Chapter Text
What are we, you wonder, as Flins tucks the lock of your hair behind your ear when he sees you in the streets of Nasha Town, shopping for groceries.
What are we, you wonder, when Flins calls you his dearest, even though he literally calls anyone dear or dearest to him, like the esteemed Traveler and hardworking Illuga.
What are we, you wonder, when he keeps attaching himself on your side, instead of mingling with his other drinking buddies inside the flagship. You wonder if you’re really that interesting to talk to when he is connected with the Grandmaster of the Knights of Favonius and the Boss of the Curatorium of Secrets. Or maybe Flins is still beside you because you’re just easy that to tease—an easy prey. An easy victim to his whims.
What are we, you finally ask him, one night, under his sheets, and while he peppers kisses all over your exposed collar bones.
When he hums, you repeat your question again. “W–what are we, Flins?”
He momentarily halts. Then, he lifts his head, blocking your view on the ceiling. He is equally as exposed as you, and equally as littered with bites and red marks. “Mm?”
“What are we?”
“Hm, good question,” He says, before putting a hand below his chin, pondering. “What do you think?”
You narrow your eyes at him. “Hey, I’m asking you.”
“And now I’m asking you.”
“Ugh, we’re going to be in circles, aren’t we, Flins?”
“We are?” He smiles.
You groan, “Flins—“
He chuckles. “I take it, you’re not satisfied with my responses.”
“Responses? More like questions. You’re throwing it back at me!”
He chuckles again, before leaning down, and kissing you. “You get final say.” Then, he buries his face on your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “An amusing query, really, based on our current circumstances.”
His hand slowly find yours—and your fingers intertwine. “You’re beneath me. I’m above you. And I’m kissing you. Kissing you for the past few hours, if we are counting. Also, we have claimed each other with our own marks. What do you think, my dearest? ‘What are we’?”
You pout. “Why can’t you say it out loud?”
“Oh? Does this imply that you want me to be the final say?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Hm.” There’s a fleeting kiss on your skin. “You’re not sure?”
Great treatment. He knows how to make you weak. Why must he treat you so delicately, but also bewilder you to ponder over his words. Actually, it’s not even a what are we that you should be asking. It should be, why are you like this? Why is he like this? “Umm—“
Another chuckle. Really great. He really knows how to attain the upper hand, even if you were the one who asked the million dollar question.
Then, he looks at you—tenderly, yet you know that there’s something else. “If you’ve made up your mind, I shall give you a final say.”
“What?”
“A final say.”
“I heard you the first time!”
“Alright then.”
“Alright—ugh, Flins. Fine. What are we? I want you to have the final say!”
Another mirthful laughter escapes from his lips, and his eyelids lower. He caresses your cheek, “Should I really state the obvious, now? I mean, I am about to kiss you again. Do we really need to declare our own status? Or is this merely out of societal pressures?”
Again with the stupid circles. You roll your eyes. “Flins!”
“Yes?”
“You know what! Just kiss me or whatever. I just know we’ll take forever.”
“Forever in kissing you? Oh, what a beautiful proposal. We shall implement and execute that as much as possible.”
“N–no, that’s not what I meant—I meant that you were going to take too long in answering—mmph!”