Chapter Text
Tickled by Your Whiskers
To say Lune was bored would have been a cruel simplification of the storm inside her.
The laboratories of the Expedition Academy had long since emptied for the Gommage festival. Lantern light filtered through stained glass. Scattering fractured colors over abandoned desks and dormant Pictos. The halls, once alive with debate and discovery, now hummed only with distant music drifting from Lumière’s plazas.
She remained.
A Picto lay open in her hands. Its glyphs half disassembled. Another rested in pieces by her elbow. She had already taken apart the Lumina Converter Gustave had presented with such earnest pride. She had already studied it, refined it, and reassembled it better than before. She had charted the oscillations of her elemental output. Even went further by calculating interference patterns between pigment and breath. Then tried to quantify the elusive spark that made her who she was.
None of it quieted her.
The Gommage. A word that meant to erase, yet tonight the city celebrated it as blessing. The Paintress and her children would step onto the Canvas to scatter light across the coming year. Doubts surrendered. Wishes entrusted to pigment and prayer.
Lune had always observed the ritual from a distance. She believed in systems, and in mechanisms that could be dismantled and understood.
Faith unsettled her. It required surrender.
Even if she knew these were her own creators.
Still, she remembered the Paintress’ children.
The daughters, Clea and Alicia, poised and radiant. The only son, Verso, solemn beneath expectation. However, what struck her the most was the youngest, Alicia. Lune notes that she is bright and restless. Constantly darting toward Gustave with her own steel blade and a challenge on her tongue. Alicia, who absorbed knowledge with a hunger that mirrored Lune’s own. Alicia, who asked about resonance theory one moment and sword forms the next.
Alicia, who smiled at her not as a prodigy. Not as a Paintress. But as someone warm.
As if Lune was just another sister to her that she looked up to.
Lune turned the Picto over between her fingers.
Perhaps she could whisper her concern to Alicia. Not as a supplicant to the Paintress. But as a woman afraid of the depth of her own longing.
Because this had nothing to do with pigment equations.
Her thoughts betrayed her again. As they had every night since the bent tower.
She had fled there after another suffocating argument with her parents. Expectations of success weighed on her already heavy heart. Lune just simply wished to celebrate the Gommage along with Gustave and Sophie but was met with harsh words from her mother. Constantly being reminded by the importance of time and legacy. That brilliance must never be squandered on frivolity.
So she ran. With the help of Sol and Stella who sneaked her out. They knew she needed to breath.
She ran. And ran. And ran. Until she found herself climbing up the tower that overlooked Lumière like a fractured sentinel. There, she had gone seeking silence.
Instead, she found her.
Sciel.
Lune remembered the first time her green eyes landed on Lune. With confusion first then followed by understanding. Her tanned skin shined under the moonlight. Her brown hair, albeit tied, flowed in the gentle gusts of the way. She was wearing a muddied trousers, and a tank top showing off her muscles.
Even mud streaked and breathless, Sciel had looked divine.
Not in the ceremonial way of the Paintress’ kin. Nor in the luminous spectacle of the Gommage,. But in something gentler. Wind tangled in her hair. A smile that did not measure Lune’s worth in achievements or outcomes.
Sciel approached her as one might approach a wounded thing. Slowly, palms visible, steps softened by care.
Like Lune was a cat that might run away at the slightest movement.
But Lune let her in.
Her pride had already fractured by then. Tears clung stubbornly to her lashes. Her breath uneven from trying too hard not to be heard. She had always despised crying. It felt like a loss of control. Like proof of weakness her parents would catalog and correct. Yet Sciel did not look at her as though she were something broken.
Sciel did not judge. She did not press. She did not demand an explanation Lune could not yet shape into words.
She simply stood beside her.
Together they watched the city as the last echoes of the festival faded. Lanterns dimmed one by one. Laughter thinned into quiet. The Gommage’s brilliant colors softened into embers along the horizon. It was a gentler ending than Lune expected. Not an erasure, but a hush.
For a fleeting moment, Lune felt as though she were watching for her younger self. The child who had been scolded for asking too many questions. The girl who wanted only to belong somewhere without having to earn it first. She imagined that younger version standing between them. Small and uncertain.
And Sciel’s presence felt like an answer that had arrived too late and yet just in time.
Then Sciel began to speak.
Of the stars.
Of how they burned without asking permission. Of how the moon did not apologize for waxing and waning. She drew her cards from their worn case, letting them catch the last strands of lantern light. Constellations etched in ink and promise. She flashed them with a small smile. As though offering secrets only the two of them could share.
“Lune,” Sciel grinned at her. Her hand reaching out to brush a stray hair from Lune’s face and tucking it behind her ear. “Beautiful moon. Perfect for a woman like you.”
Lune felt something loosen in her chest.
In answer, she summoned her elements.
Fire first, because it was easiest. A small controlled flame danced along her fingers. Steady and obedient. Then earth, grains of stone lifting and swirling in careful orbit. These were familiar languages. These she could control.
Then, without planning it, she reached for something quieter.
Cold bloomed in her palm. Delicate filaments of frost spiraled outward, weaving themselves into the fragile shape of a flower. An ice blossom unfolded in trembling translucence. Petals catching the faint light like crystal.
It startled even her.
Ice had always been a struggle for her. It always melted with her desire to perfect it all at once. Her brother, who specialized in the said element, would always tell her that patience was the virtue she should be tapping. For ice was fragile.
But in this very moment, Lune felt that it was the easiest thing to pull from her core.
All because she wished for the stars in Sciel’s eyes to shine.
Sciel’s eyes widened at first. Then softened. There it was. The twinkling of the little stars that chose to reside in the emerald ocean she possessed. A shy giggle escaped her. Warm against the chill air. A blush crept across her cheeks. Pink and unguarded. Lune felt heat rise to her own face in response.
She had created it for Sciel. The realization struck her only after the fact.
They spoke then. One after another. Until the sky shifted from indigo to a hesitant wash of dawn. They spoke of paths already drafted for them. Of names heavy with expectation. Of futures painted in strokes neither of them had chosen. Their words grew quieter. More vulnerable. As if the coming light demanded honesty.
Lune had not meant to move closer.
She had not meant to let admiration slip into confession. Had not meant to allow the warmth between them to turn into something that trembled and ached. That demanded to be acknowledged.
But the space between them felt unbearable.
Curiosity became a question. The question became a murmur. The murmur became breath shared too closely.
Then Lune closed the distance.
She kissed her.
It was clumsy. It was desperate. It carried all the fear and longing she had been too disciplined to name. Her lips brushed Sciel’s with uncertain pressure. As if she expected the world to shatter in reprimand.
For a heartbeat, there was only the warmth of Sciel’s breath against her skin. The sharp intake of surprise. The widening of her eyes.
Then softness.
Sciel did not pull away.
The answering tenderness nearly undid her. It felt like stepping off a ledge and discovering she was not falling. Like being seen and not corrected. Like being wanted without condition.
For the first time, Lune felt wanted. For who she was. For the barest parts of her soul.
Lune’s heart pounded so fiercely she feared it might fracture her ribs.
She tasted hope in that kiss.
And it terrified her.
So she did what she only knew what to do.
She ran.
Lune’s chest tightened at the memory.
Of course she had run.
She always did.
Back to the lab. Back to diagrams and measurements and problems that could be solved. She told herself Sciel deserved someone steadier. Someone less prone to vanishing into research for days. Someone whose happiness was not measured in successful calibrations and breakthrough formulas.
What right did she have to ask for love when she could barely step away from her work long enough to attend a festival?
What right did she have when her own parents would scrutinize every choice? Every deviation from the path they had drawn for her? They would dissect Sciel the way Lune dissected Pictos. Searching for liabilities and inefficiencies.
The thought made her throat ache.
Sciel would be judged simply for choosing her.
And yet the yearning would not loosen its hold.
Her fingers brushed her lips. Feather light. As if the memory might still linger there. She remembered the way Sciel had looked at her in the tower. She remembered the comfort of that embrace. Awkward at first, then certain. The way the world had seemed smaller and quieter within Sciel’s arms. As if the noise of expectation could be shut out for a breath.
She wanted that again.
No. She longed for it with an ache that made her chest feel hollow.
To stand beside Sciel openly during the Gommage. To feel her hand slip into hers beneath lantern glow and festival laughter. To be the one Sciel sought in a crowded plaza. To be the one her gaze lingered on as the Paintress painted light across the sky.
But yearning required courage.
And courage could not be reverse-engineered.
Lune set the Picto down at last. The lab felt colder without the distraction of movement. Beyond the window, a bloom of luminous pigment flared against the night. The celebration beginning in earnest.
She imagined Sciel beneath that light.
Perhaps waiting. Perhaps already convinced that Lune would not come.
Her breath faltered.
For all her mastery over elements and equations, she could not calculate the probability of happiness. She could not guarantee she would not fail Sciel the way she feared failing everyone else. She could not erase the doubt etched deep into her bones.
But oh, she wished.
She wished to relive that night again. To stand beneath the bent tower with the wind tugging at her sleeves and Sciel’s careful footsteps drawing near. To be approached the way Sciel had approached her then. Slow and gentle. As though Lune were some feral creature liable to hiss and disappear at the slightest misstep.
She wanted to be that again. Something soft. Something worth coaxing closer.
The Picto beneath her fingers pulsed.
At first she thought it was her imagination. A trick of longing. But the metal disk began to glow, not its usual measured hue. But an aggressive, saturated blue. The glyphs carved into it flared to life one by one. Humming with a resonance she did not recall programming.
Her brows furrowed.
“That is not correct,” she muttered under her breath, already reaching for a stabilizing tool.
The glow intensified. The hum became a whine.
And then she touched it.
Cold did not simply wrap around her. It invaded. It shot through her veins like she had swallowed winter whole. Her breath crystallized in her throat. The lab dissolved into blinding white. She had the distant, academic thought that this was either a catastrophic elemental backlash or the most embarrassing accident in the Academy’s recent history.
Her knees buckled.
The world blinked out.
When sensation returned, it came in fragments.
Stone pressed against her side. The scent of oil and paper and metal was overwhelming. The air felt vast. Stretching in every direction like she had been dropped into a cavern rather than her own workstation.
She opened her eyes.
The underside of her desk loomed above her like a cathedral ceiling.
Lune stared.
No.
That was wrong.
She pushed herself upright and nearly toppled over because her body responded with alarming lightness. The table leg beside her looked like a tree trunk. The stool she normally kicked aside absentmindedly now resembled a small monument.
“What,” she began but what came out of her mouth was-
“Meow.”
The sound cut through the lab with humiliating clarity. Like a thunder slicing through the silence.
She froze so completely that even her breathing paused.
Very slowly, she looked down.
Paws.
Small. Black. Plush.
She lifted one experimentally. Then flexed.
Tiny claws slipped out with a neat, efficient click.
Her mind went blank.
This was incorrect.
Entirely incorrect.
She attempted to stand properly. The motion turned into an awkward hop. Then a fluid landing that was far too graceful for her current emotional state. Her center of gravity had shifted. Her spine felt longer and more flexible. Something brushed against her leg.
She glanced back.
A tail.
A tail.
It swished.
She did not recall authorizing that.
Panic surged at last. She tried to speak. To ground herself in logic.
“This is a miscalculation of-”
“Mrrrow.”
It came out higher this time. Slightly indignant as if the mere sound of her voice was offensive.
Lune clamped her mouth shut. Her ears twitched at a distant pop of fireworks outside. The sound was so sharp it felt like it had exploded beside her head. She flinched, instinctively lowering her body closer to the ground.
Why was everything so loud?
Why could she smell everything?
There were at least seven distinct scents in this room she had never registered before. Ink. Dust. Old parchment. The faint citrus polish Gustave insisted on using. And something else. Something faint and metallic.
Her own fear.
This was unacceptable.
She attempted to walk toward the mirror but what happened instead was a bounding pounce that carried her halfway across the room in a single, horrifyingly efficient leap.
She skidded. Overcorrected. Landed with all four paws splayed dramatically.
Silence.
Her tail puffed.
She shot a glare at absolutely no one. Her dignity was dissolving at an alarming rate.
Regaining what little composure she could muster, she approached the mirror more carefully, placing one paw in front of the other with exaggerated deliberation. The reflection met her.
A black cat stared back.
Sleek fur, dark as spilled ink under moonlight. White markings traced along her left arm, and both hind paws. And there, unmistakable, etched into the fur along her left eye, was the pale sigil of her Picto tattoo. Rendered in soft contrast like a constellation pressed into velvet.
Her blue eyes blinked in stunned synchronization with the creature in the glass.
She leaned closer.
No.
The cat leaned closer.
She opened her mouth to scream in outrage.What emerged was a sharp, scandalized screech that would have sent any self-respecting laboratory assistant into hysterics.
Lune recoiled from her own reflection.
No.
No, this was not happening.
Transmutation required structured circles. It required preparation. It required at least three hours of notation and a clear objective. She had not intended to alter her biological form. She had certainly not intended to become-
Her ears flattened.
-a goddamn cat.
Her tail lashed again, betraying her agitation with shameless honesty. She tried to will it still.
It twitched defiantly.
She inhaled deeply, intending to calm herself through measured breathing. Her nose filled with the overwhelming scent of parchment and oil and stone. Layered in ways she had never perceived before. It was distracting.
Another distant firework boomed.
She jumped a full foot into the air. Landed flawlessly. Paused.
Looked around as if someone might have witnessed that.
There was no one.
Thank the Paintress.
Her gaze snapped upward toward the worktable. The Picto still sat there, glowing faintly blue, as though smug about its accomplishment.
Her eyes narrowed.
So this was its doing.
She crouched instinctively, muscles coiling beneath her fur. The motion felt natural. Too natural. Her body lowered into a perfect hunting stance without conscious instruction.
She did not appreciate how comfortable it felt.
With a determined flick of her tail, Lune prepared to leap.
If she had, hypothetically, wished to be something Sciel might approach without fear. That did not mean she had consented to permanent feline existence.
She launched herself upward. Overshot. Then, clung to the table edge with all four paws and a deeply offended expression.
There was a pause.
Then, very slowly, she hauled herself up. Claws scraping wood. She stood atop the table at last. Small and furious and undeniably adorable.
The Picto pulsed once. As if mocking her.
“You wished for this! Now you got it!” It seemed to say with its blinking. “Enjoy, mon ami!”
Lune glared at it with all the intellectual authority of the Expedition Academy condensed into eight pounds of indignant fluff.
“Oh and who is this adorable black cloud of sweetness?”
The voice burst into the laboratory like sunlight through stained glass. Lune’s entire body locked. Her tail exploded into full, traitorous fluff.
She knew that voice.
How can she not when that exact voice caused this whole situation in the first place?!
Slowly, with the dread of a scholar about to discover she had miscalculated an equation by several catastrophic decimals, she turned toward the door.
There she stood.
Sciel.
Hair unbound in soft, deliberate curls that cascaded over her shoulders. A rose tucked behind her ear as though the flower had chosen her rather than the other way around. She wore the traditional white ruffled blouse and flowing red skirt of the Gommage. The fabric catching the last festival light filtering through the hall. Her green eyes were wide. Luminous, brimming with delighted curiosity.
And when she smiled, it was with all her teeth.
Lune felt her tiny feline heart short-circuit.
“Had Lune let you in?” Sciel asked lightly, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. Her eyes then searched for “Lune, the human.”
Lune instinctively shuffled back.
Shuffle was generous. It was more of a sideways crab hop with dramatic caution. One paw lifted in warning. She swatted the air preemptively. As if warding off fate itself.
Sciel paused. Her brows knit in mild concern as if Lune’s very actions caused such sadness in her soul.
Lune’s stomach dropped.
“I’m not here to hurt you, little one,” Sciel said gently, lowering her voice as if addressing an actual stray. “I’m just here for Lune. Have you seen her?”
Lune stared at her.
Blankly.
Lune then replied with, “I am Lune. You are staring right at Lune. I’m stuck in this body for the meantime. Kindly please help me.”
All of which, unfortunately, translated to a long litany of “Mrrow, mrrow! Meow, mrrow! MEOW!” combined with wide-eyed, round-faced innocence rather than profound existential crisis.
Sciel’s lips curved into a knowing smirk before she pulled out the nearby chair. Then sat, skirts rustling softly. She extended her hand slowly, palm open. Her fingers relaxed.
An invitation.
Just like what Lune had wanted. Minutes before.
“Come now,” she coaxed, her tone warm as early morning sun. “Let me see. I promise I am safe.”
Lune hesitated.
This was absurd. Entirely absurd. She was a decorated prodigy of the Expedition Academy. She had authored papers on elemental convergence. She had stabilized four volatile Pictos single handedly.
And yet…
Her tail swished.
Why was it swishing so much?!
Sciel smelled like sunflowers and roses. Along with something faintly sweet and earthy. Pumpkin, perhaps, from her family’s farm. The scent wrapped around Lune’s senses in comforting layers. It was familiar and warm. Like her hugs.
Before she could overanalyze it, her paws carried her forward.
One step.
Then another.
She leaned in cautiously and sniffed Sciel’s fingers.
Yes.
Sunlight. Petals. Soil.
Home.
Without conscious approval from her higher reasoning, Lune bumped her head against Sciel’s palm.
The contact was electric.
Sciel gasped softly. “Oh, you are friendly.”
Friendly.
Lune, who had once calculated the probability of a lightning strike mid combat, was now classified as friendly.
What had her life become?
Sciel’s fingers began to pet her. Slow strokes between her ears. Lune’s eyes fluttered shut on instinct. Then instinctively, her eyes snapped open once more.
She did not authorize that reaction.
Her body betrayed her further by leaning into the touch. This was precisely what she had wished for, was it not? To be coaxed closer without expectation?
This was not what she meant.
Sciel’s smile softened. “I thought she would be here,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I needed to talk to her. Clea told me something that clarified my mind.”
Lune’s ears shot upright.
Clarified.
Her mind raced at a speed that defied her current size.
Did Sciel come to confront her? To demand an explanation for her cowardice? To express disappointment? Regret? Anger? For stealing a kiss that sparked hope only for it to be crushed under the weight of Lune’s fear?
Did she hate her now?
“I’m not disappointed to find you here though, kitty,” Sciel added with a giggle. “Come on. I do not bite.”
Lune took another tentative step.
Sciel’s hand slid beneath her chest in one smooth, careful motion. Suddenly, the world tilted.
Lune let out a startled, high pitched “mrow!”
She was airborne.
Sciel lifted her with surprising strength and settled her against her chest. Cradling her securely. Lune stiffened as she was pulled close. Face pressing inadvertently against soft fabric and warmth.
Her heart began pounding so violently she feared Sciel might feel it through fur and blouse alike.
She attempted to wriggle free on instinct. It felt wrong to be so close to Sciel’s bossom without her knowing Lune was actually a human trapped in fur form, and not an actual cat. However, Sciel adjusted her hold immediately, misinterpreting the movement.
“Ah, sorry, sorry,” she murmured, shifting Lune more comfortably against her. “I am still learning how to hold you properly.”
Lune froze. Hold you properly.
Her face was now dangerously close to Sciel’s bosom. The scent of roses intensified. She could hear Sciel’s heartbeat. Steady and human and far too close.
Her own tail twitched erratically.
This was untenable.
“Now, now, little kitty,” Sciel cooed softly. “Do not be too harsh on me.”
Her fingers slid down and, disastrously, tickled Lune’s stomach. Every feline instinct detonated at once. Lune twisted and attempted to nip the offending hand. Not maliciously.
Reflexively.
Cats, after all, did not enjoy their stomachs being touched.
“Ah!” Sciel laughed lightly, pulling her hand back. She proceeded to bop Lune’s nose. “Do not be a bad kitty. I am already sad as it is.”
The word cut through Lune’s panic.
Sad?
Lune stilled mid-wiggle.
She looked up. Sciel’s smile remained, gentle and patient. But something flickered behind her green eyes. A softness edged with vulnerability.
Lune’s ears tilted forward.
Sad?
Sciel brushed her thumb lightly between Lune’s ears again. Gaze drifting toward the cluttered workstation.
“I truly needed to speak to her,” Sciel admitted quietly. “I thought perhaps tonight would be the right time.”
Lune’s tiny chest tightened so sharply she almost forgot how to breathe. She had wanted this. She had wanted to be sought out. To be chosen. To have someone cross the distance she herself was too afraid to close.
She had wanted to be held. She had wanted to be seen without having to speak first.
Lune had wanted to be found. Not just by anyone. By Sciel.
And now she was.
Just not in the form she had anticipated.
Sciel exhaled softly and, with unbearable gentleness. Took one of Lune’s paws into her hand. Her thumb brushed over the soft pads absentmindedly. Tracing small circles as though the motion steadied her thoughts.
“You know Lune?” she murmured. “I think you may have found her here before she went on running away again.”
Lune’s ears dipped.
Again.
The word stung because it was true.
“But I… I don’t know what caused her to run away from me that night. And the days after.” Sciel’s voice grew quieter, stripped of its earlier playfulness. “I thought we formed something that night.”
Formed something.
Lune remembered the warmth of dawn. The hush between heartbeats. The way Sciel’s fingers had curled lightly into her sleeve after the kiss. As if anchoring herself to something fragile but real. How her lips tingled after the kiss. How the blush spread across Sciel’s tanned skin, and how her emerald eyes look at her with so much stars in it.
Then she remembered how she had pulled away.
How she had fled before that fragile thing could be named.
Sciel’s gaze drifted to the dissected Pictos scattered across the table. The faint blue glow still pulsed from the offending device. But she paid it no mind.
“But she… ran away,” Sciel continued, the words careful. As though each one required permission. “Could it be possible I scared her off? I tried approaching her at the Academy after. Again and again. I thought if I just asked, she would tell me why. But she would disappear before I could.”
Lune’s heart felt too large for her small body.
“It would be nice,” Sciel said with a small, almost embarrassed laugh, “if she just told me she led me on rather than all these goose chases.”
The sentence struck like a physical blow.
Led her on.
Lune had not meant to.
She had thought she was protecting Sciel. Protecting her from the scrutiny of her parents. From whispers about leagues and expectations. From the suffocating orbit of her own ambition. She had convinced herself that letting go was mercy.
But now, held against Sciel’s chest, she felt the truth with humiliating clarity.
It had not been mercy.
It had been fear.
“I know Lune’s smart and perfect,” Sciel continued, her tone so soft it bordered on reverent. “And I’m just… a farmer. I know I am not a match for someone as brilliant as her. Maybe Gustave… or even Verso is a match.”
Just.
The word made Lune’s whiskers tremble.
“I could never be on her league,” Sciel said gently. Her green orbs peering upon Lune’s own. They were shining but not from the stars that haunt Lune’s dreams every night. But from sheer wall of tears that threatened to burst. “But… it would be nice if she just gave me a chance.”
Lune’s mind erupted in protest.
No.
She wanted to say, “It is I who does not deserve you.”
She wanted to say, “You who walk under the sun without apology. You who speak of stars as if they are friends. You who approach trembling things without demanding they be less afraid.”
She wanted to say, “You who saw me when I did not know how to be seen.”
But her throat worked uselessly. For the fates were so cruel. When Lune finally had the ounce of courage to speak of adoration to Sciel, her only words were just-
“Meow,” she managed, pitifully inadequate.
She wanted to explain that brilliance did not make her brave. That knowledge did not make her worthy. That every achievement she carried felt like armor too heavy to set down. She wanted to confess that Sciel’s simplicity was not smallness, but grounding. That the scent of earth and pumpkin and roses felt more like home than any polished hall in the Expedition Academy ever had.
Instead, she lifted her paw.
Slowly. Carefully.
And pressed it against Sciel’s blouse, right above her heart.
A small, silent offering.
Lune wanted to say, “I am here. I will no longer run.”
Sciel looked down at her, surprise melting into tenderness. Her fingers curled instinctively around Lune’s tiny leg. Holding it there as though it meant something.
Perhaps it did.
“Clea told me I should just trap her and… confess,” Sciel whispered, a shy smile tugging at her lips. She glanced around the empty laboratory. “But when I tried to, knowing she was here… she also ran away. Even when I haven’t even said a word of meeting her here.”
A pause settled between them.
It was a lonely feeling.
Lune could hear both their heartbeats now. Sciel’s steady and human. Hers rapid and fragile. The difference felt unfair.
“I suppose I shall practice my confession on you first, little one,” Sciel said softly.
Lune’s heart skipped so violently she nearly slipped from Sciel’s arms. Her thoughts skidded to a halt. The loneliness gone, and now replaced with confusion before the shock.
Confession?
Oh no.
Oh no.
This was worse than elemental backlash. Worse than public humiliation. Worse than being permanently reduced to eight pounds of sentient fluff.
This was exposure.
This was everything she had run from, walking gently toward her with open hands.
Sciel shifted slightly, bringing Lune closer. Her cheek brushed against the top of Lune’s head. The contact was absentminded. Affectionate, and devastating.
“You see,” Sciel began, voice trembling just a fraction, “I like her.”
Like. Such a small word for something that had lodged itself beneath Lune’s ribs and refused to move.
“I like the way she talks about things as if the world is a puzzle she refuses to lose to,” Sciel continued. “I like how she forgets to eat when she is thinking too hard. I like how she pretends she is made of logic, but her eyes soften when someone is hurt.”
Lune felt her vision blur.
“I like how she kissed me like she was terrified I would disappear.” Sciel’s voice was barely above a whisper now. As if the confession itself were fragile. As if speaking it too loudly might scare it away.
Then she leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Lune’s head.
The contact was soft. Brief.
But it detonated like a supernova.
The memory tore through Lune in a rush of heat and dawn light and trembling breath. The bent tower. The wind. The way her fingers had fisted into Sciel’s sleeve at the last second. As though bracing for loss before it had even arrived.
She had kissed Sciel like someone who had already convinced herself she would be left behind.
And Sciel had noticed.
Now that same warmth rested against her fur. Lune’s entire body went rigid.
If it were possible for a cat to combust from embarrassment alone, the Expedition Academy would have required structural repairs by morning.
Her skin burned beneath the black fur. She was acutely aware of the fact that Sciel was confessing feelings about her while kissing her. While cradling her. While stroking between her ears in slow, absentminded affection.
This was intolerable. This was catastrophic.
This was-
Her tail puffed again.
Sciel let out a soft laugh at the sudden fluffing. “Oh? Did I embarrass you, little one?”
“Yes.” Lune wanted to scream.
“Profoundly, in fact!” Lune wanted to add.
Lune buried her face into the fabric of Sciel’s blouse on instinct. As if that might hide her mortification. The scent of roses and sun warmed her senses again. Grounding and overwhelming all at once.
She had wanted to know how Sciel felt.
She had spent nights replaying that kiss, dissecting it like a failed experiment. Had Sciel leaned in? Had she hesitated? Had there been disappointment afterward? Regret?
And now here was the answer.
Sciel had felt chosen. Lune had not ruined it.
The realization made her chest ache with something dangerously close to hope. Sciel’s fingers resumed their slow strokes along her back.
“She looked at me like I was something precious,” she continued softly. “No one has ever looked at me like that before.”
Lune’s ears twitched.
Precious?
“Precious is an understatement,” Lune wanted to reiterate. “Oh you were my goddamn treasure.”
Sciel smiled faintly. “But she also looked scared. As if wanting me was something she had to apologize for.”
The words struck too close. Lune’s skin burned hotter beneath her fur. Because that was exactly it. Wanting Sciel had felt selfish. Dangerous. Like inviting judgment. Like admitting she desired something that could not be quantified or optimized.
And now Sciel was pressing tender kisses to her head while admitting she wanted that desire returned.
Lune’s heart raced wildly against her tiny ribs.
She tried to compose herself. As composed as a cat can be.
Instead, a soft, traitorous purr vibrated out of her chest again.
It is humiliating!
Sciel paused.
Her eyes widened slightly before melting into something unbearably fond. “Oh,” she breathed. “You really do understand, do you not?”
Lune froze.
She did understand. Every word. Every tremble in Sciel’s voice. Every fragile piece of yearning laid bare.
She wanted to speak. To lift her head and say that she had not run because she did not care. That she had run because she cared too much. That the thought of losing Sciel had frightened her more than any failed experiment ever could.
Instead-
“Mrrow.” It came out soft. Almost apologetic.
Sciel chuckled under her breath and pressed another kiss to her fur. This one lingering just a heartbeat longer
Lune’s entire being dissolved into mortified longing.
To be confessed to like this. To be held. To be kissed without hesitation.
And to be utterly incapable of responding with anything more articulate than a meow.
This was cruel irony of the highest order.
Her skin continued to burn beneath her coat, as though her human form were blushing violently somewhere inside the fluff. If she transformed back now, she was certain she would be bright red from ear to collarbone.
Yet she did not pull away. She could not.
Because beneath the embarrassment, beneath the chaos of paws and whiskers and compromised dignity, there was something softer blooming.
Relief.
Sciel did not regret the kiss. Sciel had wanted it too.
And as another gentle kiss brushed against the top of her head, Lune realized with dawning, overwhelming clarity that the only thing more unbearable than this embarrassment would be losing the chance to return it.
“She ran,” Sciel whispered. “But even then, I did not feel foolish. I felt… chosen. And I wanted to choose her back.”
Chosen.
Lune’s yearning surged so fiercely it bordered on pain. She had thought loving meant deserving. That she had to be certain, stable. Flawless before daring to accept affection. She had thought she needed to protect Sciel from herself.
But Sciel had not asked for protection. She had asked for a chance.
Sciel pressed her lips lightly to the top of Lune’s head.
“If she is afraid,” she murmured, “I wish she would let me be afraid with her.”
The words unraveled something inside Lune. Not the cold logic that kept her safe.
Something softer. Something that wanted to stop running.
Her small body leaned forward without permission, pressing fully into Sciel’s warmth. A quiet purr began in her chest, low and involuntary, vibrating through her entire frame.
She froze in horror.
She was purring.
And yet she did not stop.
Because for the first time since the bent tower, she was not alone in her yearning.
She was cradled inside it.
As they both sank further into the comfort of one another, the door burst open so suddenly that Lune flinched. Pawing instinctively at Sciel’s arms. She clung to her tighter, and Sciel instinctively held her closer. Chest pressing against soft fur. Their eyes snapped toward the intruders.
Standing in the doorway were the Dessendre siblings. Clea, eldest and ever imposing. Her brown hair flowing gracefully over her shoulders. Navy skirt swaying as if in its own rhythm. Her arms crossed. Her expression unreadable but not unamused.
Beside her, Alicia, bright-eyed and teasing. Grinned in her grand suit that fitted her so well that she began to look like a charming prince. And Verso, solemn as ever, his matching tuxedo impeccable. Silver blue eyes scanning the scene like a careful observer.
“So?” Clea’s voice carried across the room like a challenge disguised as curiosity. “Have you finally gotten your happy love story then, dearest Sciel?”
Sciel straightened, brushing back a loose curl nervously. “I tried, but as you can see, Lune isn’t here.”
“Yes she is.” Clea said with a small smirk. As though stating a fact so obvious it required no argument.
Sciel’s eyes darted around frantically, searching every corner. Lune’s tiny feline heart skipped several beats.
“Uh… no?"
Alicia giggled, pointing with a mischievous flourish at the small black cat perched in Sciel’s arms. “Silly Sciel. That’s Lune.”
Time froze. Lune froze.
Every instinct in her tiny body screamed both panic and exhilaration at once. Her ears twitched wildly. Tail puffed to full theatrical fluff, and paws trembled against Sciel’s chest. Her heart thumped so fast she was sure it could be heard outside the lab. Echoing with a frantic rhythm that somehow made her feel… exposed.
Even Sciel froze. Her fingers paused mid-stroke along Lune’s arm. Her green eyes widening until they practically swallowed her face. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came. She had known Lune was clever. She had known Lune was capable of brilliance and independence.
But nothing had prepared her for this. Seeing her, fully herself, perched like a small, startled treasure in her arms.
The silence was ridiculous, almost cartoonish. Lune’s fur tickled Sciel’s skin.
Her tail lashed involuntarily, smacking gently against Sciel’s side.
Every tiny movement, every purr or mewl that threatened to escape, amplified the absurdity. And yet, underneath it all, there was that current. Electric, and uncontainable that made her want to freeze forever.
Outside the paused tableau, the Dessendre siblings loomed in the doorway. Each of them caught mid-reaction. As if even time had hesitated to watch the scene unfold.
Alicia’s giggle, half-stifled and sharp. Hovered like a dagger over the stillness. Clea’s raised eyebrow was so precise. So perfectly pointed, that it could slice through armor. Verso, ever the observer, simply blinked once. Eyes narrowing as though measuring just how much chaos their little romantic bubble could tolerate before shattering.
Lune’s tiny body pressed instinctively closer to Sciel. Cheeks buried against the fabric of her blouse. Her whiskers twitched. Her fur bristled in mortified delight. She realized that she had no idea how to return this moment to normalcy.
Or if she even wanted to.
Sciel’s gaze softened imperceptibly, lips parting slightly. Breath catching as her hands settled fully around Lune. Every beat of her heart seemed to thrum directly into Lune’s chest. A tether between them stronger than any of the Pictos in the lab. More immediate than any calculation could describe.
Alicia pointed dramatically, unable to contain herself. “Oh my goodness! Look at them! You two are so… so… so ridiculous!” She stifled a laugh, hopping on one foot in pure delight.
Clea’s eyes rolled, but the corner of her mouth betrayed a reluctant grin. “Ridiculous,” she agreed. “Though, I will admit… it’s oddly… compelling.”
Verso’s voice cut through the tension, calm but teasing. “They’re adorable. Questionable methods, Lune. But adorable.”
The absurdity of it all crashed down on Lune. She let out a soft, helpless mewl. Her tail whipped nervously, smacking Sciel’s arm just enough to make her flinch. Then glance down with wide, startled eyes.
“You-!” Sciel whispered, trying to suppress a laugh that trembled in her chest. “I was pouring my heart out and you…!”
She faltered, because she didn’t have the heart to scold her. Not really. Lune was warm and soft in her arms. A living reminder of all the longing she had kept buried.
And in that frozen, absurd, heart-stoppingly intimate moment, everything crystallized: Lune’s longing, Sciel’s hope, the ridiculousness of being eight pounds of fluff in the middle of a confessional scene. The undeniable fact that neither of them wanted to move. To break the spell or let reality intrude.
Time remained suspended, holding its breath for them. Watching them, as if even the Canvas itself had paused to witness the two of them at the precise moment when yearning. Embarrassment, and love collided.
“Mrrrow,” Lune squeaked meekly. Her fur puffing slightly with embarrassment.
Sciel’s eyes widened in disbelief. Her eyes then snapped at Clea. Almost begging to be proven wrong. “Surely, you are mistaken. How can Lune-”
Her hands shook as she stared down at the cat that was her Lune.
Clea rolled her eyes and waved a hand. Chroma spilled from her fingertips in a playful flick, swirling around the room. A glow enveloped Lune. In a blink, her body shifted and reshaped. Fur melted into skin. Paw pads shrank into delicate hands. Eight pounds of fur gave way to the young woman Sciel had been longing for.
Landing somewhat awkwardly on her lap.
Both froze for a moment, hearts pounding. Lune’s cheeks flushed as she adjusted, brushing a stray curl from her face.
“…Hi,” she murmured, sheepishly.
“But… you-” Sciel stuttered, lips parted as if to say everything and nothing at once. “You heard everything?”
Lune nodded, a faint blush warming her cheeks. “Yes.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy and intimate. Before Sciel tentatively reached up to brush a hand along Lune’s hair. “And…?” she whispered.
Lune leaned forward, nuzzling her cheek against Sciel’s neck, a teasing purr escaping her lips. “Let’s watch the Gommage at the bent tower once more,” she murmured, voice soft and intimate.
Alicia clapped her hands together, bouncing on her toes. “Finally! Took you long enough! Honestly, Sciel, I thought you’d collapse from longing before this happened!”
Verso, ever the stoic observer, arched a brow but smirked faintly. “She’s right. You look… relieved.”
Clea leaned against the doorframe, arms still crossed, though her smirk softened. “I suppose congratulations are in order. But Sciel, do try not to drop her,” she teased, eyes glinting. “She is precious, even if she is a runaway genius.”
Sciel glanced down at Lune in her arms. Lune blinked up, her green eyes sparkling with mischief, and bit her lip, trying not to giggle.
“I won’t,” Sciel promised softly, brushing a strand of hair behind Lune’s ear, “If only she meows for me one more time.”
Lune glared at her in response, curling closer. “I’ve had my share of meows for a lifetime. I think that’s enough.”
Alicia rolled her eyes but grinned. “Romantic overload detected. I approve. I should tell Gustave about this! I bet Sophie would be delighted to hear about what happened.”
Clea shook her head with a small laugh. “You two are ridiculous. But I suppose this is… cute.”
Verso, still quiet, finally broke into a small smile. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” he said, his voice dry but warm, “you earned it.”
Sciel leaned back slightly, letting Lune rest fully against her chest. Their hands entwined naturally, fingers curling around one another like they’d been made to fit that way. She let out a long, shaky breath. The kind that carries both relief and disbelief.
“We still need to have a long, long, looooong conversation about us,” she murmured. The words stretching into a soft, teasing drawl.
Lune tilted her head up, her cheeks warm. Eyes glimmering as they drifted down to Sciel’s lips.
“I agree,” she whispered, voice soft and slightly flustered. “It would be nice to reply in more words rather than meow and mrrow.”
Sciel’s laughter spilled out, rich and unrestrained. Filling the quiet room with warmth. It was the kind of laugh that made Lune’s ears twitch in delight. Tail flicking nervously at her own audacity. But she was entirely glad to no longer have those attached to her body.
She pressed her head closer to Sciel’s shoulder. Inhaling the subtle scents of roses, sunflowers, and something faintly sweet: Sciel herself.
Sciel’s fingers twined with hers tighter. Thumbs brushing over the back of Lune’s hand in gentle, absentminded circles.
“You know,” she said, voice quieter now. Teasing but tender, “I might actually enjoy translating “meow” into full conversations with you. But I’m going to need a lot of patience.”
Lune’s lips twitched, almost a smile against Sciel’s chest. She let out a soft, contented purr.
“I think you’ll manage,” she murmured. Words finally bridging the gap her paws and meows had once filled.
The room settled into a blissful rhythm: Lune’s quiet purring, Sciel’s soft breathing, their hands clasped like anchors. The steady pulse of hearts finally aligned.
Outside, faint fireworks heralded the end of the Gommage. But in this moment, the noise of the world felt distant. Unimportant.
Sciel leaned her head down, brushing her lips softly against the crown of Lune’s head. Lune shivered in delight. Every tiny hair on her back standing on end. Then slowly relaxed, melting against the warmth pressed to her.
She no longer twitched her paws nervously. She no longer flicked her tail in anxious hesitation. She no longer flinched at the thought of being held.
For the first time, the little black cat within her who was so used to skittering away from anyone who might get too close, simply let herself stay. Let herself be held. Let herself be cared for.
Her tiny mews faded into quiet purring. Even if she was a human now. It felt steady and content. She nuzzled closer, cheek brushing against Sciel’s collarbone. Lune breathed in her scent, letting it anchor her entirely.
No running. No hiding. No frantic leaps to escape.
This time, she found her home.
And for once, she wanted to stay.