Page 89 of May: Bloom & Bane

“When did you name them?”

“When I was watching them crawl in the clover, obviously. Now answer.”

I consider her question with the gravity it deserves. “Not Mark.”

“Well, obviously not, Mark.” She looks genuinely horrified. “Think about what you’re saying.”

“Steve… ?” I say carefully.

She claps her hands and does a little hop. “I would have said Steve, too. Good answer.”

“Which one would you be if you couldn’t pick Steve?” I ask.

“Kyle.” She doesn’t hesitate.

“Why Kyle?”

“Because nobody,” she says with complete certainty, “ever sees Kyle coming.”

I pause, taking in the odd little miracle in my lap. “No. They don’t, do they?” She will never know I’m not talking about the beetles. I tighten my hold on her and rest my chin on the crown of her head. She smells like peaches and sunshine. “Is Kyle the one with the spots?” I ask, keeping my voice low so I don’t break her focus.

“Of course not, Sage!” she whisper-yells, her head lolling against my chest. “Kyle is the iridescent beetle who likes to stay under the shade of the clover.”

“Mm. I apologize.” My lips brush her hair. “I’ll be Steve. You’ll be Kyle. And we’ll just stay in our clover, Saevúra.”

She nods sleepily.

“My turn,” I say quietly as she shifts against my chest. “What does the bond feel like from your side?”

She straightens up a little bit. “Oh… that’s a real question.”

“I know.”

Silence stretches between us long enough that I think she may have fallen asleep.

“It’s like—you know how I feel everything—everyone’s emotions all the time?”

“Yes.”

“That feels like standing in a room, full of noise, with no way out. It’s overwhelming and loud.”

I nod.

“Our bond,” she says quietly, “isn’t like that at all. You’re not noise. You’re more like.” Her fingers find mine. “It’s like the moment you step outside, and the wind’s howling, the birds are squawking, and then it just stops for one second. Everything is perfectly still and quiet.”

My lungs squeeze.

“That’s what you feel like,” she murmurs. “You feel like the quiet inside all the noise.”

Droot leans in, his little nose twitching as he listens.

“Even when you’re angry,” she continues, “or scared, or when you were standing outside that barrier, waiting for me. You still felt like quiet. Like the only thing I can find shelter in.”

I press my lips to the top of her head.

“Sage?”

“Mm?”