"What is love?" The universe asks at the end of the first week, in a world where ones cannot live without their others.
"Care." Impulse replies. "Communication. Defending them with all your worth and trusting they'll do the same."
"And a clock." Bdubs adds earnestly, hanging off Impulse's arm as he places a hand over the clock he keeps by his heart like a wedding ring.
Impulse looks at him and smiles, sunny and fond and full of life. "And a clock."
"Understanding," Tango says, rubbing an awkward hand over his upper arm, where explosion scars lay hidden beneath his sleeve, "and a willingness to work it out."
"Acceptance, I think," Jimmy offers lightly, drifting to his side and placing a warm hand on his scarred upper arm, "and unconditional support."
Tango cracks a grin, light dancing in yellow eyes. "Oh, I like the sound of that."
"Perfect, if I do say so myself!" Ren declares brightly, wrapping an arm around BigB and drawing him close to his side as they overlook their box of a base.
"Kind," BigB says in agreement, leaning into the motion and beaming, "and everything I could've wanted."
"Chaotic." Etho settles on, laughter thick in his voice.
"I think you mean fun," Joel retorts, resting his elbow on his shoulder with a cheeky grin, "and mutually beneficial."
"Or mutually detrimental," Etho corrects him with a snicker, shrugging his arm off, "but we're stuck together, either way."
Joel chuckles, nudging Etho's side a little too hard and feeling the pinch in his own. "Isn't that part of the fun?"
"Difficult." Grian huffs as treks through the woodland with his hand tight around Scar's, before dropping to a gentler mumur. "Unbelievable and very, very difficult."
"Overrated!" Scar laughs, but he silences and softens as Grian steadies him when he trips over nothing. They continue walking, and he confesses to himself, under his breath and carefully hopeful. "Laughter, warmth and loyalty, in that order."
"A choice." Cleo insists sourly, folding her arms over her chest, steadfast in her decision and thrumming with a stranger's pain. "A bond built on something real, and not expectation."
"Free." Scott muses simply from beside her, looking up at the sky and scorning the asker.
"A load of nonsense, that's what it is!" Martyn complains as he storms off alone, bitter and self-righteous, knuckles bruised and aching from his own fists. He falters in his march with a grimace, rubbing at his chest, where it feels like something is missing, and he adds, quieter, "...and painful."
Pearl doesn't answer for a long moment. She stares after Martyn's retreating back, at where Scott once stood, and then down at her hands.
Finally, she sighs as her vision wobbles, and she whispers, tentative and fragile, "I wouldn't know."
