The first time you hug her, she’s just saved your life. Again. You’re not really "still kids" anymore, but fuck it, you feel like one again as you look up from the forest floor and see her still standing, breathing hard, no sound but calm wind and the dying gurgle of some unlucky owlbear. You stagger to your feet and over to her, mumbling "thank god you're OK," mumbling "my head hurts," drape yourself across her shoulders from behind, just seeking some comfort--
You are back on the forest floor.
The second time you hug her is also the first time you see her cry. She doesn't know yet how light your sleep is becoming, how watchful you must now constantly be at all hours, and so she fails to quite hide her ugly, wretched, silent cry. There's only one shitty floor mattress- again- so you can't help but feel her holding still as she tries to hide it, tries her hardest not to wake you. Instead, you roll a half turn to face her and wrap your arm around her.
She freezes, all sniffling vanished, stiff as a board. After a long, tense moment, she gently removes your arm from her torso and places it back at your side.
You wrap her in it again.
This time the rebuff is immediate and firm. Raini likes to sleep on her back on these shitty beds, but she curls on her side to face away from you, practically fetal. You can hear her taking deep shuddering breaths, trying to get herself under control. You're under control all day, Raini, you don't say to her. I want you to know I will never truly judge you. I want to see you sometimes, you don't say because you know she'd slap you.
So you put your arm around her again instead, and this time she lets you, curls tighter into a ball and wails until she's dry. You're not sure what brought this on, but you figure the girl needs some sort of release once in a while, least you could do is not say anything about it. Not out loud, at least.
Too bad she's a divination wizard.
The third time you hug her... well. We don't talk about that one. Zaini asked why you had a lump the size of a golf ball on your forehead. "Raini hit me with the floor" was the right answer, technically. You conveniently left out what you'd been in the middle of when you attempted a rare bout of genuine affection.
The [------] time you hug her, she's weak. So frighteningly weak that you don't know what to do with yourself, let alone this frail stranger by your side, staring up at an insurmountable tower topped with what can only be the literal sun. You're not that strong (what are you talking about? You're plenty strong!), and in fact, handing this pale waif off to the giant floating fish person with upsetting muscles is looking more appealing by the minute.
When she sags, though, it's you she sags against, and you fold her into your arms easily. Her head comes to rest on your shoulder, easily despite the rough pace of the climb you're settling into, and a sudden spike of pain and confusion pierces your skull.
Not the time. Later. You begin to climb.
The first time (in so long) that she hugs you, it's dark. The Neilia port district is cursorily bedecked with lanterns, but no more than any other part of the city that's not the palace. The royal wedding revels spin on into the wee hours, somewhere fifteen minutes' walk or more away, shouting their joy into the night sky.
She may be the divination wizard, but she could never sneak up on you, either. "I never thought I'd see this day," you tell her without turning around.
"I need you to stop being sappy before I smack you. I came here to watch the fireworks."
"Oh shit, really? Now? I must've lost track of time." You can see it now, as you turn fully around: all of Neilia's citizenry, arrayed on rooftops, terraced streets, hillsides, gazing expectantly up at the sky. It's jarring to see that many people at once, period.
They can't see you, though, and they aren't looking. As the first stars wink to life, as the first crimson and gold and deep purple wheels burst in the sky, a small body sits carefully cross-legged on the dock beside you and leans her whole weight into you. "Just here for the fireworks," she says, by way of explanation.
You manage to watch the show in silence for a few minutes, her head pillowed on your shoulder, this time perfectly still for her.
"Hey," and she looks up at the disturbance. "Thanks for giving our memories back."
"Don't make me push you in the lake."
She doesn't dignify that with a response, and she lingers with you far after the crowds have dissipated, leaving just the smell of gunpowder and the lingering hint of wonder in the air.
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