible."

"And yet," Nova said, his voice thoughtful, "you continue to seek my company."

Folly rolled his eyes dramatically and turned on his heel, waving a hand. "You're exhausting. C'mon."

Nova didn't move. "Where are we going?"

"For a walk," Folly said, glancing over his shoulder. "Unless you've got somewhere better to be?"

Nova tilted his head slightly, golden eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, without hesitation, he stepped forward, falling into step beside Folly.

And as they walked, their arms brushed—not intentional, not planned, but it happened once, then again, and neither of them moved away.

Folly tried not to think about it too much.

Tried not to think about the way Nova moved, like his body wasn't quite made for the world he was in, graceful but deliberate, like he was still adjusting to the weight of it. Tried not to notice the way his golden eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, piercing even when unreadable. Tried not to acknowledge how absurdly enthralling he was—not just celestial, not just beautiful in the way distant stars were beautiful, but in a way that made Folly's stomach tighten, made something hot coil under his skin.

He tried not to imagine what it would be like to press him back against a tree and kiss him just to see if it would fluster him, to see if his glow would flicker the way it did when he was uncertain, to see if he would melt into it or just stare at Folly with that devastating, thoughtful intensity.

He cleared his throat sharply, shaking himself. Absolutely not.

That wasn't the point of this.

Folly was in control. He was leading this. He was dictating the pace. And that pace did not include whatever his stupid brain was conjuring up in a desperate attempt to make things more complicated than they needed to be.

Beside him, Nova walked in silence, composed, unreadable.

And Folly absolutely, definitely did not wonder what he would sound like if he lost that composure.

Nova, on the other hand, was thinking about it entirely too much.

Folly exhaled sharply, forcing his thoughts onto safer ground. "You know," he said, "'Nova' isn't really working for me."

Nova glanced at him, blinking. "No?"

Folly shook his head. "Too... obvious. Too bright. Feels like something someone named you, not something that belongs to you."

Nova considered this, gaze flickering toward the sky, where the stars stretched vast and indifferent overhead. "I see. And what do you suggest?"

Folly hummed, tapping his fingers against his hip as they walked. "Alder. Try that for now."

The celestial blinked, considering. "Do all Lynxari give names so easily?"

Folly huffed a quiet laugh. "Not even close. Naming someone isn't something we do lightly. It's... intimate."

The celestial tilted his head slightly. "Intimate?"

"Yeah," Folly said, watching the ground as they walked. "We're born with temporary names, ones our parents give us. But when we come of age, we earn our own—one that fits who we are. And sometimes—rarely—we get the chance to change it again."

"Under what circumstances?"

Folly hesitated for half a breath, then shrugged. "When something changes you. Something big. Usually, it's something emotional—a bond, a loss, something so deep that the name you had before stops feeling like yours. That's when you take a new one."

Nova was quiet for a moment, his golden eyes thoughtful. "So you believe my name should change?"

Folly glanced at him sidelong, ears flicking. "I think you already feel like it should. You're just waiting for someone to say it first."

He didn't argue, just nodded once, accepting it the way he accepted most things—calmly, steadily, as if it were a fact of the world.

Folly looked away before he let himself think about what it meant that he was the one naming him now.

The celestial tilted his head slightly. "Alder," he repeated, slow, testing it like he was rolling it over in his mind. "It does not feel entirely correct."

"Yeah, well, neither did Nova," Folly said, shrugging. "It doesn't have to be perfect. Just something that fits better than the last thing."

Nova nodded once, as if accepting it for now. "Alder."

Folly let out a breath, his own words settling uncomfortably in his chest.

He hadn't meant to think about it this much, but now that he had started, he couldn't stop. A name was something personal. Something given. Something that should mean something. And Nova—no, Alder—still didn't feel quite right. His gaze flicked toward him again, thoughtful. What kind of name would suit him?

Alder was quiet, serious, but not cold. There was warmth in him, a quiet steadiness that Folly could sense beneath all the uncertainty. Even when he didn't know what he was doing, there was something undeniably grounding about him.

Folly thought about the way he felt around Alder, like there was something solid where there hadn't been before. Something present.

Something... comforting.

He frowned, suddenly irritated with himself. What was he thinking? It wasn't like he was going to sit here and craft the perfect name for him like some love-drunk fool. That was ridiculous.

But still, the thought lingered, nagging at the edges of his mind, waiting for him to stop pretending he wasn't thinking it.

Something that made him feel steady. Something that made him feel safe.

Something like...

No. He wasn't ready to name it yet.

Maybe later.

For now, Alder would do.

Alder walked just a step ahead of him, and without thinking, Folly's eyes dropped—to his hands, large and powerful, his claws dark and curved, his fingers tapering long and precise. Celestial, but not perfect. There was something faintly calloused about them, like he had spent just a little too much time touching the world instead of merely watching it.

Folly frowned, a strange thought creeping into his head before he could stop it.

What have those hands done?

And then—before he could shove the thought away—

Alder reached out.

It was nothing, really. Just a simple thing. They had come to a shallow dip in the path, uneven terrain that meant little to Folly. He could have easily stepped over it. But Alder, who had never done this before but was learning, extended a hand toward him anyway.

Folly should have ignored it.

He didn't.

Instead, he hesitated just a second too long before reaching out.

Alder's fingers curled around his own—gentle, steady, like he was memorizing the weight of Folly's hand in his. His grip was warm, warmer than it should have been, like the fading heat of a dying star.

Folly exhaled too hard when he landed on the other side. He did not look at Alder's face, because he could feel the way he was watching him.

And then—Alder spoke.

"You are thoughtful when you name things."

Folly blinked. "Huh?"

"You put meaning into them," Alder continued. "You did not choose 'Alder' carelessly."

Folly opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. He had chosen the name quickly, yes, but not carelessly.

Alder continued, golden eyes sharp in the dim light. "I wonder what you would name me if you were not afraid to."

He forced a grin, shaking his head. "You're so dramatic. We're not having an existential crisis over a name."

Alder only looked at him, long and quiet, as though he could already tell that whatever name Folly would eventually give him—he wouldn't be able to take it back.

Folly exhaled sharply, looking anywhere but at Alder. "You should be grateful I didn't name you something ridiculous like Moth or Dewdrop or something."

Alder blinked. "Would you have?"

Folly snorted. "You'd never know."

Alder hummed, and then, as though the conversation hadn't just unraveled Folly from the inside out, he smiled.

Folly looked away so fast he nearly tripped. Gods help him.

Alder walked in silence beside him, but his eyes flicked toward Folly's tail, which had been betraying him for the past several minutes—flicking erratically, curling and uncurling, giving away the very thing Folly was trying to suppress.

"Your tail moves when you are... unsettled," Alder observed, his tone neutral, but there was a hint of curiosity behind it.

Folly nearly walked into a tree. "Excuse me?"

"It flicks when you are nervous." Alder's voice was as matter-of-fact as if he were reading constellations. "It has been moving quite a lot."

Folly forced his tail to still and shot Alder a look. "You're imagining things. I'm perfectly relaxed."

Alder hummed softly, watching him a moment too long before looking ahead again. "I see. So it flicks when you are perfectly relaxed."

Folly scowled. "You are very annoying."

"I have been told I am observant."

Folly rolled his eyes, picking up his pace, but then hesitated. Alder was still walking with that same steady, careful gait—something about the way he carried himself was different from the first time they met. It wasn't hesitation anymore, not exactly, but something else. Like he was learning how to be here.

Then, before Folly could overthink it, he reached out. Just a simple thing. A piece of fur on Alder's shoulder that had been sticking up the wrong way, something Folly's fingers moved to smooth without thinking—

And the moment he did it, he realized.

He froze, hand half-hovering over Alder's shoulder, his claws barely grazing the celestial's fur. It was soft, impossibly so, like fine strands of silk woven with something he couldn't quite name. It shimmered faintly under his touch, galaxies rippling as if aware of him.

Alder had also frozen.

His golden gaze shifted slowly to Folly's face, unreadable, but his glow flared just slightly, a fraction brighter, a heartbeat of reaction.

Folly's brain refused to function.

"Uh," he said brilliantly, retracting his hand far too quickly, stuffing it into his pocket like he had just touched something scalding. "Stray fur."

Alder blinked once. "Stray fur."

"Yep. Annoying little thing. Took care of it for you."

Alder hummed, like he didn't quite believe him. Like he was storing the moment away for later.

Folly turned away so fast he nearly tripped again.

This was fine. He was fine. He was still in control.

Then, after a long stretch of silence, Alder spoke—soft, thoughtful, like he was just realizing it himself.

"You do that a lot."

Folly frowned. "Do what?"

Alder glanced at him, gaze steady. "Touch me."

Folly's stomach dropped straight through the forest floor.

His tail flicked wildly, his ears burned, his mouth opened— and nothing came out.

Alder didn't press. He just walked beside him, as if he hadn't just split Folly wide open and left him scrambling to put himself back together.

Folly exhaled sharply, staring straight ahead, trying to act like that hadn't just happened.

Then Alder, quiet but certain, said—

"I think you like it."

Folly stopped breathing.

Alder kept walking, unconcerned, leaving Folly standing there, frozen, every single thought in his head short-circuiting at once.

By the time he recovered, Alder was already a few steps ahead, waiting for him to catch up.

Folly swallowed hard, shoved his hands in his pockets, and forced his feet to move.

It didn't mean anything. He wasn't unraveling. He was still in control.

Then Alder glanced at him again, eyes unreadable, and said—

"I think I like it too."

Folly's pulse slammed against his ribs. His stomach twisted. His mouth was dry. And then Folly knew, with complete and utter certainty, that he was so, so fucked.