It takes every ounce of strength I have to pull away from the kiss. My mind feels foggy, my body humming with the warmth of him. I reluctantly break the connection, but when I look at Noelle, those deep, vivid green eyes stare back at me, filled with something I can't quite name. Desire? Affection? My heart stutters in my chest, skipping a beat as I try to steady myself.
I exhale slowly, feeling the rush of cold wind against my flushed skin. Reaching for my cane, I push myself to stand, though my legs feel unsteady for reasons that have nothing to do with the cold. My hand finds his, smaller but full of warmth, and I lace my fingers with his, the touch sending sparks up my arm. His grip feels fragile yet strong—like he's grounding me to the earth while at the same time reminding me of how delicate this moment is.
We start walking down the hill, side by side, his hand firmly in mine. Each step feels heavier than it should, as if I'm reluctant to let this moment go. The wind picks up, biting at our skin, but all I can focus on is the feel of his hand—how it feels so right in mine, like it belongs there. It's strange, really, how someone so seemingly small can make me feel more grounded than I have in years.
Just as we're about to reach home, the familiar sound of a bird cawing catches our attention. Its piercing call cuts through the air, and we immediately recognize the culprit—the blue-feathered menace that Noelle, over the months, has come to label his arch-nemesis. In the fading light of the setting sun, its vibrant feathers shimmer, but something is off.
The bird plummets from the sky, crashing into the ground in a flurry of blue feathers. Instinct kicks in, and we rush towards it, my heart tightening at the sight. Noelle reaches it first, scooping the small creature into his arms. His brow furrows in concern as he gently turns it over, revealing a bleeding wing.
"Oh no," I say, leaning closer to get a better look. "Let's take it back to treat it." Odd as it may seem, we've grown attached to the little pest.
Noelle nods, cradling the bird with surprising tenderness. We turn to head home, but the bird screeches and thrashes in his arms, refusing to stay still. He tries again, but this time it caws loudly and breaks free, scampering awkwardly on the ground before darting towards the trees.
"Wait—what's it doing?" Noelle mutters, frowning.
We chase after it, the bird occasionally stopping to glance back at us, as if ensuring we're following. Its wing is clearly broken, but it pushes forward, leading us deeper into the woods. I glance at Noelle, who's biting his lip, worry etched into his features.
Eventually, we come upon a small clearing where the bird halts, and we finally see why it was so desperate to get here. In front of us, a small green-and-white bird is caught in a struggle, locked in a fight with a snake that hisses and strikes with venomous intent. Our blue-feathered friend rushes forward to join the fray, even in its wounded state.
Without thinking, I tighten my grip on my cane and step forward, driving the tip down hard on the snake's head. The impact is swift and final. The snake twitches once before falling still.
Noelle kneels beside the green-feathered bird, his fingers ghosting over its small body. His lips press into a thin line. "It's not breathing," he whispers, his voice tinged with sadness.
Meanwhile, the blue bird weakly flutters up, landing heavily in my arms. I feel something drop into my hand, and when I look down, there's a small, delicate egg nestled in my palm. My breath catches in my throat as I realize what it is.
The bird then flaps weakly over to its fallen companion and plops down next to it, nudging it softly with its beak. Noelle and I exchange a glance. There's an unbearable heaviness in the air.
"He's lost too much blood," Noelle says quietly, his hand hovering over the blue bird as its movements grow slower and slower. I kneel beside him, gently petting the bird's soft feathers, and after a few moments, it goes limp, its chest rising and falling one final time.
We bury the two birds beneath the large tree, marking their resting place with care. The blue-feathered pest had been a constant presence in our lives for months, always causing mischief, and now its absence leaves a strange, hollow feeling behind.
*
It's night, and the soft glow of the fire flickers across the room, casting gentle shadows on the walls. I lean against the bedframe, watching as Noelle crouches down beside our bed, carefully arranging a makeshift nest for the little egg. His face is scrunched up in deep concentration, every movement deliberate and precise as he adjusts bits of cloth and straw, ensuring the egg is secure and warm.
It's a small thing, really, but the way he's so focused, so determined to give this fragile little egg the best chance, makes me smile. There's something incredibly endearing about how serious he is. I can't help but think how much I've come to appreciate these quiet moments—when his stubbornness and determination shine through in the gentlest of ways.
I let out a soft chuckle, and Noelle glances up, his brow furrowed as if to ask, *What's so funny?* But I just shake my head, leaning forward to gently brush a strand of hair from his face.
"You're doing a good job," I say quietly, and he rolls his eyes, but I can see the faint blush creeping up his cheeks.
"Of course I am," he mutters, turning back to his task. I love him so much.