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bestie what- ok but seriously?? this was the softest piece of shit i've read ilysm kyle thanks for making my romantic melt into a puddle of goo

pretty

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note: they’re boyfriends <3 they just don’t know it yet <3 this is my hill <3 also this may have a little bit of pl*t but that’s 4 another day n yes the ending was rushed but blame my writer’s bloqué

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The fairy looked so peaceful sleeping on the bed. Serene. Not a hint of that deviousness he’d have before the protagonist would leave and come home to a trashed house, not a hint of that malice and that spite he’d have watching the protagonist do anything, no matter how fleeting those emotions were, were on his face.

The fairy was like that, the protagonist supposed. Fleeting. Barely in the same room as him when he was fairy-sized, barely letting the protagonist get a proper look at his face, wings fluttering about, the fairy flitting away and above or underneath any furniture.

Sometimes it would feel like the protagonist was talking to a voice in his head with how the fairy barely showed himself.

When the fairy first changed to his human size, he still never let anything linger for long. Malevolence, spite, that happiness whenever something bad happened to the protagonist, they all flit across his features as quickly as they came. Never stayed for long, like he didn’t want the protagonist to know him. Or his face, from how he’d never stay still when he was fairy-sized and how he never looked the protagonist right in the eye.

It felt odd. To see someone who laughed at every one of your mishaps and made trouble for you to not even have the courage to look you in the eye felt like it should be unusual. Maybe being big made the fairy feel vulnerable, made him feel less like a fairy and more like a human, even if he still had his powers and his wings that he could conjure and make disappear.

The protagonist looked at the way the fairy’s hands curled into the fabric of the pillow and the way his elbows were pointed out, resting his back on the springy mattress, the evening light accentuating the curve of his lips, his nose, his eyes, like a painter had spent hours upon hours perfecting his features.

The fairy looked like someone out of a romantic painting. Just the way he slept seemed to have some kind of romanticism—he looked so relaxed, so comfortable. The way his eyelashes cast shadows on the curves of his cheeks, the way his hair fell perfectly on his face, curling, interlocking with each strand—pretty.

Mesmerising. The fairy looked mesmerising, and the protagonist never noticed. Even though the fairy slept a lot, was tired often, the protagonist never noticed, even if he was a little fleeting most of the time.

Even with those little moments they’d have—so rare the protagonist found it a little tough to recall one specific moment—he never noticed how mesmerising the fairy could be.

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