FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Folly had been out later than usual.

His cottage sat nestled in a clearing, the wooden beams softened by creeping ivy and the gentle glow of lantern light. A small garden stretched wild in front of it, its rows of vegetables and herbs nearly overtaken by stubborn wildflowers. The chicken coop nearby was silent, its residents shifting only slightly in their sleep, undisturbed by the cool night air.

He could have been inside right now, curled up under too many blankets, pretending the night was nothing but empty space. He could have ignored the way the stars had been watching him.

But he had never been very good at ignoring signs from on high.

Folly tilted his head back, feline eyes reflecting the constellations overhead. Among the Lynxari he was a Starcaller, had spent years studying their patterns, tracing their stories, interpreting their signs. But it had been four years since he last asked them for anything.

Since he had last wanted anything. Out loud, anyway.

Rhys had seen to that.

Even now, the thought of wanting made his chest feel tight, his tail flicking with restless irritation. He told himself he was fine—and he was. He had a home, a life, enough distractions to keep the quiet ache in his ribs from turning into something unbearable.

But tonight, the stars pressed against him, a quiet presence he couldn't shake.

He should have ignored them.

Instead, he sighed. And against his better judgment, he whispered:

"Alright. If you're listening—if you've been listening all this time—"

His claws flexed against the fabric of his sleeves, hesitation curling around the words before he let them go.

"Show me you know what's best for me because clearly, I don't."

The wind stirred. The stars flickered.

And then—

The heavens split open.

The first thing he noticed was the silence.

Not the soft, natural hush of the night, but a vast, hollow quiet, as if the world itself had stopped breathing. Then came the light—a blinding streak that tore through the sky, searing silver and gold against the darkness.

A sharp pressure built behind his ribs, like the air had been stripped of breath, of warmth, of time itself. The wind howled past his ears, whipping his fur against his skin. The scent of something ancient—ozone, fire, something raw—burned at the back of his throat. His body recognized it as something divine, something that didn't belong here. And yet, he couldn't look away. It was too fast, too bright, its descent unnatural. For a breathless moment, it seemed to hang there, suspended between realms.

Then, the impact.

A soundless pulse struck first, an unseen force that sent a shiver through his bones. The ground trembled beneath his feet, his fur bristling at the raw, electric energy that radiated outward. A beat later, the explosion followed—deep and resonant, shaking the trees and sending a rush of wind through the clearing. The scent of scorched earth and stardust filled the air.

Folly's breath came fast, uneven, but his legs were already moving. He sprinted toward the ridge, weaving through the trees, leaping over twisted roots and loose stones. The pulse of energy still clung to the air, whispering against his skin like an unseen hand, drawing him forward.

—

When he reached the crater's edge, the ground was still warm beneath his paws, silver dust curling in the air like dying embers.

The crater still smoldered, debris from the impact drifting lazily in the air, and at its center, something stirred.

At first, it was only a shimmer, a distortion against the darkness. Then, the air itself folded inward, rippling as though the very fabric of the world was trying to accommodate something that did not belong.

And then—he took form.

His body did not settle so much as it coalesced, nebulous and shifting, as if he had been plucked straight from the night sky and given a vague, feline shape. His fur shimmered with an entire cosmos trapped beneath it, galaxies swirling where shadows should be. And his eyes—his eyes were golden, endless, the kind of light that should have belonged to stars millions of years away.

He was a being beyond time, beyond comprehension.

Folly tilted his head.

Then, casually, he stepped forward, hands in his pockets. "You alright there?"

The celestial being blinked.

For a long moment, the two of them just stood there, staring at one another, the vastness of infinity meeting the mildly unimpressed gaze of a mortal.

His mouth parted slightly, as if he was choosing between a hundred words. A flicker of hesitation, something infinitesimally small for a being so infinite—but then, he steadied.

And then, he said, soft, certain—

"It's you."

Folly's ears flicked. His tail curled around his ankle, a nervous habit he never quite shook.

"You know who I am?"

The being took a step forward. Or rather, he existed slightly closer than before, space bending to accommodate him rather than him moving through it.

"Well, I've seen you," he murmured, his voice like the hush of the universe between heartbeats. "You are... very distracting."

Folly's whiskers twitched. "Right... And do you make a habit of crashing into the world in the form of a Lynxari?" Folly's attention was caught on the aurora seemingly rippling underneath the being's fur. "Albeit a... unique one?"

The celestial blinked, his golden gaze flickering with something uncertain. His tail twitched once, almost nervously. "I—no. I took on the form I thought you would be most comfortable with."

Folly's amber eyes gleamed with amusement. "Oh?" His gaze swept over him—broad-shouldered, towering, an infinite universe pressing out against its struggling container and yet... not bad. Not bad at all. "Well, you certainly broke the mold."

The celestial shifted, starlight rippling under his fur. He hesitated, ears flicking downward in what Folly could only describe as the closest thing to self-consciousness he had ever seen from a god, not that he's made a habit of seeking them out. Then, quieter, almost uncertain—"Do you not like it?"

Folly blinked, caught off guard by the almost sheepish sincerity in the question. The edges of his amusement softened, something unspoken settling between them. "Mm, no, yeah," he said after a beat, tail flicking. "Yeah, I think you did alright."

The celestial exhaled, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly, before clearing his throat and recovering whatever dignity he had left. "Good. That is—acceptable."

Folly smirked. "You sound real sure about that."

The celestial huffed, looking away. "I am adjusting."

Folly snorted. "I'll bet. Now, who or what exactly have I been distracting?"

The being hesitated, his tail—if it could even be called that—flicking in what Folly could only describe as nervous energy.

"The stars," he admitted. Then, after a beat, his ears twitched violently, as if realizing how ridiculous that sounded. "That is to say, I—" He inhaled, a little too sharply for someone who probably did not need to breathe. "I was meant to be observing the celestial weave, the great design of fate, and yet—"

His tail flicked again.

"You were... very persistent."

Folly grinned, delighted but astonished. "So you were spying on me?"

"I—no!" The cosmic being flared with stardust, gold crackling at the edges of his form. "Not—spying. Observing. In an entirely professional capacity."

"Mmm." Folly rocked on his heels, hand brushing the nape of his neck, his hazelnut tail flicking behind him. "And did you like what you saw?"

The celestial hesitated again, visibly losing his grip on omnipotence in real-time. His golden gaze flickered, a distant supernova collapsing under mortal scrutiny. This was not how he had imagined this first meeting would go. He had rehearsed it—many times, in the vast solitude of the heavens, considering the perfect words to introduce himself to the mortal who had unknowingly ensnared his attention. Something grand, something poetic, something worthy of a cosmic being stepping onto the mortal plane.

He started, his power swelling and straining against its container. "Mortal. I have traversed the fabric of existence to be here, now, before you." A pause, as if waiting for the weight of those words to settle. Folly watched, waiting for him to continue, or finish. Then, almost uncertainly—"I'm sorry, was that too much? That was too much, wasn't it."

A beat of silence.

Folly blinked once. Then twice. His ears twitched, and his tail swayed lazily behind him. "Huh," he said, utterly unimpressed. "You practice that one before you came?"

"...Yes," he admitted, a little helplessly.

Folly hummed. "And now you're here."

"Yes."

"For...?"

A long pause.

The celestial swallowed. (Wait. Could he do that? Folly was pretty sure that wasn't necessary.)

"...Unclear."

Folly laughed outright, and the celestial looked both entirely enamored and utterly doomed.

"I'll make it easy for you." Folly stepped forward, standing just close enough to be a problem for someone who had spent eons watching the realm from a distance. "What's your name?"

The celestial stiffened.

"...I do not have one."

Folly blinked, ears twitching. "No name? No title? What do the other cosmic entities call you?"

There was another pause. Then—so soft, so utterly mortified—

"...They do not."

Folly's whiskers twitched. Oh, this was fun.

"Alright, well, we'll have to fix that." He leaned in slightly, grin sharp but not unkind. "Can't very well go around calling you 'cosmic stalker' all the time, can I?"

The celestial visibly short-circuited. His ears flattened. His tail puffed up like a startled kitten.

"I—you—" His hands twitched at his sides, and Folly could feel the very air around them warping with his flustered energy. "I am—" he exhaled sharply, as if physically resisting the urge to combust on the spot. "You are very—" He cut himself off, struggling for words, struggling for control.

And then Folly reached out.

Just a light touch, the barest brush of claws against silver stardust fur, grounding and playful all at once.

The cosmic entity—this vast, infinite thing—shuddered.

Oh. Oh, that was interesting.

"You know," Folly mused, delight curling in his chest, "for something infinite, you're awfully easy to fluster."

The celestial looked like he wanted to collapse into a singularity.

"...I was not prepared for this."

Folly grinned. "Welcome to the material world."

—

The celestial being stood before him, something vast and infinite crammed into the rough shape of a Lynxari, golden light shimmering beneath his silver fur. He should have been intimidating—was meant to be intimidating. But all Folly saw was someone strangely uncertain, standing at the precipice of something he did not yet understand.

Folly exhaled, the cool night air thick with stardust and the scent of damp earth. "So," he said, tilting his head, "you don't have a name."

The celestial hesitated, his ears twitching. "I have never needed one." His tail flicked, an unconscious motion, before he added, almost absently, "Or perhaps I had something once—a designation, a tether. But it was not a name in the way yours is."

"Never?" Folly stepped closer, his tail flicking lazily behind him. "Not even among your kind?"

The celestial shifted, looking almost sheepish, which was a strange thing for an eternal cosmic force to be. "Names are... attachments."

Folly hummed. "And you didn't want one?"

A pause. Then, softly— "I never needed one, nor thought I would."

Folly's ears twitched. That was interesting.

"Well, you might need one now," he said, tapping a claw against his chin.

The celestial gave him a long, patient look, the kind that suggested he was deeply reconsidering his choices.

Folly grinned. "Alright, alright. How about we try some out? See what feels right."

The celestial blinked, his tail flicking. "You wish to... test names?"

"Sure," Folly said easily. "Something's gotta fit, right?"

Another pause. Then, tentatively— "And if none of them do?"

Folly shrugged. "Then we keep trying."

The celestial stared at him for a long moment, the weight of the stars in his gaze.

"...Alright."

Folly beamed. "Great. Let's start with something dignified. Eclipse?"

The celestial frowned slightly, considering. He turned the word over, testing its weight, rolling it in his mouth like a new language. Something flickered behind his gaze—distant, buried deep—before he finally spoke.

"...No," he finally said.

Folly chuckled. "Too dramatic?"

The celestial looked almost offended. "I am composed of stars."

"Fair point." Folly hummed. "Alright, what about Nova?"

A longer pause. Then— his ears twitched. "Perhaps."

Folly grinned. "Oho, we have a contender?"

"...I did not say that."

"But you didn't say no."

The celestial gave him a look, but there was something warmer in his expression now, something less distant.

Folly exhaled through his nose, satisfied. "Alright, we'll try Nova today. If it doesn't feel right, we'll find something else tomorrow. But it's yours, for as long as you want it."

"Tomorrow?" The celestial blinked.

"Well, yeah." Folly stretched, tail flicking behind him. "You came all this way, right? Can't just leave you wandering around nameless. It'd be rude. You're gonna stick around, aren't you?"

Something in the air shifted, the weight of unspoken things settling between them.

"...Yes," the celestial said. Quiet, but certain.

Folly smiled. "Good. I was hoping you would."

—

That night, the stars had settled, casting long silver ribbons of light through the trees. The crater still smoldered faintly, but the celestial—Nova, for now—no longer seemed to notice. He sat beside Folly on a fallen log, hands carefully folded in his lap, as though unsure what to do with them.

Folly, for his part, lounged comfortably, tail flicking in lazy arcs behind him. The firelight flickered between them, and now that they were no longer standing in the aftermath of a literal celestial impact, he had a better chance to observe his visitor.

Nova was—a lot.

Not in a bad way.

More in a cosmic, "I can't believe something like you is sitting next to me and somehow looking like a nervous schoolboy on his first day" kind of way.

Folly watched as Nova tried—and failed—to appear as if he wasn't watching him. His ears twitched every time Folly moved. His tail flicked a beat too quickly, his celestial glow pulsing in tiny, rapid bursts.

Folly smirked. Oh. This was adorable.

He stretched out a little, deliberately shifting to get comfortable. "So," he said, tilting his head, "are we gonna talk about why you're here, or are we just gonna sit here pretending this is a perfectly normal way to meet someone?"

Nova visibly straightened, his entire body tensing as if bracing for impact.

Folly tried not to laugh.

"I—" Nova started, then stopped. His tail wrapped tightly around his ankles, his ears flicking in panicked micro-movements. He looked at Folly, then away, then back again.

Folly waited, patient, golden eyes glinting in amusement.

Nova took an unnecessarily deep breath, as if centering himself. "I was... drawn here."

Folly raised an eyebrow. "Drawn here?"

Nova nodded once, firm, as if trying to convince himself as much as Folly.

"I was meant to watch," he continued, carefully measured. "To observe the celestial currents that guide this world."

Folly hummed. "Right, right. The whole cosmic observer thing. That part I got." He flicked his tail, then leaned forward just slightly, watching the way Nova's golden eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

"But that still doesn't explain why you're here."

Nova stiffened.

Folly smiled. Got him.

A beat of silence.

Nova's jaw tightened. His tail wrapped itself in a nervous coil around his ankle.

Folly watched as an entire celestial being struggled against the very concept of vulnerability.

And it was—gods, it was endearing. Nova was trying so hard to hold himself together, to maintain some composure, but Folly could see it now. The tiny shifts in his fur, the restless twitch of his fingers. The way his glow flared every time Folly so much as looked at him for too long. Nova was flustered.

Folly's smirk softened into something smaller, something almost fond."You're nervous."

Nova flinched. "I am not—"

"You are," Folly interrupted, grinning. "And that's okay."

Nova looked utterly betrayed by reality.

Folly nudged him again, this time gently. "Look, if it helps, I'm not gonna bite." He paused. "Unless that's something you're into—"

Nova made a strangled noise.

Folly laughed, shaking his head. "Kidding, kidding. You're too easy." Nova buried his face in his hands.

Folly's grin softened further. He wasn't just teasing now—he was genuinely trying to make him comfortable. He let the silence settle for a moment, the warmth of the fire crackling between them. Then, after a beat, he asked, "You wanna tell me the real reason you're here?"

Nova hesitated. His fingers curled slightly against his palms. Then, softly—

"...I do not know how to explain it."

Folly's ears flicked. "Try me."

Nova exhaled, staring into the flames. "I have watched for so long," he murmured. "I have seen countless stories unfold. Entire civilizations rise and fall." His tail flicked, gaze distant. "I thought I understood the world."

Folly tilted his head. "And now?"

Nova hesitated. His voice—for all its celestial weight—was small. "...Now, I am not sure I understand anything at all."

Folly's breath caught slightly.

Because—for the first time since meeting him, Nova wasn't trying to sound grand.

For the first time, he sounded just like anyone else.

Folly's expression softened. "That's not a bad thing, you know." He hesitated for a brief moment before exhaling and offering, "Follows-The-Starlight. That's my name."

"Follows-The-Starlight..." Nova blinked, golden eyes reflecting the firelight. He repeated it, softer this time, like he was testing its shape.

Something flickered behind his gaze—not just understanding, but something like reverence. Names had weight. They were anchors, and this one had been freely given. "...It suits you," Nova murmured, as if that was the only thing in all the cosmos he was sure of.

Folly nodded, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah, being a Starcaller and all. It's the name I was given when I came of age in my birth troupe. But most people just call me Folly." He chuckled, ears twitching. "Probably because I have a bad habit of throwing myself into things that blow up in my face. Seemed fitting."

Nova looked at him, uncertain.

Folly shrugged. "Means you've got something to figure out. And in my opinion, figuring things out is a lot more fun than pretending you know everything."

Nova was silent, gaze flickering between Folly and the firelight. He mulled over the words, turning them around in his mind like something fragile, something that might slip through his grasp if he wasn't careful. Was it truly more enjoyable to be in the process of understanding rather than standing above it all? He had never considered the possibility before—never needed to. The idea felt... strange. Uncertain. And yet, there was something oddly grounding about it.

"...I think I am bad at fun."

Folly huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, I got that impression."

Nova frowned slightly. "How do I become... not bad at it?"

Folly leaned back on his hands, grinning. "The power to literally rewrite the stars in your grasp, and you're asking me to teach you how to have fun?"

Nova's glow flared slightly. "...Yes," he said quietly. "I think I would like that."

Folly watched the way he said it—not careful, not measured, just honest. There was something fragile about the moment, something unspoken passing between them like a quiet agreement neither of them knew how to name just yet.

And he smiled.

"Good."

—

Folly, naturally, had a plan.

Well. Maybe not a plan-plan. But he knew one thing for sure: this celestial being is way too tightly wound, and that needs to change.

The celestial remained far too still, far too composed for someone who had just started to experience mortal joys. Folly decided it was time for an intervention.

Folly's tail flicked mischievously as he stretched, amber eyes glinting. "Alright then, as you like it, Nova. Tonight's lesson—fun."

Nova, standing awkwardly at the edge of Folly's tiny camp, looked deeply unprepared. Folly grinned. "You know. That thing mortals do when they're not observing the cosmic weave of reality or whatever."

Nova frowned. "I am aware of the concept."

"Oh, are you now?" Folly folded his arms, unimpressed. "Alright then, tell me—when's the last time you did something just because it felt good?"

Nova opened his mouth. Closed it.

Folly waited.

Nova's ears flicked. His tail twitched. His glow pulsed in uneven intervals, like a star on the verge of collapse. He opened his mouth—closed it again. Finally, he exhaled, shoulders tensing as if bracing for impact. "...I am beginning to understand that I have never actually lived."

Folly snorted. "Yeah, figured." He gestured toward the treeline. "Which is why we're fixing that. C'mon."

Nova blinked. "Where are we going?"

Folly winked. "We're committing crimes."

Nova visibly short-circuited. "WHAT?"

Folly laughed, tail flicking as he started walking. "Relax, relax. Tiny crimes. Harmless crimes." He glanced over his shoulder, smirking. "You trust me, don't you?"

Nova visibly hesitated. Then, reluctantly, follows.

—

Turns out, tiny crimes meant sneaking into the village bathhouse after hours. Nova stood at the entrance, looking deeply, profoundly unimpressed. "This is trespassing. There are laws about this, Folly."

Folly grinned, shrugging off his tunic as he stepped inside, stretching with the slow, satisfied ease of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. "It's a public bath. We're just... using it slightly off-schedule."

Nova's golden eyes flicked downward for the briefest second before snapping back up, his glow flickering like a candle caught in an unexpected draft.

Folly was all sunkissed chestnut fur and careless ease, broad enough to look comfortable wherever he landed but lithe enough to slip away before morning. His fur clung damp against his shoulders, a few stray droplets tracing the dip of his spine as he settled into the water. He moved like he belonged there, like this was his domain, and Nova—

Nova had observed mortal bodies before. Studied them. Understood the mechanics of movement, the arrangement of muscle and sinew, the way breath expanded through fragile ribs. And yet, watching Folly stretch out into the water, golden light reflecting off damp fur, Nova found himself...

Distracted.

It was not an emotion he was used to. Not a sensation he had ever needed to contend with. But as the water lapped at Folly's shoulders, Nova's mind produced an unfamiliar and frankly troubling thought: he looks... comfortable. No. More than that. There was warmth, closeness, the pull of something dangerous and grounding all at once.

His chest felt... odd. Tight. A sensation unstudied and unmeasured. It should have unsettled him. Instead, it only made him want to look again.

Nova did not know what to do with that realization. He stiffened, his tail giving an erratic flick.

Folly caught it—oh, interesting.

Nova's golden eyes flicked between Folly and the empty bathhouse, his celestial glow dimming in what could only be described as deep internal crisis.

Folly stretched luxuriously, sighing as he lowered himself into the steaming water. "See? Harmless crime. Practically a service. We're making sure it works properly."

Nova still hadn't moved.

Folly raised an eyebrow. "I suppose you've never had to grapple with the concept of being naked in front of a stranger. If it helps to know this, we're all naked, all the time, underneath our clothes."

Nova stiffened, tail curling tightly around his ankle. "I—my form is not bound to—"

Folly smirked, tilting his head. "So what you're saying is you could get in, but you won't."

Nova crossed his arms, lifting his chin with divine dignity. "I fail to see the purpose."

Folly splashed water at him.

Nova recoiled as if he had been personally betrayed by the very nature of liquid.

Folly was laughing so hard he had to grip the bath's edge to keep from slipping under. "Oh, this is good. Get in here before I start questioning if you're even capable of getting wet."

Nova visibly considered just leaving him there.

But then, with a sigh that could have crumbled civilizations, he stepped forward. The moment his foot touched the water, his glow pulsed, golden threads unraveling into the steam. He frowned, eyes flicking over his shifting form. "...This is not unpleasant."

Folly grinned, chin resting on his arms. "Oh? You like it?"

Nova hesitated. "...I do not dislike it."

Folly's grin widened. "Alright, then, close enough. Now we can actually talk about fun."

Nova narrowed his eyes. "I am beginning to suspect your definition of fun is deliberately vague."

Folly smirked, swirling a hand through the water. "It keeps things exciting. Besides, you've already taken a step toward it. Look at you, relaxing, enjoying the finer things in life."

Nova frowned, dipping his fingers into the water as if testing the sensation again. "Enjoyment is... a foreign concept. I do not fully grasp its parameters."

Folly leaned forward, resting his chin on his arms.

"Alright, alright. Let's start simple. Tell me something you like. Anything."

Nova hesitated, eyes flickering with thought. "The way stardust drifts in the void," he finally said. "How it dances through gravity wells, never truly bound."

Folly blinked, his smirk softening into something more genuine. "Well damn," he murmured. "That's actually kind of beautiful."

Nova tilted his head, studying Folly as if he were an equation with too many variables. "You think so?"

Folly chuckled, shaking his head. "You really don't get it, do you? Liking something—finding joy in it—it's about feeling, not analyzing. Let it hit you here." He tapped his own chest. "Let it sink in."

Nova considered this, watching as Folly lounged effortlessly in the water. After a moment, he let his body shift, his celestial glow dimming slightly as he allowed himself to sink deeper into the warmth. "I think... I understand."

Folly grinned. "See? Progress."

Nova's tail flicked, sending ripples through the bath. "And what is the next step in your so-called lesson?"

The water sloshed gently between them, steam curling in the cool night air. Nova had stopped analyzing, stopped bracing against the unknown, and now simply watched the way the ripples danced between them. Folly, for his part, pretended not to notice how close Nova had drifted.

It was one thing to fluster him, to tease him—but this? This was different. The way Nova looked at him now wasn't distant or clinical. It wasn't the detached interest of a cosmic observer studying a mortal oddity.

It was earnest.

Folly shifted, stretching an arm along the bath's edge in a lazy sprawl. Casual. Relaxed. Anything to mask the way his pulse had started to climb.

"You're staring," he murmured, voice a touch more even than he expected. "Should I be flattered?"

Nova didn't hesitate. "Yes."

Folly faltered.

Just for a moment, a fraction of a breath—but he felt it. His own body betraying him. The certainty in Nova's voice hit something inside him he wasn't ready to name.

The steam curled between them, thick with the scent of warm stone and night air. Folly should have laughed, should have tossed a careless remark back, but something in Nova's eyes kept the words locked in his throat. It wasn't just curiosity reflected there—it was belief. As if Nova saw something in him that Folly hadn't yet dared to.

He needed to break this moment before it broke him. Folly shifted, about to stand—and then Nova moved.

It was slight, unintentional, a mere shift of weight that sent a ripple through the water, tilting him ever closer. Close enough that their arms nearly brushed, close enough that Folly could see the way Nova's glow softened in the dimness.

Folly's breath caught. Too close. Too much.

For a single unbearable second, neither of them moved. The space between them shrank to something precarious, fragile. It would take nothing at all—a tilt forward, a breath out of place—and they would touch.

Nova's gaze flicked down, to Folly's lips, before snapping back up with sudden realization.

Folly's heart slammed against his ribs. Fuck.

They pulled away at the same time, water sloshing between them in the absence of something neither of them had let happen. Folly moved too fast, too eager to reclaim space, to pull himself back together.

But the damage was already done.

His tail curled around his leg, a nervous habit he thought he'd long since shed. He couldn't look at Nova, not yet, not while something unsteady clawed at his chest, something that felt an awful lot like hope. Folly needed to fix this before it spiraled any further.

"I think I enjoy being here," Nova said, voice quiet but certain.

Folly stopped.

The words shouldn't have been anything remarkable. Shouldn't have hit him like they did. But they did. The simplicity of them. The truth in them.

He felt himself slipping, losing the upper hand. This was not how this was supposed to go.

Something in his chest tightened, a slow, creeping panic coiling around his ribs. This was supposed to be fun. He was supposed to be in control. But now? Now he felt seen in a way he didn't know what to do with.

Folly forced a smirk, stretching his arms over his head in a lazy attempt to reclaim some semblance of normalcy. "Well," he drawled, "you do make interesting company."

He expected Nova to react—maybe to get flustered, maybe to hesitate. But instead, Nova just looked at him. Not through him, not at the mask Folly so carefully wore—but at him.

And Folly had to look away.

He was not prepared for this.

Nova sat stiffly, as if physically holding himself together. The tension still hummed between them, something raw and unspoken, balancing on the knife's edge of almost. Folly could still feel the ghost of where Nova had nearly touched him, an absence that felt heavier than it should have.

It had been too close. Too real.

Folly needed to push this back into something easy, something playful. He opened his mouth, reaching for something witty or snarky to—

"I think I want to kiss you."

The words hit like a thunderclap.

Silence.

Nova's own expression betrayed him—eyes wide, ears flicked back, tail twitching like he'd just realized what he had said out loud. His glow pulsed once, erratic, as if even his own body was struggling to catch up to the absurdity of what had just happened.

Folly felt the universe tilt.

Oh, fuck.

Nova looked horrified . "That—" He swallowed, visibly short-circuiting. "That was not—I mean, I was not intending to—I only meant—"

Folly should say something. He should say something. Instead, all he could do was stare, ears pinned back against his head, every muscle locked in place as his brain absolutely refused to process this situation in a way that made sense.

Nova was still talking—babbling, really, which was impressive considering he was a cosmic being who should have been above mortal embarrassments but, apparently, was not.

"It was merely an observation! A thought not meant to be spoken! I have never—this is entirely unfamiliar—you are—" Nova exhaled sharply, ears flicking in panicked frustration. "The words left before I could evaluate their necessity."

Folly's mind was spiraling. This—this was bad.

Not because he was repulsed—gods no, that was the problem—but because this was getting real. And real things led to getting attached, and getting attached meant—

No. Not happening.

He forced out a laugh, one that was dangerously close to cracking. "You sure know how to sweep a guy off his feet, huh? Bold strategy. Blurt things out and then panic."

Nova groaned and buried his face in his hands. Folly had never seen a celestial being look so thoroughly undone.

"It was ill-timed," Nova muttered, voice muffled. "It was not meant to be expressed in such a... haphazard manner."

"Yeah?" Folly huffed, raking a hand through his fur in an attempt to ground himself. "What was the plan, then? Wait until I was asleep and whisper it to the stars instead?"

Nova let out a deeply suffering sigh, as if rethinking every decision that had led him to this moment.

The silence stretched between them, no longer as easy as before. It was too charged now, too full. Folly could still feel the weight of Nova's words pressing against his ribs, making it hard to breathe.

He needed to end this. Now.

The sky was beginning to pale at the edges, dawn creeping in with quiet inevitability. Nova noticed too, his glow dimming as he straightened.

"I should go," he said, voice quieter now. More measured. "But—" He hesitated, something unspoken flickering behind his gaze. "I would like to return. If you would have me."

Folly's stomach dipped. Gods, this was dangerous. He could already see the thread unraveling, pulling him toward something he wasn't supposed to touch. He should shut this down now. Keep it light, keep it meaningless.

His mouth opened—to tell Nova not to come back, to make a joke, to do something—

But then Nova just... looked at him.

And Folly hated the way his resolve cracked like thin ice under the weight of it.

"Yeah," he muttered, voice rougher than he wanted it to be. "I guess I wouldn't mind."

Nova's glow pulsed gently, like a heartbeat, before he nodded once. And yet, he did not leave.

He should. The night was ending, and he had accomplished nothing but unraveling himself in ways he did not yet understand. He had meant to observe. To study. But now, something pulled at him, some quiet thing that whispered stay.

He did not have words for it.

So instead, he vanished.

Folly sat there for a long time after, staring at the space Nova had occupied.

What the hell was he doing?

He should have said no. He should have laughed, should have teased, should have slammed the door on this before it ever opened.

Instead, he'd let Nova leave with the promise of tomorrow. Of more.

Folly groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. This was a disaster. And worse?

He was counting down the hours. He could already feel it, the restless pull, the awareness that the day would pass too slowly now. And gods help him—he already knew he'd be waiting for tomorrow.