FSE

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The interior of Folly's cottage was a warm, cluttered thing—patched together over the years with mismatched furniture, dried herbs strung from the ceiling, and books and star maps stacked in precarious piles along every available surface. A fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting flickering light against the wooden beams, and the scent of mint and honey lingered in the air from the tea he had made earlier. The first floor was small but lived-in, every corner carrying the mark of someone who had made a home for themselves, even if they hadn't entirely expected to stay.

Folly had not stopped thinking about him. It was maddening. A celestial being—a smug, stupidly handsome, utterly ridiculous one—had crash-landed into his life, awkwardly flirted with him like it was his divine calling, and then promptly disappeared without so much as a goodbye. Who did that?

And yet, despite himself, Folly had spent the entire day floating through the village in a daze, replaying every moment of last night's encounter like a starstruck fool. The way he had looked at him. The way his golden eyes had flickered in the moonlight, the way his tail had twitched whenever Folly got too close, the way he had said—

I think I want to kiss you—

Folly scrubbed a hand over his face, willing himself to get a grip. This was ridiculous. Divinity notwithstanding, he had flirted with plenty of men before. He had been pursued, courted, left breathless by stolen touches in the dark—but this was different. And he didn't know why. And he hated that he didn't know why.

"Alright, you're making a face," Lark said flatly, barely looking up from Folly's dinner table as she carved into a chunk of wood with her hunting knife. "I don't like it."

Folly blinked. "What face?"

"The dreamy one." She gestured vaguely at him with the tip of her knife. "Like you're about to break into a power ballad."

Folly gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. His chestnut fur bristled slightly, his amber eyes wide with exaggerated indignation. His long, tufted ears flicked, as if physically warding off Lark's relentless judgment. "Lark! Have you so little faith in me?"

"Yes."

He scowled. "You wound me."

"I'd rather wound you than sit through whatever puppy dog lovesick drivel you're cooking up." She narrowed her eyes. "So. Who is he?"

Folly sputtered. "What—why do you assume—"

Lark slowly raised an eyebrow, her knife pausing mid-carve. She stared at him for a long moment, her green eyes narrowing in calculated suspicion, the kind that made Folly immediately regret every life choice that had led him to this moment. She let the silence stretch, excruciatingly, as if waiting for him to crumble under the weight of his own foolishness.

"Okay, fine," he huffed, sinking into his seat and flicking his tail in irritation. "I met someone."

Lark didn't react at first, simply turning her carving over in her hand. Then, in the driest tone imaginable, she said, "Folly. My dear, idiot friend. I have never seen you pine for someone in the daylight before. This is serious. Should I be concerned?"

Folly groaned, collapsing onto the table dramatically. "Don't say it like that."

"Like what?" Lark smirked. "Like you've finally met someone who has you whipped like an imprinted kitten?"

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

Folly groaned again, but there was no real bite behind it. "He's just—different."

"Mmm." Lark didn't look convinced. "Define 'different.'"

Folly hesitated. "He... fell from the night sky into the woods behind the cottage."

Lark stilled.

Then, without looking up, she said, "You're going to elaborate on that, right?"

Folly bit his lip. "Not really."

Lark let out a slow breath through her nose. "Folly."

There was no way to explain without sounding unhinged. "Oh yes, he literally fell from the sky, also I think he might be made of stars, and oh, by the way, I think I'm falling for him in an incredibly inconvenient way."

She eyed him over the rim of her cup and sighed, unimpressed. "Okay. So, you meet some stranger in the woods in the middle of the night, and now you're floating around town like you've been bewitched." She gave him an exaggerated once-over. "But you're not limping, so either you've been thinking about him all day for his sparkling conversation, or he was very _good _with his hands."

Folly gasped, clutching his chest in mock horror. "Lark! Must you be so crude? I am but an innocent, delicate flower!"

Lark smirked.

He hesitated, then shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Look, it was... unexpected."

Lark took a slow sip of tea, eyes narrowing over the rim. "Unexpected how?"

Folly hesitated for a beat too long, searching for the right words. Beautiful. Otherworldly. Completely, catastrophically infuriating. Instead, he settled for: "We just... ran into each other."

"Ran into each other," she repeated flatly.

Folly cleared his throat. "Look, does it matter? He's—" His words faltered. What was Nova, to him? "It's fine!" he insisted. "He's just—he's—look, people saw something streak across the sky last night. Earlier, I heard the Silver Bough paladins are sniffing around town about it. You know, Theodin's crew." He waved a hand, trying for casual. "My guy might have been involved."

"Might have been involved," Lark repeated blankly.

Folly grinned sheepishly. "Perhaps."

She gave him a long, unamused stare before sighing and returning to her carving. "I'm going to regret asking, but what's he like?"

Folly hesitated. And that was annoying, because normally he had no problem describing attractive men. He could spin a whole story about the curve of their smile, the cadence of their voice, the way they kissed—

But Nova was...

"He's strange," he admitted. "But not in a bad way. He's—impossibly confident and yet completely out of his depth at the same time? It's infuriatingly charming." He propped his chin on his hand, ears flicking. "He looks at me like I'm something worth studying. Like I'm—something more than just a good time. Like I'm someone who matters."

Lark's knife stilled against the wood. Her fingers flexed slightly over the handle, a small, almost imperceptible motion.

Folly forced a laugh, ears tilting back. "I mean, obviously, I am important, but—"

"Folly."

He hated that tone. That soft, careful one—the one that meant she had noticed something he didn't want to talk about. "What?"

Lark didn't speak for a long moment. Then, quietly, she said, "You're scared."

Folly flinched. "I'm not—"

"You're scared because it sounds like this guy makes you feel seen." Lark's voice was steady, but she was watching him closely now. "Like, really sees you."

Folly's throat felt tight.

He could have lied. He could have smirked, cracked a joke, spun the conversation into something easy, something meaningless.

But for once, he didn't.

Folly opened his mouth, then shut it again. His tail flicked sharply, but this time, there was no playful edge to it. The weight in his chest was something he didn't quite know how to name.

"...Maybe," he murmured.

Lark exhaled slowly, but she didn't press. Instead, she reached over and gave his wrist a brief squeeze before pulling back, her gaze flicking away like she hadn't done it at all. A quiet reminder that she was there, that she understood more than he was willing to say. She just nodded once, accepting his answer for what it was. Then, after a pause, she arched an eyebrow.

Folly hesitated, running a claw over the grain of the table. "It's just—" He sighed. "I don't know. He makes me feel... like I'm not some walking disaster. Like maybe I deserve to be looked at like that. And that's—hard to believe sometimes."

Lark's expression softened slightly, but there was a flicker of concern beneath it. "Folly, tell me you're not comparing this to Rhys."

Folly's tail flicked sharply. He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "This is nothing like Rhys. Rhys knew exactly what he wanted, and it wasn't me. He just didn't have the guts to say it until he did—after a year of sneaking around like I was some shameful secret." His voice was bitter, but he forced himself to smooth it over with a sigh. "He made me feel like I was imagining the whole thing. Like I was the only one who had feelings, and he'd just been humoring me."

Lark frowned, her fingers tightening around the handle of her knife. "That was never on you, Folly. You know that."

Folly offered her a weak smile. "Yeah, well. Try telling that to the idiot in my head who still wonders if maybe I was just too much."

Lark leaned back, studying him for a long moment before sighing. "And this guy?"

Folly swallowed. "I don't know what he wants. But he looks at me like he hasn't figured it out either. And that's almost worse."

Lark let out a low whistle, setting down her carving. She studied him, her usual sharp-edged humor briefly giving way to something softer. "That's dangerous."

Folly snorted. "You're telling me."

A moment of silent acknowledgment passed between them.

Lark arched a brow. "So, let me get this straight—you're out here spiraling over some mystery man who fell from the sky and—do we even know his name?"

Folly hesitated. "It's... complicated."

Lark let out a long, suffering sigh and flopped back in her chair. "Of course it is. Is anything about this simple? Or do I need to swear some kind of confidentiality oath before you can disclose if he even has a pulse?"

Folly chuckled despite himself, rubbing at his temple. "It's not that I don't want to tell you. It's just that I don't actually know his real name. I've just been calling him Nova. But—" He sighed. "I don't really like it. It doesn't fit."

Lark tilted her head, thoughtful. "Okay, so what does fit? You gotta call him something if you're gonna keep swooning over him."

Folly scoffed. "I'm not swooning."

Lark gave him an unimpressed look. "Sure. So, what else?"

Folly chewed on his lip, considering. "I don't know... maybe something more grounded? Orion? No, that's still too grand. Hm. Alder?" He frowned. It still didn't feel quite right. But neither did any of this.

Lark snapped her fingers. "Alder. I like it. Has an earthy ring to it, like you're trying to keep yourself from floating away into the clouds."

Folly huffed a laugh. "Alder then, I'll try it on him later tonight. And also I'm that obvious, huh?"

Lark smirked. "Oh, painfully. Also, you realize you haven't actually described what he looks like this whole time, right? Just how he makes you feel. That's how I know you're in up to your knees already."

Folly could still picture the twilight blue and purple cosmos swirling within (within?) Alder's fur (fur?), but decided against overtly sharing his celestial nature just yet. Instead, he threw up his hands. "He's—ugh, I don't know. Stupidly tall, built like a god—"

"Are we talking, like, 'statue in a temple' built or 'wrestled a bear in the woods' built?"

"I don't know, Lark! I wasn't exactly taking measurements. He's massive and probably also a Lynxari. I couldn't make out the finer details in the dark of the bathhouse before dawn."

Lark choked on her tea. "Is that gay cat code for something scandalous, or am I missing something?"

Folly groaned, rubbing his temples. "Oh for—Lark, we were just bathing."

Lark waggled her brows. "On the_ first night?_ My gods, Folly, you work fast. You didn't just fall for this guy—you threw yourself at him, lathered him up, and handed him a towel."

Folly gasped, grinning and clutching his chest dramatically. "My honor and I will not stand for this repeated slander!"

Lark leaned back in her chair, grinning. "Please, you're sitting. And don't act all innocent now. You personally escorted a massive, mysterious stranger to a steamy bathhouse in the middle of the night. You can dress it up however you want, but if you were anyone else, I'd assume you were actively trying to fuck him."

Folly flicked his tail, his ears heating. "It wasn't like that." Although?

Lark snorted. "Sure. And I suppose next you're gonna tell me he tripped and accidentally landed between your legs?"

Folly groaned, rubbing his face. "Look, it wasn't just about that. In fact, there was none of that at all. But there was... tension."

Lark took a long, theatrically loud sip of her tea. "Do tell."

Folly hesitated, his tail flicking. "You ever meet someone and just—know? Like every glance feels like it's charged, and if you so much as breathe the wrong way, something's going to happen?"

Lark grinned. "Oh, so you do want to fuck him."

Folly threw a napkin at her. "Lark, I swear—listen, it wasn't just me. He—he nearly touched me. I could feel it. And then he said—" Folly swallowed. "He said he wanted to kiss me."

Lark's knife slipped against the wood she was carving. "He said that?"

Folly nodded, ears flattening slightly. "And then he just—vanished." Oops, should expand on that. "He—just left me there."

Lark set her knife down, watching him carefully. "And how did that make you feel?"

Folly exhaled slowly, staring at the grain of the table. "Like I was caught between wanting to chase after him and being relieved that I didn't have to."

Lark hummed, tracing slow, deliberate patterns in the wood with her knife. "And yet, here you are, acting like a lovesick bard with only one song to his name."

Folly groaned, dragging his hands down his face. "I am not lovesick. I am—mildly intrigued. Annoyed, even. Maybe a little—"

"Enchanted?" Lark supplied, grinning.

"—invested," Folly finished with a glare.

Lark rolled her eyes, but her expression softened just slightly. "Look, you're allowed to like someone, Folly. It doesn't always have to end in heartbreak."

Folly opened his mouth, then hesitated. He knew she meant well, that she was trying to remind him that he wasn't doomed to repeat the past. But it was easier said than done.

Instead of answering, he pushed back from the table and stood, stretching dramatically. "Enough about my disastrous love life. I have somewhere to be."

Lark smirked. "Oh? Let me guess. A certain clearing in a certain part of the woods?"

Folly huffed. "Maybe."

Lark shook her head, amused. "Well, don't let the stars catch you doing improper things, lover boy. And for the gods' sake, try not to swoon too hard."

She paused just long enough to let the teasing settle before adding with a grin, "And if you do swoon, make sure you land on something soft. Preferably him."

Folly groaned. "I am never telling you anything again."

"Lies," Lark called as he opened the door. "You love telling me things. Now go make some more questionable decisions so I can continue making a mess of wood shavings on your floor in peace."

Folly snorted but didn't argue. Folly hesitated at the door, just for a moment, before stepping into the night, the night air cool against his fur. The sky stretched wide and endless above him, stars scattered like ink droplets across the dark. His tail flicked, a nervous energy thrumming beneath his skin as he started toward the clearing.

Inside, Lark sat quietly for a moment, rolling an elven ear between her fingers. Her teasing had been easy, effortless, but now that Folly was gone, she let the worry start to settle back in from the compartment she crammed it into. She'd seen this before—had watched him fall fast, with his whole reckless heart, only to be left picking up the pieces when the other person couldn't meet him where he stood.

She exhaled slowly. "You're not as put together as you think, Folly. Try not to break your own heart this time."

And then, shaking off the thought, she returned to her carving.