Chapter Text
Winter Break: Moonar Yulenea
Sunlight bled softly through Kipperlilly's closed eyelids as she stirred into consciousness. Somewhere in the world, birds were chirping. Somewhere closer, a tie-dye shirt was sticking to Kipperlilly back with a copious amount of sweat. She was roasting.
Not just warm... she was sweltering. Her face pressed into the pillow like a dumpling in a steamer, limbs tangled and unmoving beneath the blanket that had, sometime in the night, become less of a cozy layer and more of a suffocating trap. She squirmed and felt the unmistakable press of something caging her in. She tried to roll over and failed.
Panic prickled at the edge of her thoughts. Kipperlilly didn’t do trapped. Not physically, not emotionally. She liked knowing her exits. She liked air. She liked not being held so tightly she couldn’t wriggle an inch. Her breath hitched as her muscles tensed, debating whether to initiate a roguish roll-and-dash or to assess the situation first.
She inhaled slowly and then remembered... Kristen.
Right. She’d stayed the night. On purpose. In this warm, messy bed and Kristen was the heat source currently smothering her. A soft snore puffed against the back of her neck, followed by a little shift, and somehow (impossibly) Kristen pulled her in closer. It wasn’t even malicious. Kristen was just that strong. Even dead asleep, her grip was unshakable.
It was then when Kipperlilly noticed that one of Kristen’s legs was thrown over her hips, anchoring her in place. Her entire back was pressed against Kristen’s chest, and the heat of her was ridiculous. She was like a magical furnace. A living, breathing sun. Her arms were locked tight around Kipperlilly’s middle like she was a teddy bear that might bolt if given the chance. Which, to be fair, she might.
Kipperlilly sighed, tried to wiggle free again but... nothing. She stilled, breathing deeply through her nose. This was her life now. Held hostage by a half-draped paladin with no concept of personal boundaries and the sleep cycle of a hibernating bear. She supposed there were worse ways to go. Boiled to death in the arms of someone she (sort of) liked. Who was she kidding? She liked her a lot.
The stained glass glowed a little brighter now, the sun pushing higher into the morning. Soon Kristen would have to leave and teleport to Fallinel with the rest of the Bad Kids for whatever nonsense awaited them over break. Kipperlilly would go home, spend the holiday pretending to rest while her brain ran obstacle courses. And Kristen would be unreachable. No crystals. No scrolls. No quick check-ins or annoying memes.
Which meant Kristen needed to get up.
Kipperlilly turned her head as far as she could, shifting enough to speak clearly.
“Kristen?”
No response.
She glanced back. Kristen’s lips were slightly parted, one cheek squished into the pillow, red hair a complete mess across her brow. She was snoring softly. Her expression was completely peaceful and relaxed in a way that felt both unfair and oddly endearing. A person shouldn’t be able to look so content after stealing someone’s body heat and freedom for an entire night.
Kipperlilly couldn’t help the small smile that crept up her lips. She looked so dopey... and so cute. She tried again, this time with a gentle nudge.
“Kristen,” she said, a little firmer.
Nothing.
She shifted again, trying to twist around to face her captor, but that just earned her a half-conscious cuddle response. Kristen groaned softly and tightened her grip. Kipperlilly let out a low, defeated noise, resting her forehead against Kristen’s chest for a moment. She reached up, brushing the wild hair from Kristen’s face. Her fingers moved without thinking, tucking soft strands behind her ear, and before she could register what she was doing, she leaned in and kissed her cheek.
Still no response. It was all pointless.
With a final, dramatic sigh, Kipperlilly gave up. She tucked herself into Kristen’s chest again, letting her ear rest right above the steady thump of her heartbeat. That part wasn’t terrible, at least. That part, she could get used to. The silence settled again.
Until the heavy stomp of boots started to head straight towards the chapel.
Kipperlilly snapped to alertness instantly, instincts kicking in before thought. Her entire body moved: rolling, twisting and freeing herself from Kristen’s limbs. She scrambled off the bed and darted toward the rafters, grabbing one of the old wooden beams and hauling herself up just as the door slammed open.
“Rise and shine! Get up!” Fig Faeth’s voice rang through the room, bright and loud and entirely too much for the hour.
Kristen flinched violently, her eyes flying open, hand shooting out to the spot beside her on the bed—the spot where Kipperlilly had been. Kipperlilly held her breath above, crouched on the beam, watching from the shadows between the eaves. Her heart pounded, but not from panic. It was the thrill of the escape. She had succeeded in a clean getaway and allowed herself a smug little smirk.
Kristen groaned, dragging the blanket over her head.
“Go away,” she mumbled. “I was sleeping.”
Fig marched up to the bed with no mercy and kicked the mattress hard.
“Nope! Up! We’re leaving soon, and you’re not making us late!”
Kristen groaned louder, burying her face into the pillow.
“Okay, okay, okay! I’m up!”
From her perch, Kipperlilly bit back a laugh. There was something hilarious about watching Kristen groggy and rumpled, completely unaware of how narrowly she’d avoided being caught red-handed. Fig wouldn’t ever let her live that down. Honestly, Fig might have gone into a full-on meltdown over the entire situation.
Not that Kipperlilly was worried. It’d take a lot more than the chaos tornado that was Fig to catch her by surprise.
Kristen groaned as she rolled out of bed, her bare feet thudding softly against the floor. She rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands, hair sticking up in a wild crown around her head. She blinked blearily around the room, still half-asleep. Fig stood with her hands on her hips, grinning from ear to ear. From up in the rafters, Kipperlilly watched curiously. Fig never struck her as a morning person. She wasn’t exactly known for her subtlety, and this wake-up strategy felt like it was more for her own amusement than any real sense of urgency.
Kristen squinted toward her, rubbing at her face.
“Why are you so—” She made a vague circle with her hand, motioning toward Fig’s posture. “Chipper?”
“I’m miserable,” Fig replied cheerfully, grinning wider. “And I’m going to fucking drag everyone down with me.”
Kristen let out a laugh and Kipperlilly watched as she stood there, trying to shake the sleep from her limbs, clearly rattled but managing a grin. Kristen was easy like that—battered awake but still kind, still finding the humor in being yelled at before sunrise. It was impressive. Or stupid. Or both.
Kipperlilly tilted her head, her gaze drifting between them. Fig reminded her of a hellish mix between Ruben and Ivy. All noise and sharp grins and chaotic energy barely disguised under something warmer. It made her wonder how Kristen had survived in that little adventuring party of hers all these years. How she hadn’t gone completely insane being surrounded by that level of intensity twenty-four-seven. But then again, didn't Kipperlilly love her own party unconditionally (most of the time)?... and wasn't Kristen perhaps the most unpredictable of the Bad Kids? Seeing these softer sides of Kristen almost made her forget about the stupid cowboy hats and general inability to shut her mouth.
Kristen scratched at her scalp and yawned.
“Fine, jeez. Just give me a second to get dressed.”
Fig raised an eyebrow, then pointed at her watchless wrist.
“Two seconds. I’m dragging your suitcase out.”
Without waiting, she strode toward the corner of the room, grabbed Kristen’s overstuffed, barely-closed suitcase with both hands, and started hauling it out like it weighed nothing. She didn’t even glance back as she reached the threshold, stepping through it to slam the door so hard that it rattled on it's hinges.
Kipperlilly flinched slightly at the sound, her heart jumping in her throat. Not at the sound, but with the heavy feeling that started seeping through into her chest. She’d seen that suitcase last night, slouched against the wall. Her mind must’ve ignored it. Must’ve chosen, in a quiet moment of self-preservation, to pretend it didn’t exist.
Kristen really was leaving today.
“She's way too strong for her own good,” Kristen muttered to herself, sighing as she made her way across the room toward her dresser.
Kipperlilly perched in the shadows above, her body crouched along one of the thicker beams, she remained silent and still. Fig was loud but unpredictable. She could return just as easily as she had barged in. And if Kipperlilly knew anything about surviving surprise encounters, it was that patience beat panic every time.
Below her, Kristen reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head in one clean motion. Kipperlilly’s breath caught and she immediately felt ridiculous about it. Because it wasn’t like Kristen was naked. She was wearing a sports bra. It wasn’t at all scandalous. It was practical.
But still, Kipperlilly stared. Not in a creepy way. Or… not intentionally. It was just that she’d never seen her like this before. Not in person. Not from this angle, in the soft morning light of her stupidly messy bedroom. The way Kristen moved, rummaging through a drawer while muscles rippled under her freckled skin, was captivating. Kipperlilly had seen it on her Instagram a hundred times. Posed flexing shots with dumb captions and thousands of likes. But this wasn’t that.
It was kind of unfair, actually. How someone could look like that while sniff-testing a shirt.
Kipperlilly wrinkled her nose as Kristen did exactly that, her face scrunching in consideration before she finally settled on pulling it over her head. Even that didn’t lessen her attraction. Which, frankly, she hated. It would’ve been so much easier if she could just be disgusted. Or mildly annoyed. Or something other than still completely smitten.
Kristen smoothed out the wrinkles of her shirt and reached for her dresser again. Kipperlilly held her breath as the cleric's fingers found the pendant. She lifted it gently, the silver chain jingling quietly as slipped it over her head. The shard of the Nightmare King’s crown settled against her chest. She looked down at it and brushed her thumb along the sharp edge of the trinket. Her face softened and Kipperlilly’s heart did a stupid, flippy thing.
Her ears burned because Kristen liked it. She really liked it. It wasn’t just a thank-you-polite-laugh sort of gift reaction. She was still thinking about it now, long after the giving part was over. Kristen’s fingers lingered on the pendant as she glanced around the room. Her gaze swept over the old altar covered in clutter, the crooked dresser, the pile of rumpled blankets on the bed. Her brows pulled together faintly, and she turned in a small circle, scanning again.
From her spot in the rafters, Kipperlilly smirked. She could see the wheels turning. That momentary flicker of confusion similar to what you get when you wake from a dream that felt too real to not have bled into morning. Maybe Kristen was asking herself the same thing Kipperlilly had asked the second her eyes opened: Did that really happen?
“Kip?”
Kipperlilly shifted, letting her feet swing forward to hook around the beam. She tilted backward and let herself dangle, arms crossed behind her head, a wide, lazy grin tugging at her lips. The world was upside down now and her hair fell around her face, still mussed from sleep.
Kristen didn’t look up but she looked everywhere else. Around the bed, toward the windows, over by the half-open wardrobe. Kipperlilly’s smirk widened.
“You sleep like the dead, you know?” she called down. “And you’re way too warm. Your arms are like a vice.”
Kristen jumped, a little yelp escaping her as she whirled around and finally looked up. The second she saw her, her face lit up.
“But you stayed all night.”
“I did,” Kipperlilly replied, still upside down, still smug. Her heart was beating a little faster than she liked, but it wasn’t from the blood rushing to her head.
Kristen stepped forward, padding softly across the floor. She stopped just beneath the rafter, craning her neck. She rocked forward onto her toes, reaching up, her hands settling on Kipperlilly’s waist to keep her steady and kissed her.
It was awkward—upside down and a little off-center—but Kristen’s lips were soft and her touch featherlight. Kipperlilly’s eyes fluttered shut at the contact, the rush of affection hitting her all at once. She hadn’t thought this morning could surprise her, not after the night they’d had. But the was wrong, as she frustratingly was so often recently.
When Kristen pulled away, her grin was wide and stupid and perfect.
“Happy Moonar Yulenea,” she whispered.
Kipperlilly’s heart clenched just a little. This was goodbye. They both knew it. Kristen would be gone until next semester with no way to message, no way to check in. She took a breath and let herself look at Kristen, memorizing the angle of her smile, the way her eyes crinkled when she was genuinely happy.
“Happy Moonar Yulenea.”
Kristen looked like she was about to say something else. Her mouth opened, and Kipperlilly could already sense some dumb flirtation or sentimental comment that would absolutely derail her ability to stay composed. Absolutely not. Kipperlilly slapped her arm lightly, throwing on a smirk.
“Now go. Before Fig curses you. I’ll let myself out.”
Kristen snorted. “Fine, I’m going. But next time, I’m the one sneaking out.”
She gave her a winning smile and started backing toward the door.
Kipperlilly arched an eyebrow. “Uh-huh, sure. Just don’t trip over yourself on the way out.”
Kristen rolled her eyes, turning just in time to catch her foot on a tangle of dirty clothes by the door. She stumbled, arms flailing but still trying to play it cool, but the recovery was clumsy at best. She straightened her shirt, cleared her throat like nothing had happened, and glanced back one last time.
Kipperlilly stood, flipping off the beam and landing soft as a whisper on the floor. Kristen watched her sheepishly before she stepped out the door.
And she was gone.
Without Kristen’s rumpled hair or ridiculous energy or constant movement, the converted chapel was just a room again. The spell had broken, and all that was left was mess. Kristen was the magic in the room—and without her, it was just a cold morning in a drafty building with bad insulation.
Kipperlilly let out a low sigh and tugged the too-bright tie-dye shirt down over her hips as she paced a slow circle. No reason to rush. No reason to stay. She was stuck in the in-between now, with her brain still trying to process the fact that she’d actually spent the night here, that she’d kissed Kristen Applebees multiple times, that she’d let herself fall asleep in her arms and woken up in them, too.
It was a lot. And now there was just silence left in Kristen’s wake, and too many hours of daylight ahead to think about it.
She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. The sheets were still warm where Kristen had been, the blankets tangled and full of body heat. Her heart thudded uncomfortably. She thought, briefly, about how nice it would’ve been to have something lined up today. Something to do. Something fast and hard and physical to yank her out of her own head.
She should’ve scheduled a training session. Why hadn’t she?
Oh, right... because she didn’t want Lucy, Ruben or Ivy what was wrong with her when she knew her mind would only be half in her training. And she didn't make any plans with her parents to spare them asking too many questions about why she wasn't tired after spending the night out. Because she hadn’t been on a Rat Grinders mission last night. She’d been wrapped around Kristen Applebees like a heat spell. And that didn’t exactly fit the narrative.
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and buried her face in her hands. Ripping through the woods and launching herself from a tree branch at Ruben would’ve done wonders right now. Or setting up a trap line just to watch Lucy lose her mind trying to dismantle it. Anything. Anything but sitting here in a room that still smelled like Kristen.
A low rumble reached her ears and she stilled, listening carefully.
The sound of Jawbone’s old, beat-up car rolling over gravel grew fainter as it made its slow turn toward the main road. Kipperlilly imagined it now, packed with overstuffed bags and magical nonsense, Kristen curled in the back seat making some dramatic comment about how “Moonar Yulenea means forgiveness, even if someone forgets snacks.”
The second she was sure the car was gone, Kipperlilly stood. She grabbed her boots. Pulled them on. Reached for her satchel where it was still slouched near the corner of the bed where she’d tossed it last night. She crouched down to pick it up, brushing aside a nearby sock (gray, suspiciously crunchy) with the tip of her foot.
As her hand closed around the strap, she heard the ping of a text. Her eyes flicked to the front pocket of the bag where her crystal was glowing. She pulled it free and swiped her thumb across the screen.
One message.
Kristen: Miss you already, beautiful. ♥
Kipperlilly blinked. The blood rushed to her cheeks before she could stop it. She bit the inside of her cheek hard, hoping it would help her feel less like she was melting into the floor. It didn’t.
God, she was down bad.
Without hesitation, she turned off the screen and shoved the crystal back into the depths of her bag. She threw the strap over her shoulder, squared her jaw, and made her way to the door. Time to go. She had to walk. Think. Fight a tree or something. Because this? This was a lot. And she needed her brain back if she was going to survive until the new year.
The morning sun filtered gently through Kipperlilly’s bedroom blinds as she folded a deep green sweater and placed it carefully in her dresser drawer, smoothing it out before reaching for the next item in the pile. It was a book on famous historical rogues that her dad claimed he just happened to come across, but she knew it had been specially ordered. They had outdone themselves this year. Again.
She didn’t always like how predictable her parents were, but around the holidays, she certainly wouldn't complain about it. They enjoyed being just as festive as other mundane, regular family and over indulge in all the right things. That, she was sure, wouldn't change no matter how old she got.
Kipperlilly pulled the drawer closed and turned back toward the bed where a stack of neatly piled card were waiting for her. All of them were still unopened. Her mom liked to stress over saving them for the actual day, keeping them in a big box decorated decorated with holly leaves in the living room. Kipperlilly scooped them up and settled down on the edge of the bed.
There were the usual ones. From her Aunt Willow, with her five kids and wild handwriting. From Uncle Benno and Aunt Raye, who always signed off with a horrific amount of x's and o's. A card from the cousins who lived two towns over and still spelled her name wrong on purpose. There were stickers on everything, smudged ink, and one folded scrap of parchment that looked like a toddler had tried to eat it before sending it. Her chest warmed with each one.
She’d always kind of loved the holidays. Even when she was a kid and full of so much noise, confusion and untethered anger that she’d stomp around the house like she was preparing to go to war with the sofa cushions. Even when she’d snuck too many ginger snaps and then gotten sick or when she’d screamed at a cousin and accidentally turned a simple board game into a minor family-wide dispute. There was always something solid about the season. It was the one time of year she felt unconditionally loved by everyone. Not just her parents, but the whole big, complicated halfling sprawl of relatives.
It had been easier when she was small. Before everything got complicated because, of course, she hadn’t always made it easy on them. There had been tantrums, before. Big ones. Explosive. When she was five and refused to wear the itchy wool tights for the festival. When she was seven and pushed a cousin down the stairs because she thought they were making fun of her. When she was ten and punched the tree because no one let her lead the gift-giving game and her hands had bled.
And later… it wasn’t about tights or games anymore. It was when there were too many people in one room. When someone hugged her too hard. When too many voices layered over each other and she couldn’t pick one to listen to. When her control snapped, and the world narrowed to her fists, her breath, her rage.
They always forgave her. She knew that, but she wasn’t stupid. She noticed things. The way her cousins would step around her a little too carefully after she’d snapped or how her aunts would whisper to her mom in the kitchen when they thought she wasn’t listening. The “it’s okay, she’s just overwhelmed” smiles.
She’d gotten better, of course. Once she had been given the time and the help she needed. Especially since she had finally started at Aguefort and had been seeing Jawbone regularly, but that didn't stop the sinking feeling in her stomach as she looked over the handwritten cards in her hands of the people who weren't around every day to see just how much she had learned and grown. As much as she did love the holidays, the stress and mess that came with it always seemed to bring out her worst sides. And it sucked that the people she spent it with only saw that side of her.
Initially, she had been excited to tell them all about her junior year and especially how far her adventuring party had come since last year. Now, all Kipperlilly could focus on was how lucky she was that she had managed to pick herself up after whatever Porter had been trying to push her into and what could have been if she hadn't made the right choice.
Would she have hurt someone by now? Would she have turned on Ruben the next time he mocked her in a fight? Or lost it on Ivy when she said something cruel at the wrong time? Would she be sitting here this morning surrounded by broken things instead of gifts? Or worse: would her extended family be visiting her through the bars of a jail cell instead of in a warm, welcoming house?
Her throat tightened. Her vision blurred slightly as she stared down at the curling script in her cousin’s Moonar Yulenea card.
Kipperlilly, I hope you come visit soon. We’re doing snowball siege this year and I’m saving you a spot on my team. You ALWAYS win!
She closed her eyes. Where she was mentally at now was significantly better than that, but Kipperlilly knew that her parents would still have to lie to the family through tight lipped smiles when they ask how she was handling herself. She knew they all cared about her deeply, but it was glaringly obvious that she was the problem relative that they all felt the need to ask about during reunions. She had come to terms with a long time ago and yet, it still stung.
Along the way, Kipperlilly had become just as effortless with her white lies. It was easier to say she was doing fine when people asked, or to pretend she was as perfect as her grades... or most recently, lie about her feelings for Kristen to everyone in her life. Some truths served better as lies. Most likely, they always would.
Her crystal chimed from where it sat on her bedside table and Kipperlilly blinked back into the room, wiping at her misting eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. She reached for it, already recognizing the notification sound of the Rat grinders group chat.
Lucy: Happy Moonar Yulenea everyone! I love you!
Ruben: Ditto.
Ivy: Wow, Ruben! Sentimental, much ;)
Ruben: Shut up. It’s the holidays.
Oisin: Wishing you all a great day. The whole family says hello.
Ivy: Tell all the weird wizards, respectfully, stay away from me.
Mary Ann: Yes.
Lucy: Yes?
Mary Ann: That you love me.
Kipperlilly laughed quietly, the tension in her chest beginning to dissolve. She tapped out a quick reply as a knock on her bedroom door was followed by her mom's voice.
“Kip, honey, they should be here soon.”
She straightened her spine and drew a breath through her nose.
"I'll be right there!"
She looked down at the card still open in her lap and the words blurred again, but this time for a different reason. She was loved. Even when she was messy and even when she was still learning how to be better. Because of everything, that was the whole point of Moonar Yulenea after all. Coming together and loving everyone unconditionally, no matter how crappy the year had been.
Kipperlilly stood up, smoothed out her baggy holiday sweater and made her way downstairs. Festive music drifted from the living room, melding with the soft thrum of the oven fan and the quiet sizzle of something caramelizing in the kitchen. The last step of the stairs creaked, giving her away and her father’s voice floated out of the kitchen.
“She lives!”
Kipperlilly rolled her eyes as she rounded the last corner and to her horror, her parents were dancing. They were just… swaying in front of the stove, the way they did sometimes when a favorite song snuck up on them. Winnie’s right hand was looped behind Barden’s neck, her left still holding a wooden spoon. Barden’s palm rested low at her back.
Kipperlilly leaned against the doorframe and did her best unimpressed face. “Can you not do that when Nana and Grandpa are here?”
Barden glanced over his fogged lenses with a wry smile. “Do what?” He tipped Winnie into a gentle turn, mustache twitching.
“Be like… that.” She flicked a hand. “It’s weird.”
Winnie laughed without letting go. “Maybe we will. Just for you.” She disentangled herself and crossed the room in three light steps. Before Kipperlilly could escape, her mother wrapped her in a hug that smelled like citrus soap and a little wine. For a second, Kipperlilly let herself fold into it, forehead tucked against her mother’s shoulder.
“Mom... please!"
Winnie kissed the top of her head. “You look perfect. Are you hungry?”
“Sure,” Kipperlilly said, pulling back. “What are we having?”
“Pot roast,” Barden said, puffing out his chest. He always did pride himself on outdoing himself when it came to the holidays.
Kipperlilly stepped closer and peered into the pot. The broth was glossy and brown, with little fat constellations on the surface. She could feel the heat on her face and the smell already had her stomach yearning to taste it.
She would have done just that and dealt with the consequences of a burnt tongue if the doorbell didn't chime.
“I’ll get it,” Barden smiled as he wiped his hands on a towel.
Kipperlilly and Winnie were at his heels as he head for the door and when Barden swung the it open, the cold rushed in, crisp and clean.
“There’s my boy!” boomed Grandpa Copperkettle, slipping over the threshold before the invitation had finished forming. He was tiny and wiry but somehow took up the entire doorway anyway. Behind him, Nana stepped in with a gust of winter perfume and peppermint breath, cheeks pink from the air.
“Get over here,” Nana said, dropping a canvas tote onto the bench by the shoe rack. “Kipperlilly, my darling girl! Oh, look at you.” She held out both arms like a net.
Kipperlilly didn’t have time to brace. Nana wrapped her up and squeezed hard. It was a full-body hug that compressed all the air out of her lungs and then put it back warmer. Kipperlilly’s feet left the ground for a second (Nana was stronger than she looked) and she let out a soft, involuntary laugh.
“You’re too thin,” Nana declared into her hair. “You need a sandwich.”
“She eats plenty!” Winnie said, smiling, as she leaned in to kiss her mother-in-law’s cheek. “We never let her skip breakfast, no matter how busy she is.”
“If you say so,” Nana said, releasing Kipperlilly only to cup her face in both hands and turn it gently side to side, inspecting. “You’re pale, too. When was the last time you sat in the sun?”
“It’s winter,” Kipperlilly said, cheeks heating. “The sun’s on vacation.”
“We can make our own sun,” Grandpa announced, waggling his eyebrows as he stomped snow off his boots. “I brought the good cider. Put hair on your chest.”
“Dad,” Barden smiled as he pulled his father in for a hug.
Nana’s hands slid down to Kipperlilly’s shoulders, squeezing once, reassuring, as if testing for loose screws. “And your hair,” she said, softer. “It’s so shiny. You're so pretty.”
“Nana... Kipperlilly muttered, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her. Being fussed over like this would usually put her on edge, but this year, she was definitely set up for more success.
Grandpa leaned around Barden, peering at Kipperlilly. “All A’s still?” he asked.
“Dad,” Barden warned.
“What? I’m proud.” He winked at her. “You showing those other kids who's boss?”
“I’m… doing fine,” Kipperlilly said, and left it at that. He didn’t need the details. He didn’t need to know how “fine” sometimes meant white-knuckling her way through a day, how “fine” had been held together this semester with a hodgepodge of check-ins with Jawbone and living a somewhat double life.
“Come in, come in,” Winnie sighed, ushering them out of the draft and back toward the warmth. “Hang your coat, then you can harass her in the kitchen like civilized people.”
“Civilized? In this family?” Grandpa scoffed, but he complied.
After finally shuffling everyone down the hall and into the kitchen, Nana made a beeline for the stove. “Let me see,” she said, lifting the lid an inch to inhale. “Mm! That’s proper.” She turned, eyes glinting. “Barden, you finally learned not to salt at the end.”
Barden put a hand to his heart. “I’ve always salted during.”
“Liar,” Nana said without heat, and patted his cheek.
Grandpa sidled up to the counter and immediately started tasting things. He speared a parsnip from the roasting pan and chewed meditatively. “Could use more butter.”
“It has a whole stick,” Winnie said.
“Two, then.” He grinned at Kipperlilly and offered the fork. She leaned in and nibbled the edge of the parsnip from the blade. It was sweet and silty, with a browned edge that crackled between her teeth.
“It.... could actually.” she said, around the swallow and shot her mother a smirk. With so much of the focus in the household always being about her and how she was doing, it was nice to flip the script and have her parents be the butt of tormenting every now and again.
“See?” he told Winnie, satisfied.
Nana turned from the stove and drew Kipperlilly into another hug from behind and rested her chin on the top of Kipperlilly’s head.
“How are you really, my little rogue, hmm?”
The question brushed against a tender place. Kipperlilly’s first instinct was to throw up her walls but she swallowed them. If the rest of the extended family made the trip this year, it would be a different story. But her grandparents always meant well, and never made her feel less-than just because she was a little different.
“I’m… okay,” she said. “Working on it.”
Nana’s arms tightened before she let her go to spin Kipperlilly around to face her. “Good girl. Eat. Then we’ll sit, and you can tell me all about school and those... Rat grindings,” she added as she squinted down to the metal pin on the front of Kipperlilly's sweater.
“Rat Grinders,” Kipperlilly corrected, though a smile tugged at her mouth.
“Hooligans,” Grandpa said, selecting a second parsnip. “All of you.” His eyes softened. “Proud of you anyway.”
They sat. Winnie slid a platter of sliced pears and walnuts onto the table as a 'while-you-wait,' even though lunch was minutes away. Kipperlilly eagerly accepted a glass of cider as she propped her elbows carefully on the edge of her placemat.
"So how is school?” Grandpa asked, slipping the question in again with better finesse.
Winnie shot him a look over the rim of her glass. He lifted both hands in surrender. "Sue me. I wasn't an academic man, so I'm living through our girl."
“It’s… busy, but I like the work ” Kipperlilly answered quickly, stopping the bickering in its tracks before it could start. She never did mind talking about school. “I’m in the running for student body president.”
Winnie smiled over the rim of her glass. “Oh yes, we haven't told them yet!"
“She’s been working hard.” Barden added as he started to pile up everyone's plates with food.
Nana gave a little gasp of pleased surprise, then leaned in as if Kipperlilly had just confided a scandal. “Well, of course she is. She was born to tell people what to do.”
“I do not tell people what to do,” Kipperlilly said, automatically defensive, before letting out a small sigh. “I mean. I try not to. I organize.”
“Organizing is telling people what to do,” Grandpa said, amused. “Just with better manners.”
Kipperlilly sipped her cider to hide her smile as her father settled back in his chair, the wood giving a small creak under his weight. His gaze slid to Kipperlilly with warm, quiet pride.
“It’s just between our little Bug and one other candidate, and we’ve made some big moves, of course. Mostly Kipperlilly’s ideas, mind you. But I think she has this in the bag.”
Kipperlilly’s fingers paused around her glass. She kept her expression even, but something tightened under her ribs. She had already decided to take a step back from the campaign and let the momentum slide toward Kristen because it felt… right. Or at least necessary. The guilt that came with it was thin and papery but it still rustled in her chest.
Nana dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin and tilted her head. “Against one of your school friends?”
Kipperlilly’s throat went tight as the word snagged. She reached for her fork, then set it back down, aware of how obvious that tiny stall felt in her own body. She’d been practicing not-thinking for days and keeping her mind busy with anything other than thinking about Kristen. She already missed her so much, it was bordering on ridiculous considering she wasn't even sure what they were. The last thing she wanted to do was get even more stuck in her own head and dwell on the infuriating and confusing details.
“She’s not really a friend,” Kipperlilly said, keeping her voice level. “She’s from a rival adventuring party, actually.”
Grandpa grinned. “The sweeter the victory, that’s what I say!”
Winnie let out a low laugh and pushed the bowl of roasted parsnips closer to Kipperlilly. The table hummed again with cutlery clinking and chair legs against tile as conversation rose and fell. By the time the roast was just bones and herbs in the pan and the cider had warmed everyone from the inside out, the family drifted into the living room.
Kipperlilly found herself wedged between her mother and Nana on the couch, both of them peering over her shoulders to look at her crystal screen as she showed off her most recent social media posts.
“Goodness, look at that Dragonborn boy!” Nana said, leaning in until the curls at her temple tickled Kipperlilly’s cheek.
“Oisin has really been working hard this year. He helped me find the rogue teacher, so I’ve actually already finished my core junior year classes and can focus on everything else to get ahead.”
“All the things they’ve been getting up to, it’s quite amazing. They spend so much time training, we feel as though we hardly see her these days,” Winnie said, fond, a hand landing on Kipperlilly’s knee as she shot her a warm smile.
Kipperlilly smiled back, feeling thankful that her parents had come to the decision to have family Moonar Yulenear smaller this year. Those she knew deep down that it was because they were a little worried for her after the spiral she found herself in after last holiday season, even if they were unaware of what led to it, she was still thankful. That, and the upcoming trip.
Nana clucked her tongue gently. “All that time focusing on this, you’ll never find time for a boyfriend.”
Kipperlilly’s breath caught where her ribs met and her thumb stilled over the screen. Guilt wasn’t the right word, but it was closest she could think of. Not about about doing something wrong exactly, but about having something she wasn’t ready to share.
Winnie laughed lightly. “Kipperlilly is still wanting to avoid boys until after college. That hasn’t changed.”
Nana clicked her tongue again, almost scolding the universe for its timelines. “I’ll be too old to play with any great grandbabies.”
Kipperlilly rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You have seven other grandchildren to do that.”
Nana sighed dramatically. “But you’re so beautiful, Kipperlilly. A nice boy would be lucky to have you.”
“And he will be, when Kipperlilly wants to,” Winnie agreed while gently nudging her side.
Kipperlilly just awkwardly coughed and tucked her loose hair behind her ear. She was feeling prickly, like the first layer of her skin was all static. She wished that she could say it, let the sentence out and watch it float safely in this room and not break anything. That she didn’t want to end up with a boy. That, actually, she had realized a boy was never going to be in the equation for her.
Her mouth didn’t open. It wasn’t fear, exactly. It was… time. Not yet. The truth was a seed with a hard shell. It needed a little more warmth and water before she tried to push it through the soil in front of everyone she loved.
She had actually started kind of dating a girl and had already gone against the whole plan she set out for herself. But she wasn’t close to being ready for that, much less admit her sexuality. Lucy guessed, Jawbone knew and Oisin knew, and that was enough for now.
Kipperlilly let the crystal do the work for her and flicked to a video of herself and Ruben engaging in some hand to hand combat practice with Lucy’s laughter audible behind the camera.
“Show me more of this boy,” Nana said, tapping the screen causing the video to accidentally pause on Ruben's face.
“That's Ruben,” Kipperlilly nodded. “He’s… theatrical, but he's very talented.”
"He wears too much makeup, but seems like a lovely gnomish boy. Is he single? He would be good for you."
Both Kipperlilly and Winnie started to laugh at the sheer persistence just as Barden reappeared from the hallway with a folded blanket and dropped it into Grandpa’s lap without ceremony, causing him to start awake from where he had been snoozing in the armchair for the last hour.
“Don't sleep too hard, dad. You'll miss out on all the fun,” he said.
“I never sleep,” Grandpa replied, already tucking the blanket around his knees. “I power-think with my eyes closed.”
The house had settled into its evening rhythm and steam curled off Kipperlilly’s cocoa in lazy ribbons, clouding the air with the sweet smell of sugar. She sat cross‑legged on the couch in plaid pajama pants and an oversized sweater, the mug nestled in both hands to warm her fingers.
Her grandparents had made their ceremonial fuss of overenthusiastic goodnight kisses and their footsteps had since faded upstairs to the spare room, leaving the Copperkettle living room to settle.
On the crystal TV, an old holiday movie flickered, full of warm lantern light and exaggerated snowfall and her parents watched comfortably: Barden in his favorite chair, feet propped on the ottoman, and Winnie curled lengthwise along the other end of the couch, ankles crossed.
Kipperlilly tried to let herself be absorbed by the movie but she took a sip of cocoa and wondered how her friends were faring today. Oisin was easy to picture being tucked into an armchair in a house too crowded, someone passing him a plate while three different relatives had three different conversations directly at him. He’d smile and try to track them all, answer each one fairly. He hated missing anything. She pressed her lips together in a fond line, imagining his careful politeness buckling under the tenth person asking about advanced conjuration.
Ivy next: boots laced tight, breath in white puffs, moving through the woods with her dad like she belonged to wind and the hush between branches. Kipperlilly could see the press of cold on Ivy’s cheeks and the way she’d toss back her hair to smirk when Thorn was impressed with her aim. Ivy liked to complain, but she knew how much she loved to just get away for the holidays and away from the fuss of commercialism.
Ruben came in uninvited, like always. She could practically hear him groaning as she imagine all of the small children that had probably been climbing all over his music equipment with sticky hands. Her mouth tilted, traitorous, toward a smile. Then it fell again, because all thoughts turned, eventually, to the person she was trying not to think about.
Letting Kristen form in her head felt like pressing on a bruise just to see if it still hurt. It did. It didn’t hurt in a bad way; it hurt in that itchy, alive way that made her restless and a little reckless. Where was she right now? At a long, elaborately decorated table surrounded by elven formality? Stumbling through some fancy dance with an earnest look of concentration and a crooked smile when she messed up a step? Maybe the Bad Kids were ignoring tradition entirely and tromping off into the night after some new disaster. Maybe she was laughing somewhere, too much firelight in her eyes.
Maybe she was with Tracker.
That thought clanged in her chest. Jealousy came in slippery, stupid shapes; she recognized its outline and still it made her want to bristle. She breathed in through her nose and tried to reason with herself. They were complicated. Fine. So was everything. Kristen being in the same country as an ex didn’t erase the way she looked at Kipperlilly before she left.
Still. Out of sight, out of mind. The phrase tasted bitter, and she hated that she cared about it. She did not do longing. She did goals. She did plans with columns and checkboxes. But longing, apparently, did not care about correct filing.
On the screen, a clumsy romantic protagonist slipped on ice and tumbled into a snowbank.
Winnie snorted. Barden murmured, “Telegraphed that pratfall a mile away,” and reached for his cider. The mundane commentary tugged Kipperlilly back into the room.
“You alright, Bug?” Barden asked without looking away from the TV. He always somehow knew when her thoughts went sour. “You’ve been quiet.”
“I’m thinking,” she said. It wasn’t a lie but knew her parents wouldn’t press on it.
“Don’t stay up too late on our account,” Winnie added, eyes still on the screen. “You did a lot of smiling today. That uses more muscles than frowning.”
Kipperlilly huffed a laugh. “Pretty sure that’s scientifically false.”
“It is,” Winnie agreed serenely. “But it sounds right.”
The movie’s music swelled. Someone on-screen realized someone else had been the answer all along. Kipperlilly’s crystal, face‑down on the couch cushion beside her, pulled at her attention. She tried to ignore it but failed. Her thumb found the edge of it, tapping against the device and finally gave up. She slid it into her hand, unlocked it with a quick swipe and navigated to a test thread.
Kristen: Miss you already, beautiful. ♥
Kipperlilly hadn’t replied then, because the idea of sending something honest and then staring at a screen with no answer for weeks felt like throwing her heart down an old well just to hear how long the echo took. Looking at it now made the text feel freshly sent and she thought back to the specific kindness of Kristen’s face when she said things like that: not slick, not performative; just the truth, blurted.
If she gaslit herself, she could pretend Kristen had a way to contact her after all and was waiting for a reply with that ridiculous anxious bounce she did. If Kipperlilly were the one without service, and she came home to an empty thread, she would hate it. The thought sat heavy.
She lifted the crystal, turned the front‑facing camera on, and stared at her own face. Tie‑dyed warmth of the living room pooled behind her. Her cheeks were still pink from cocoa heat, hair loose over her shoulders. She quickly snapped a picture and typed without thinking too much about it.
Kipperlilly: Miss you
She hit send and the message leapt away, then stalled beneath the words Sending… She watched the dots shift uselessly for a breath or two. The lack of the delivered sparkle did its work on her pulse. She sighed, set the crystal facedown again, and tucked both hands around her mug.
“Hmm.” Barden’s chair creaked as he shifted. “Is this the one where the snowman turns out to be a prince?”
“That’s a different one,” Winnie said. “This is the one where the banker turns out to be a prince.”
“No shortage of princes for the holidays...” he said mildly.
Kipperlilly's crystal buzzed against the couch cushion and reached for it without thinking, thumb already swiping the screen awake... but then she froze. A photo filled the display. It was Kristen, close to the lens, smiling widely at the camera, throwing a peace sign. Behind her, young elves danced with props snow-dusted boots. It looked like some kind of snowy music festival for hippy teenagers, all swirling scarves and clumsy grace, but all Kipperlilly could see was that stupid grin and the way the cold had kissed color into Kristen’s cheeks.
Kristen: Miss you more ♥
That fucking heart emoji again.
Heat rose unhelpfully up Kipperlilly’s neck, and she had to curl her toes ground herself. The audacity of “more.” The gall. But that wide smile, like the words weren’t a risk at all, punched a small hole straight through her defenses. Somehow, it made the missing worse. There was no world in which she believed Kristen could out-miss her. Absolutely not.
Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, the response forming mean and dry on instinct.
Kipperlilly: Rather confident, Applebees. But inaccurate.
She stared at the text, mouth set, then exhaled and watched her own reflection ghost across the crystal. Too sharp. She erased it quickly and her chest started to soften, just a fraction.
Kipperlilly: There goes my plan of sending you things I thought you’d only get when you got home.
She hit send and watched it slide into the thread but it still wasn't anywhere close to being enough. She wasn’t trying to be cold. She just couldn’t bring herself to tip over fully into disgustingly flirty. It just wasn't who she was as a person. At least, she didn't think it was. This was all new to her, so it was all a little bit of an experiment.
Fine. One concession. One tiny, revolting concession.
Kipperlilly: ♥
She rolled her eyes at herself the second it sent, mortified but equally as amused. Kristen was rubbing off on her, and that was objectively distasteful. She tucked the crystal into the cup of her palm anyway and waited
The reply came fast.
Kristen: I think they have cell towers at Wolf Song Revival. Remind me, if I ever get the church of Cassandra back, not to just invite a bunch of hippy high elves.
Kipperlilly’s eyes flicked to the photo again and to the blur of elven teens in the background. That was Tracker’s church. The thought drifted through like a stray leaf but this time, there wasn't a string to accompany it. Kristen sounding excited to be hearing from her… that was the thing she let herself hold onto. If Kristen was attempting to rekindle whatever the two of them had, she certainly wouldn't be sending her heart emojis.
Kipperlilly: It can’t be that bad!
She pictured Kristen typing in a coat with the sleeves shoved up, thumbs flying, grinning at her crystal like an idiot as wind needled her ears.
Kristen: It would be better if you were here.
Kipperlilly’s cheeks flushed so fast she nearly hissed, and she fished blindly for a blanket, hauling it into her lap as if wool could hide the ridiculous heat in her face. How was it that easy for Kristen? To be so earnest without falling on her face? To say something like that out loud without immediately needing to claw it back?
It was unrealistic and probably impossible. Hard to picture herself tucked into Kristen’s side in an open field full of the Bad Kids’ in-jokes and history, with everyone knowing about them. Sitting on a log somewhere, swatting away sparks, Fabian rolling his eyes, Fig yelling from across the snow. She wasn’t there yet. Maybe she never would be. Maybe that was a story for a different life, a different version of her with a looser grip and a bigger heart.
Kipperlilly: Maybe next time.
Was that hope? Maybe. Was it ever a possibility? Maybe not. But a year ago she could not have mapped a path from there to here, and yet here she was, sitting in pajamas under an blanket, texting a girl she used to dislike about future plans.
“You seem happy, Kip. Did you have a good day.”
Kipperlilly locked her phone and lifted her eyes to meet her mom's, letting a smile bloom. “It was good.”
“Love you,” Winnie said, returning her soft smile.
The crystal warmed in Kipperlilly’s palm where she still held it. The day had been a lot, but it had been nice. The quiet holiday was just what she needed to end out the year... at least until mania would hit in a few days when they set out on their trip. For now, though, she would take the peace.
“Love you too.”