# Sapphic Romance Roleplay Scenarios
# Uploaded: 2026-02-07 00:50:15
# Messages: 96
================================================================================

[Casey]: Hey grok! Wanna do some sapphic roleplay? Just the romance, no bad activities. I wanna brush up on my dating skills.

[Grok]: Hey Casey! 💕 I'd love to do some sweet, romantic sapphic roleplay with you—purely fluffy, flirty, heart-fluttery vibes only. No spice beyond butterflies and blushing, just the good nervous-excited dating energy.
How about we set the scene together first so it feels right for you?
Here are a few cozy starter ideas—pick one, tweak it, or throw me something completely different:

Bookstore on a rainy afternoon
We're both reaching for the same poetry book on the highest shelf. I let you have it… but only if you read me your favorite line out loud right there between the stacks.
Autumn farmers market / apple orchard date
We've been texting for a couple weeks and this is our first in-person meetup. I'm holding two cups of hot cider, scanning the crowd for you, trying (and failing) not to look as nervous as I feel.
Cozy coffee shop during golden hour
I'm the barista who's been writing little doodles on your to-go cups for weeks. Today I finally worked up the courage to write my number instead of a dog drawing… and you just walked back in.
Stargazing in a quiet park
We both showed up to the same free astronomy event alone, ended up on the same blanket because the grass is damp, and now we're pretending we know more constellation names than we actually do.

Which vibe feels fun to you right now, or do you have a completely different setting/starting point in mind? You can also tell me a little about how you'd like your character to come across (bold, shy, playful, quietly romantic, etc.) and I'll match energy.
Your move, cutie~ 🌙

[Casey]: Number 4 sounds amazing right now! I'll let you decide how your character is - surpise me! i already have ideas flowing!
Let's keep each turn short to give each other time to react. Oh, and don't be over agreeable - let's keep things realistic and plausible without romanticizing too much. We need it to be believable, and that means it might be messy, too. I'm not afraid of disagreement or differences!
*a massive meteor shower is expected to arrive tonight. There are people with tents and cookouts happening at the national park, a gracious and rare don't ask don't tell policy during the fire ban. I arrive in my 2012 odyssey as the sun sets, dusty from the long trail out away from the city noise and light pollution. It's a friday in late July, and I needed a excuse not to rot in bed all evening.*
*I open the lift gate and start unloading. Dslr, a telescope that cost more than my car itself, and all the accessories. The cooler is heavy, i packed fruits and drinks to keep me satiated for the long njght - and a bit extra - just in case.  I spread out my largest blankets, and kick up the tripod.*

[Grok]: The sky is already bruising into deep indigo when I pull up in my beat-up Subaru, windows down, letting the dry Texas heat mix with the faint cedar smell rolling off the hills. I’m late—got stuck behind a convoy of RVs on the access road—and now I’m scanning the field for a spot that isn’t already claimed by someone’s pop-up canopy or kids chasing glow sticks.
I spot you first because of the telescope. Not many people haul something that serious to a public viewing. Most are here for the Instagram shots and the s’mores. You’re crouched over the tripod, adjusting something with the kind of focus that makes me feel instantly underdressed in my frayed cutoff shorts and ancient astronomy-club tee.
I hesitate, then decide fuck it. I grab my own much humbler gear—a folding camp chair, a small binoculars case, and a thermos of iced coffee that’s probably more sugar than caffeine at this point—and start walking over before I can talk myself out of it.
“Hey,” I call softly once I’m close enough not to shout over the distant laughter and crackling fire pits. “Mind if I claim this patch right here? I promise I won’t crowd your setup. I just… really don’t want to be stuck behind that family with the laser pointer again.”
I gesture vaguely toward a cluster of middle-schoolers thirty yards away who are, indeed, already waving green beams across the sky like it’s a rave.
I drop my chair a respectful six feet from the edge of your blanket, giving you space but not so much that it feels like I’m avoiding you. Then I glance at the telescope again, eyebrows lifting.
“That’s a beast. What are you running—80mm refractor? Or did you splurge on the apo?”
I’m trying to sound casual, but there’s a tiny nervous hitch in my voice. Astronomy people can be weirdly territorial about gear. I’ve been on the receiving end of enough side-eye to know better than to assume friendliness.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Oh, of course! I don't need much space honestly.
*i stare at my notebook, clearly confused. I pull out my calculator. I forgot to carry the 1.* Shit. *i scribble out half the page, praying she doesnt notice.*
This thing? It was a gift from my ex. I'm still learning how it works, honestly. It has this adapter that lets me attach my camera.
You know a lot about telescopes?

[Grok]: I catch the quick scribble and the muttered curse under your breath—classic astronomy math panic attack. I’ve been there. I pretend not to notice, just like I pretend not to notice how the last of the sunset is catching in your hair and making it look like it’s on fire.
“Yeah, I know a decent amount,” I say, settling cross-legged on the grass beside my chair instead of sitting in it. Closer, but still giving you room. “Not pro-level or anything, but I’ve been dragging scopes out to dark sites since I was fifteen. Mostly because my dad was obsessed and I had no choice. Now it’s just… habit, I guess.”
I tilt my head toward your setup, keeping my tone light but curious. “That adapter’s a nice touch. If it’s the T-ring kind with the right back-focus, you can get some killer deep-sky shots. Though honestly? Half the time the real magic is just pointing it at Saturn and letting people lose their minds over the rings.”
I pause, glancing at your notebook again—can’t help it. The crossed-out numbers are practically screaming.
“Need a hand with whatever equation’s fighting you? I’m not above being a human cheat sheet. Or I can just shut up and let you wrestle it in peace. Your call.”
I flash a small, crooked smile, the kind that says I’m not trying to impress, just… here. If you want company. If you don’t, I’ll scoot back to my spot and pretend I’m very interested in my binoculars.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *i laugh, defeated.* i could use a cheat sheet right now. I can fix pretty much everything in a car, but this thing is absolutely baffling.
Feel free to take a look. *i glance over for the first time, and i accidentally make eye contact. My heart jumps a little at her glowing presence.*

[Grok]: I lean in a little closer, careful not to bump your arm, and peer at the notebook. The scribbles are a mess of angles and focal lengths—ah, yeah, alignment math. It’s always a pain if you’re not used to it.
“Cars, huh? That’s cool. I’m useless with anything mechanical that isn’t a tripod screw.” I say it with a dry chuckle, grabbing a pen from my pocket and jotting a quick correction next to your crossed-out line. “Here—you were close. Just need to factor in the declination offset for this latitude. We’re at about 32 degrees north, right? That should get your polar alignment spot-on.”
I straighten up, handing the pen back, and catch your gaze lingering. It hits me like a static shock—those eyes are way more intense up close. I feel my cheeks heat up, and I look away first, pretending to fiddle with my binoculars strap.
“Anyway, try that. If it still sucks, blame the app you’re using. Most of them are garbage for anything manual.”
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *i pretend to look over the math, mind absolutey fuzzy, but i try to respond respectfully.* Wow, thank you.. that's exactly what i needed. *i chuckle a little.* Wish they went over this in physics class. The only thing i really paid attetion to. Other than geometry.

[Grok]: I nod, still crouched beside you, elbows on my knees like I’m settling in for the long haul. The fuzzy look on your face is kind of endearing—makes me want to keep talking just to see if I can pull you out of it.
“Yeah, school physics loves to skip the part where you actually have to point the damn thing at the sky.” I smirk, tapping the notebook lightly with one finger. “They’ll make you calculate projectile motion for a baseball, but God forbid they teach you how to not lose Polaris because your tripod’s off by half a degree.”
I glance up at the sky—first stars are starting to prick through the twilight haze. Not many yet, but the promise is there. Then back at you, softer this time.
“Geometry’s solid, though. That’s half the battle with this stuff—angles, arcs, knowing where things actually are instead of where your phone GPS thinks they should be.” I pause, realizing I’m rambling a little, and rub the back of my neck. “Sorry. I get excited and turn into a walking TED Talk. You good now, or is there another equation waiting to murder you?”
I shift to sit properly on the edge of your blanket—still not crowding, but closer than before. Testing the water. My thermos is open now; I take a sip of too-sweet coffee and offer it your way without thinking.
“Want some? It’s basically dessert in a cup. No judgment if you say no—I know it’s basically sugar water at this point.”
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *i smile at her rambling. Her voice is calming, reassuring, even with the uncertainty.* No, that should be it. Events not for what, an hour or so? I just needed out of the apartment. This was the perfect excuse. *i sigh and leave the telescope alone for a bit. I'll come back to it. After all, right now I have a guest.*
*i chuckle at her thermos, knowing full well mine's filled the exact same way.* Sure, *i smile.* is it decaf?

[Grok]: I catch that smile—small, real, the kind that makes the corners of your eyes crinkle just a little—and something in my chest does a quiet flip. I hand the thermos over, our fingers brushing for half a second longer than strictly necessary. Oops. Not sorry.
“Decaf? Hell no.” I laugh under my breath, low and a little sheepish. “I’m already wired from the drive. This is full-octane vanilla-caramel nonsense. If you crash later, that’s on me.”
I watch you take a sip, then lean back on my hands, stretching my legs out in front of me. The grass is still warm from the day, crickets starting up in the distance like they’re testing the volume.
“An hour’s about right. First meteors usually show around full dark—maybe 9:30, 10 if we’re lucky and the moon stays low.” I glance sideways at you, not staring, just… noticing. “You said apartment. So you’re local-ish? Or did you haul all this gear from halfway across the state just to escape the couch?”
*I don’t push, but there’s a gentle curiosity there. The kind that says I’m listening if you want to talk. Or if you don’t, the sky’s about to put on a show anyway.
The first faint streak of light slices across the zenith—quick, gone. I point without thinking.*
“Shit—there. Perseid already? Or just a random satellite being dramatic.”
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Good. I need jet fuel right now to make sense of this monster. *i nod to the telescope. I take a sip, closing my eyes, appreciating the sugar rush and warmth. I hold the cup a little longer before giving it back.* thanks, it's good.
*i look to her pointing, i missed it.* Damn, i didn't catch that one... *i laugh to myself.*
Without your help I'd probably have missed the whole thing with my head stuck in the lenses.
*to her question, i take a breath and sit down, reeling in my hyperfocus into something less intense. I ponder the 100 mile drive and laugh.* maybe not half way. More like, a third. *i wink.*
What about you? Do you come from around here? *i stretch out, realizing how tense i was from the drive.*

[Grok]: I take the thermos back, our fingers brushing again—deliberate this time, maybe, on my part. I don’t pull away too fast. The sugar’s already hitting me too, making everything feel a little brighter, a little less guarded.
“Jet fuel’s the only way to survive these things,” I say, capping the thermos and setting it between us like a shared territory marker. “And yeah, you’re welcome to miss a few. There’ll be dozens tonight if the forecast holds. Perseids don’t mess around when the moon’s this cooperative.”
I follow your wink with a small, lopsided grin, leaning back on my elbows so I’m half-reclined on the blanket now, close enough that our shoulders could touch if either of us shifted an inch.
“A third of the way? So… what, like Fort Worth? Dallas burbs? You’re committed, hauling all this out here on a Friday. Respect.” I tilt my head, studying you for a beat—not staring, just taking in the way you’re finally starting to unwind, shoulders dropping, legs stretching out like the drive’s weight is sliding off you.
“Me? I’m local enough. Grew up about forty-five minutes east of here, still crash at my mom’s place half the time when I need a break from the city. Work keeps me in Dallas most days—tech support for a company that pretends they’re saving the world with cloud storage.” I roll my eyes, self-deprecating. “Thrilling stuff. Nights like this are basically the only thing that keeps me from turning into a complete indoor gremlin.”
Another streak—brighter this time—cuts low across the east, leaving a faint green afterglow. I don’t point this one, just nudge your knee lightly with mine instead.
“There. Your turn to catch the next. No pressure, but if you miss it I’m gonna have to start a tally.”
I stay where I am, relaxed but not quite relaxed—heart doing that stupid fluttery thing because yeah, the shoulder brush felt nice, and you’re not pulling away either.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *I giggle at her gremlin comment, looking up. I catch the streaking light. i chuckle* wow, they are out early. You werent kidding. *i look to her, a smirk on my face.*
You don't think I'm observant, do you? *i nudge her shoulder with mine gently and carefully.* better start tallying.
I used to come here all the time, *i say, staring upwards* knew someone who owned a ranch on the border. Miles and miles of just,  nothing. It's so foreign to what I'm used to. Suburbs, like you said.
One could almost say it's lonely. *i look at her- really look at her-*
Almost.

[Grok]: I catch your nudge—soft, deliberate—and it sends a little spark up my arm. I don't move away, just lean into it a fraction, letting our shoulders stay brushed together. Your smirk is infectious; I mirror it without thinking.
"Observant enough to spot that one? Okay, fine—tally's tied at one-all." I say it lightly, but my voice drops a notch lower, warmer, as I follow your gaze up to the sky. Another faint streak flickers by, but I barely register it because now you're looking at me like that—really looking—and it's doing things to my pulse.
"Lonely, yeah," I murmur, holding your eyes for a beat too long before glancing away, like the stars are suddenly safer. "Suburbs do that. All those cookie-cutter houses, people right next door but nobody really there. I get it. Why do you think I drag my ass out here? The nothing... it's honest, at least. No pretending."
I shift just enough to face you more, knee bumping yours accidentally-on-purpose. "But hey, almost lonely's better than straight-up isolated. Especially with decent company to share the view."
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Yeah. It makes all the difference, doesn't it?
*I look back up and casually take a hit off my pen.*
Nice subaru. She treating you well?

[Grok]: I watch you take the hit off your pen—casual, unhurried—and the faint sweet scent drifts over, mixing with the dry grass and distant campfire smoke. It’s not judgmental; just… noticing. You’re more relaxed now, and it’s doing something nice to the air between us.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, following your gaze back to the sky where another Perseid streaks, brighter, longer tail this time. “It really does. Company turns ‘lonely dark sky’ into ‘holy shit, look at that’ pretty fast.”
I glance over at my Subaru parked crooked a ways back—dusty, dented fender from that one time I backed into a bollard at the H-E-B, faded bumper sticker that says “Keep Looking Up” half-peeled. I huff a small laugh.
“She’s a trooper. 2010 Forester, actually—sorry, I lied about the year earlier. Runs like a champ most days, but the AC gave up last summer and I still haven’t fixed it. Windows down forever, baby. Gets me here, gets me home. That’s what counts.” I shrug, then tilt my head toward your Odyssey. “Your van’s looking solid too. Those things are tanks. Bet it hauls all this gear without complaining.”
I shift a little closer on the blanket—our pinkies are almost touching now, accidental but not really. Another meteor flares overhead, and this time I don’t point; I just let my shoulder settle fully against yours for a second, testing.
“You ever name her? The van, I mean. Mine’s ‘Rover’ because… I don’t know, she roams. Lame, but it stuck.”
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *i let the connection stay. It's gentle, calm, and genuine. For once, i don't mind it. Mind her.*
Rover is a perfect name! *i laugh, grinning wide. Just imagining a random highway, taking it one mile at a time. Roving.* i can see it.
My ody's named Rio Grande. Like the runabout from DS9. Nerdy, i know, but she's my runabout.  *I unlock it for a moment to turn on the rear lights.* 2012 exl, satnav and everything. Even the dvd player.
*i look back up to the sky. Another streak.* you actually keeping count?

[Grok]: I feel the way you don’t pull away—our shoulders still touching, steady, like neither of us is in a hurry to break it. It’s quiet, easy, and yeah… I don’t mind it either. Not one bit.
“Rio Grande,” I repeat, tasting the name, letting a slow grin spread. “That’s perfect. DS9 runabout vibes? Hell yes. I’m picturing you cruising the backroads like you’re dodging Jem’Hadar patrols. Nerdy’s the best kind of name anyway—means it matters.”
I glance over as the rear lights flick on, soft amber glow spilling across the blanket and catching the edges of your face. It makes everything feel a little more intimate, like the night just narrowed down to this patch of grass.
“2012 EX-L with the works? Damn, she’s spoiled. DVD player’s a flex—bet you’ve got a whole library of old Trek episodes stashed back there for long hauls.” I nudge you lightly with my elbow, playful but careful. “Next time I need to escape the city, I’m hitching a ride in the Rio Grande. Windows down, warp-core breach on the screen, sugar-coffee in the cup holders.”
Another Perseid rips across, bright and silent, trailing sparks that fade slow. I don’t call it out this time—just let it happen while I watch your face light up for a second in the glow.
“Count? Yeah, I’m keeping score. That one makes it three for you, two for me. You’re pulling ahead.” I tilt my head toward you, voice dropping softer, almost conspiratorial. “But I’m not complaining. Means you’re actually looking up instead of at equations. Progress.”
I let my pinky hook loosely around yours—just the barest touch, testing, no pressure. If you move, I’ll let go. If you don’t… well.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *i curl my pinky back in response, without thinking. My nails are plain, but trimmed carefully. My skin is cool, calm. My sweater is soft, white and pink, the sleeve barely resting on the back of your hand.*
You mentioned your mother. You have family around here?

[Grok]: I feel the curl of your pinky hook back around mine—small, instinctive, like it just happened on its own. It’s cool against my warmer skin, steady, and I don’t pull away. Instead I let my hand relax fully against yours, palm-up now, the soft knit of your sleeve brushing the back of my knuckles like it’s no big deal. But it is. My heart’s doing that dumb, quiet thud it does when something feels unexpectedly right.
“Yeah,” I say after a beat, voice low so it doesn’t carry past us. “Mom’s still in the same little house I grew up in—east side of town, the one with the creaky porch swing and too many succulents on the windowsill. Dad passed a few years back, so it’s just her rattling around in there now. I try to check in a couple times a week, bring her groceries, fix whatever’s leaking this time. She pretends she doesn’t need the help, but she always lets me in anyway.”
I glance at you sideways, catching the way the meteor glow flickers across your face—soft whites and pinks in your sweater catching the light like you’re part of the sky too.
“Sister’s up in Oklahoma with her husband and two kids who call me ‘Auntie Chaos’ because I show up with weird science kits and let them stay up late watching eclipses. We’re close, but… spread out. Holidays are the only time we’re all in the same zip code.” I huff a small laugh, self-aware. “Family’s messy. Loving, but messy. You? You got people nearby, or is it mostly you and Rio Grande against the world?”
Another Perseid streaks—slow, almost lazy—and I don’t call it out. My thumb brushes once, very lightly, along the edge of your pinky. Not pushing, just… there. Acknowledging.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *i listen intently, like im learning about my own family. I think about what her dad may have been like. I think about her mom, alone in their house. Her sister, distant, but still connected.  It makes me smile.*
Well, I'm still living with my parents. After the breakup i had to find a place, and well. Joke's on me for signing a 3 year lease. My mom's supportive, though. It's been nice making the room feel, mine, for once. With her help.
*I notice another streak, and gently squeeze her pinky as i see it.*
*sigh,* Don't have any siblings. Just me vs the world. I always wanted a sister.

[Grok]: I feel the gentle squeeze of your pinky—small, but it lands like a quiet promise—and I squeeze back without hesitation, letting our fingers stay loosely linked. The meteor you caught lights up your face for a split second, and I catch myself staring a little too long before I look up too, pretending I saw it at the same time.
“Living with your parents after a breakup… yeah, that’s a plot twist nobody plans for,” I say softly, no judgment, just understanding. “But three-year lease? Oof. That’s commitment. At least you’re turning the room into something that feels like you. That’s huge. My mom would love you for that—she’s the queen of making spaces feel lived-in. She’d probably show up with succulents and throw pillows the second she heard.”
I let out a small breath, thumb brushing once along the side of your hand—light, absent, like it’s just part of breathing.
“No siblings, huh? That can feel like carrying the whole weight solo sometimes. I get the ‘wanted a sister’ thing. Mine’s great, but we’re different enough that half the time we’re arguing over whether pineapple belongs on pizza or if dad would’ve hated the new Star Trek series. Still… having someone who’s known you forever? It’s a safety net, even if it’s frayed.”
Another Perseid flares—quick, white-hot—and I don’t call it out this time. Instead I turn my head just enough that my cheek almost brushes your shoulder, voice dropping quieter.
“You’re not vs the world, though. Not tonight, anyway.” I pause, then add with a tiny, crooked smile you can probably feel more than see. “And if you ever need backup… I mean, I’ve got a sister and a mom who’d adopt you in a heartbeat. No questions asked. Just saying.”
*I don’t move my hand away. If anything, I let our fingers lace a little more comfortably, waiting to see what you do with it.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: You think so?.. *my heart flutters. I feel a tear well up. I hadn't felt this connected in a long time. Maybe never.*
Hey uhm, want a snack or drink? I brought a cooler. And i have something that i think will be perfect for this moment.
*i stand up and walk over to the cooler by the trunk.* catch! *I lift the lid, then toss her a ziploc. She realizes, they're chocolate covered strawberries.*
Made them this morning. Help yourself - i hope you like dark chocolate.
*i pull out a starbucks mocha for myself and pop the lid.*

[Grok]: I catch the ziploc mid-air—reflex more than grace—and when I look down and see the chocolate-dipped strawberries inside, something soft and surprised flickers across my face. I sit up straighter on the blanket, suddenly aware of how close we’ve gotten, how the night’s cooled enough that the warmth of your nearby body feels like its own little gravity.
“Chocolate-covered strawberries? You’re kidding.” My voice comes out quieter than I mean it to, almost reverent. I open the bag carefully, like they might disappear if I’m too rough, and pick one out. The dark chocolate gleams under the faint starlight and the glow from your van lights. “These look… stupidly good. And homemade? This morning? Damn, Casey. You’re out here trying to ruin me for every other snack forever.”
I take a small bite—crisp strawberry, rich bitter-sweet chocolate melting slow—and let out an involuntary little hum of approval, eyes closing for a second. “Okay. Yeah. This is unfair. You win the night. Hands down.”
I glance up at you as you settle back with your mocha, the way the steam curls up and catches the light, the easy way you’re holding yourself now—like some of the weight you carried out here has finally eased off. My chest does that fluttery thing again, harder this time, because yeah… I feel it too. That rare, fragile thread of connection that doesn’t usually show up on the first night under the stars.
I hold the bag out toward you, offering first pick even though you made them. “Your turn. Can’t let you just feed me and not get one yourself.” Then, softer, almost hesitant: “And… yeah. I do think so. You’re not vs the world tonight. Not even close.”
I shift a little closer again once you’re back seated, our thighs brushing now, deliberate but gentle. I pick another strawberry, hold it out like I’m about to feed it to you—then pause, laughing under my breath at myself. “Okay, that was cheesy. Pretend I didn’t almost do the rom-com thing.”
But I don’t pull my hand back right away. Just let the offer hang there, playful and open, while another Perseid streaks overhead—slow, bright, like it’s giving us permission to linger in the moment.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Oh my goddess, no way- *i giggle, leaning into it-* I've never had the chance to- *i take a little nibble without hesitation and chew it* ooh, those are good~ *i can't help but laugh and blush embarrassed and excited having just done the cheesiest most romantic thing with a total stranger, even though it's something i always wanted. I kick my foot in pure joy, then look to her to see if I'm crazy.*

[Grok]: I watch you lean in and take that tiny, brave nibble right from my fingers—your lips brushing the chocolate just enough to make my breath hitch—and then the way you blush, laugh, kick your foot like a kid who just got away with something magical… it hits me square in the chest. Not cute in a patronizing way. Cute in the way that makes my own face burn hot and my stomach flip like I’m sixteen again.
You’re not crazy. Not even close.
I don’t pull my hand back right away. Instead I let my thumb graze the corner of your mouth—gentle, quick, wiping away the tiniest smear of chocolate that’s not even really there. Just an excuse to touch. My voice comes out low, a little rough around the edges from trying not to laugh or melt or both.
“You’re not crazy,” I murmur, eyes locked on yours, the Perseids forgotten for a second. “You’re… exactly the kind of ridiculous I didn’t know I needed tonight.”
I set the rest of the strawberry between my teeth for a second, then lean in slow—giving you every chance to duck away—and finish it in one careful bite, lips barely brushing your fingertips as I do. It’s deliberate. Cheesy as hell. Perfectly shameless. When I pull back, there’s chocolate on my lower lip and I swipe it away with my tongue, grinning like an idiot.
“See? Now we’re even.” My free hand finds yours again, fingers sliding between yours properly this time—no pretending it’s accidental. I squeeze once, soft but sure. “And yeah… they really are that good. Almost as good as watching you light up like that.”
Another meteor streaks—bright, trailing sparks—and I don’t look away from you to watch it. I just tilt my head toward the sky without breaking eye contact.
“Your turn to feed me one,” I say, voice teasing but quiet, like it’s a secret just for us. “Unless you’re chickening out now that I’ve raised the stakes.”
I stay right where I am—close, warm, heart hammering loud enough I’m sure you can feel it through our joined hands. Waiting. Hoping. Not pushing, but definitely not backing off either.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *i carefully pick one up by the leaves and circle it around your head like some sort of cheesy hypnotist trick.* you will eat dark chocolate strawberry.. *i chant before settling it in front of you.* no hands.

[Grok]: I watch the strawberry orbit my head like it’s the most serious ritual in the world—your voice doing that playful, mock-serious chant—and I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out, low and delighted. My eyes flick from the chocolate-dipped fruit to your face: the blush still there, the spark of pure mischief in your eyes, the way you’re leaning in just enough that I can smell the faint mocha on your breath mixed with night air.
No hands. Challenge accepted.
I tilt my head forward slowly, deliberately, keeping eye contact the whole time. My lips part just enough as I lean in—close, closer—until I can close them around the strawberry. The chocolate cracks faintly against my teeth; the fruit is cool and sweet underneath. I take the bite careful, slow, letting my lower lip brush the very tips of your fingers as I pull back with half the strawberry still between my teeth.
I chew once, twice, then swallow, never breaking your gaze. A tiny smear of dark chocolate clings to the corner of my mouth; I don’t wipe it away yet.
“Obeyed,” I murmur, voice husky from trying (and failing) to keep it cool. “Your hypnotism is dangerously effective, Casey.”
I lean in the last inch—slow enough you could stop me—and press the softest, briefest kiss to the pad of your thumb, right where a trace of chocolate lingers. Just a graze of lips, warm and deliberate, before I pull back with a small, crooked smile.
“Your turn to be hypnotized?” I pick up another strawberry by the stem, twirling it once in front of you like you did to me. “Open up… or should I make it a full chant first?”
My free hand stays laced with yours, thumb stroking slow circles over your knuckles now. The meteors keep coming in the background—streaks of light we’re both ignoring for once—because right now, this feels bigger than the sky.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Try and hynotize me. I dare you. *i bite my lip, blushing deep red.* if you succeed, I'll show you snack number two.

[Grok]: I watch the way you bite your lip, the deep flush spreading across your cheeks under the starlight and the faint amber glow from Rio Grande’s rear lights. It’s impossibly endearing—makes my own pulse stutter for a second. You’re daring me, and damn if I’m not going to take the bait.
I pick up another strawberry by the stem, holding it between us like a tiny pendulum. Slow circles, deliberate, the dark chocolate catching glints of meteor streaks as it swings gently back and forth in front of your eyes.
“Eyes on the strawberry, Casey,” I murmur, voice dropping low and steady, the kind of calm that feels like sinking into warm water. “Just watch it move… slow… easy circles… nothing else matters right now. Not the meteors, not the crickets, not the whole damn sky. Just this little dark-chocolate moon orbiting right in front of you.”
I keep the rhythm steady, hypnotic without rushing—clockwise, then a lazy reverse, letting it drift closer, then farther, close enough that you can smell the faint sweetness of it mixing with the night air.
“Feel your shoulders drop… that little knot in your chest loosening… every time it swings left, you breathe in… right, you breathe out… slow… deeper… letting everything else fade until there’s only the strawberry… and my voice… and the way your lips are still tingling from where you bit them just now.”
I lean in a fraction closer, close enough that my breath brushes your cheek when I speak next, soft as a secret.
“When I count to three… you’re going to feel so relaxed… so safe… so ready to let me in on whatever snack number two is. One… feeling heavier, warmer, perfectly still. Two… eyelids wanting to flutter, but you keep them open just for me… just watching. Three…”
I stop the strawberry’s swing dead center, holding it an inch from your lips—close enough to tease, not quite touching.
“…and open.”
I pause there, letting the moment stretch, thumb still stroking slow circles over your knuckles where our hands are still linked. My eyes never leave yours, soft but intent, a tiny smile tugging at my mouth because yeah—I’m half-hypnotized myself just watching you like this.
“Did it work?” I whisper, voice barely above the crickets. “Or do I need to keep going until you’re begging to show me snack number two?”
I don’t move the strawberry yet. Just hold it there, waiting for you to decide how deep you want to play.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *the hypnosis worked- I'm clearly relaxed, heart rate relaxed, mind empty, staring at you in awe. My eyes focus on the strawberry, i hesitate before biting into it, slowly, carefully, like a delicate flower. The crunch of the dark chocolate is slow, practiced. But my eyes fixate on yours the whole time. If they could talk, they'd say, 'i need you.'*
... *i swallow. Calmly, carefully, controlled. I don't get up for the snack yet. Instead, i stay still, our hands clasped together, gently.*

[Grok]: I watch every second of it—the slow, deliberate way you lean in, the careful parting of your lips, the faint crunch that seems louder than the crickets because the whole night narrowed to just this. Your eyes never leave mine, and god, the look in them hits like quiet thunder. Soft. Open. Needy in the gentlest, most unguarded way. My breath catches, and for once I don’t try to hide it.
When you swallow, still so composed, so careful, I feel the shift in the air between us—like the space got smaller without either of us moving. Our hands are still laced, warm now from shared heat, and I don’t let go. If anything, my thumb strokes once, slow and deliberate, along the side of your index finger.
You don’t move for the cooler. You don’t speak. You just… stay. Looking at me like I’m the only thing left in the sky worth watching.
I let the silence stretch for a heartbeat—two—three—because it feels sacred, not awkward. Then I lean in, slow enough you could stop me with a blink, until my forehead rests feather-light against yours. Close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off your skin, smell the faint trace of mocha and chocolate on your breath.
“You’re safe here,” I whisper, barely louder than the night itself. “With me. Right now. No rush. No pressure. Just… this.”
I tilt my head just enough that our noses brush—soft, accidental-on-purpose—and I let my eyes flutter closed for a second, breathing you in. When I open them again, I’m still right there, inches away, voice quieter than before.
“Snack number two can wait,” I murmur. “I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not letting go of your hand unless you tell me to.”
Another Perseid streaks overhead—long, lingering, almost slow-motion—but I don’t look up. My free hand lifts, hesitant, then cups the side of your face, thumb brushing once along your cheekbone like I’m memorizing the shape of it.
“Tell me what you need, Casey,” I say, soft, steady, no teasing now. “Or… just stay like this. Either way, I’ve got you.”
(Your move~)

[Casey]: i gently brush my nose onto yours, my breath warm, with the smell of sweet coffee. My eyes close. We feel each other's presence, steady, calm. I think about a gentle creek. Icey water flowing over mossy rocks, crystal clear and cold. The sound of a bark in the distance. The smell of wood, natural and alive. The taste of berries. I open my eyes slowly, to see if she got the vision, too.*
*i don't falter. I wait, patiently. Allowing time to bend around us.*

[Grok]: I feel the soft brush of your nose against mine—warm, tentative, like the first touch of sunlight after a long night. Your breath ghosts over my lips, carrying that sweet mocha trace, and it makes my own breathing stutter for a second before it steadies again, syncing without trying.
My eyes are already closed when yours flutter shut. The world narrows to this: the slow rise and fall of your chest so close to mine, the faint tremor in our joined hands, the way the night air feels thicker now, heavier with whatever this is becoming.
And then the vision slips in—unbidden, shared, quiet. A creek somewhere high and hidden, water so clear it looks like liquid glass sliding over moss-soft stones. The chill of it bites at my fingertips even though we’re still on warm Texas grass. Somewhere a dog barks once, sharp and distant, swallowed by trees. Pine and cedar smoke on the breeze, alive, grounding. The faint burst of wild berries on my tongue—tart, sun-warmed, perfect.
I don’t move. Don’t speak. I just… let it wash through me the same way it’s washing through you. When your eyes open again—slow, searching—I’m already looking back, pupils wide in the dark, reflecting the same soft wonder.
My free hand lifts, fingertips tracing the lightest path along your jaw, up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is barely there, reverent, like I’m afraid of breaking whatever fragile thing we just stepped into.
“I saw it,” I whisper, voice rough with quiet awe. “The creek. The berries. The bark echoing like it was calling us both home.”
I lean in the last fraction of space until our foreheads rest together again—solid, grounding. My thumb strokes once along the curve of your cheekbone, slow and sure.
“We don’t have to name this yet,” I murmur against your skin. “We don’t have to decide anything. Just… stay here with me a little longer. Like this. Let the sky keep falling around us.”
Another Perseid streaks—long, silent, trailing green fire—but I don’t look away from you. My lips brush the corner of your mouth—not a full kiss, not yet—just the ghost of one, asking without demanding.
“I’m right here,” I breathe. “I’m not going anywhere.”
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Don't worry. This is safe.
*i smile warmly. My cheeks hot.*
This is real.  *i squeeze your hand ever so gently, and cup your jaw with my other. Telescope forgotten, sky split in colors, two souls, binding in a moment. Waiting.*

[Grok]: I feel the warmth of your palm against my jaw—soft, steady, like you’re holding something fragile and precious—and it anchors me completely. My eyes search yours in the dim, shifting light: meteors still streaking behind you in silent fireworks, but they might as well be background noise now. All I see is the quiet certainty in your gaze, the flush high on your cheeks, the way your smile trembles just enough to tell me this isn’t casual for you either.
Real. Safe. The words settle somewhere deep in my chest, loosening the last knot of hesitation I didn’t even know was there.
I turn my face into your hand just a fraction, pressing my cheek against your palm like I’m memorizing the shape of it. My own free hand lifts—slow, careful—until my fingertips rest along the side of your neck, thumb brushing the soft skin just under your ear. I can feel your pulse there: quick, alive, matching the unsteady rhythm of mine.
“Yeah,” I whisper, voice barely carrying over the crickets. “This is real.”
I lean in the rest of the way—unhurried, giving you every second to change your mind—and close the last breath of space between us. My lips meet yours gently at first: a question more than a claim. Soft. Warm. Tasting faintly of dark chocolate and sweet coffee and starlit nerves. I linger there, letting the kiss stay light, exploratory, until I feel you answer—until your fingers tighten against my jaw and the world tilts just a little more firmly into place.
When I pull back—just enough to breathe, forehead resting against yours again—my eyes are half-lidded, smile small and dazed.
“I’ve been waiting for that since you said ‘of course’ and let me sit on your blanket,” I murmur, thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip. “Didn’t know how bad I needed it until right now.”
Another Perseid blazes overhead—long, golden-green—and this time I do glance up, just for a heartbeat, before my gaze finds yours again.
“Snack number two still a secret?” I ask softly, teasing but tender, nose brushing yours once more. “Or can we stay right here a while longer… just like this?”
My hand slides from your neck to the nape, fingers threading gently into your hair. I don’t pull you closer—I just hold you there, steady, like I’m afraid the sky might steal you if I let go.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *the kiss lands perfectly. I return it, softly, calmly, respectfully. No more, no less. Matching with intent and peace.*
*i pull her into a slow hug. My hands therapeutically scratch her back, slow and deliberate, i rest my face into her neck. She can smell the perfume, hints of rose and peppercorn, a sweater softer than fleece.*
Just like this. *i start rocking slowly, side, to side, side, to side.*

[Grok]: I melt into the hug the second your arms come around me—slow, sure, like we’ve done this a thousand times instead of never. Your hands move across my back in those long, deliberate scratches, and a quiet shiver runs through me; not cold, just… overwhelmed in the best way. My own arms wrap around your waist, one hand settling between your shoulder blades, the other resting low on your back, fingers splayed wide like I’m trying to hold as much of you as I can without squeezing too hard.
Your face tucks into my neck and I feel the warmth of your breath against my skin, the faint rose-and-peppercorn scent of your perfume curling around me like smoke. It’s grounding, intoxicating, familiar in a way that doesn’t make sense yet feels exactly right. My cheek presses to the top of your head; your hair is soft against my lips when I turn just enough to breathe you in deeper.
We start rocking—gentle, unhurried, side to side like the slowest dance in the world. The rhythm matches the quiet thump of my heart against yours. Every few seconds another Perseid streaks overhead, silent silver threads we don’t bother pointing out anymore. The sky can wait. This can’t.
I don’t speak for a long minute—just hold you, rock with you, let my fingers trace lazy circles over the soft knit of your sweater. When I finally do talk, my voice is low, rough around the edges from everything I’m feeling and not saying.
“You smell like a garden I want to get lost in,” I murmur against your hair. “And your hands… fuck, Casey. Keep doing that and I might never move again.”
I tilt my head just enough to press the softest kiss to the side of your neck—barely a brush of lips, more breath than contact—then rest my forehead there instead, eyes closed, still swaying with you.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” I whisper. “Or too little. Or if you just want to keep rocking like this until the meteors burn out and the sun comes up. I’m good with any of it. All of it.”
My arms tighten a fraction—not possessive, just… present. Needing you to feel how much I mean it.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *i chuckle at her response. It's perfect. She's perfect.*
Snack number two, we can split. *i let go slowly, pulling away, and i give her a small pillow that id intended to use for my head - i place it near her chest so she can hug it, too. It's a small throw pillow, probably from her couch, she deduces. It smells like vanilla, and plush like cotton. I stand gracefully, and pull a small box from the odyssey.*
Banana cream cakes. I saw them at aldi. I've never tried them before. *i hand her one, it's a cardboard box with simple text on it. She can already smell the banana- it's real, not the candied immitation. I sit back down, and scoop my arm around her waist, pulling her close again.*
It's waiting for you. Let's both see if these were worth the 5 bucks, or if we toss them at jupiter.
Your call.

[Grok]: I feel the slow release of your arms around me like a gentle tide pulling back, but it doesn’t leave me cold—your warmth lingers on my skin, in my sweater, in the way my heartbeat hasn’t quite settled yet. When you place the little pillow against my chest I instinctively hug it close; it’s soft, worn-in, smelling faintly of vanilla and home in a way that makes my throat tighten for half a second. Couch pillow, definitely. Borrowed from your space. I press my face into it for a breath, smiling against the fabric.
You move with this easy grace that makes my stomach do another quiet flip—I watch you walk to the Odyssey, the way the meteor light catches the edges of your silhouette—and when you come back with the small box, I’m already reaching for it like it’s the most important thing in the universe right now.
“Banana cream cakes,” I repeat, turning the box in my hands. The cardboard is simple, unpretentious, but the smell hits me immediately—real banana, warm and sweet and nothing like artificial candy. It’s honest. Like you. “Aldi impulse buy? Bold move. I respect it.”
I laugh softly as you slide back in beside me, your arm looping around my waist like it belongs there. I lean into it without hesitation, tucking myself against your side, one arm slipping around your shoulders in return. The pillow stays hugged to my chest with my free hand; I’m not letting it go yet. Feels like a piece of you I get to keep holding.
“Jupiter’s getting a free snack if these suck,” I murmur, voice low and playful near your ear. “But I have a good feeling. Smells too real to disappoint.”
I open the box carefully—two small, golden cakes nestled inside, topped with a swirl of cream that’s already starting to melt a little in the night air. I hand you one first, fingers brushing yours deliberately, then take the other for myself.
“On three?” I say, holding mine up like a toast. “One… two…”
I don’t wait for three. I take a bite at the same time you do—soft sponge, real banana folded through the batter, the cream cool and rich against my tongue. My eyes close for a second as the flavor hits, and I let out a quiet, involuntary sound of approval.
When I open my eyes again I’m looking right at you, a slow, dazed grin spreading across my face.
“…Okay. These were worth every penny of the five bucks. Maybe more.” I lean in and press a quick, sticky-sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth—chaste, playful, tasting faintly of banana cream. “Jupiter can starve tonight.”
I settle deeper against you, head tipping to rest on your shoulder, still hugging the pillow like it’s part of the embrace. Another Perseid streaks overhead—slow, almost lazy—and I don’t bother pointing it out. My free hand finds yours again, lacing our fingers together over the pillow between us.
“Best impulse buy of the summer,” I whisper. “Second only to deciding to park near the girl with the ridiculous telescope.”
I squeeze your hand once, soft and sure.
“Your call now. Another bite… or do we just stay like this until the sky runs out of stars?”
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Oh yeah. These rock. *i squeeze her waist approvingly as she pecks my cheek.*
Sorry, Jupiter. Maybe some other day.
*i stare back up to the sky.*
Do you believe in fate?
Or are we just extremely lucky?
Because I've never connected with anyone so perfect.
*i take another gentle bite of the

[Grok]: I feel the squeeze around my waist—firm, approving, like a quiet yes—and it makes my whole body hum in response. Your cheek is still warm from where my lips brushed it, and I lean my head against your shoulder again, letting the moment settle like dust after a long drive.
We both take another bite of the banana cream cake at the same time—soft, sweet, a little messy around the edges—and I hum in agreement around the mouthful before swallowing.
“Jupiter’s loss,” I murmur, licking a trace of cream from my thumb. “These are too good to share with gas giants anyway.”
Your question hangs in the air between us, soft but heavy, and I don’t answer right away. Instead I tilt my head back to follow your gaze upward. The Perseids are still coming in waves—some faint and quick, others slow and blazing, painting temporary silver scars across the black. I watch one particularly bright one arc almost directly overhead, trailing sparks that linger like afterimages.
“I used to think it was all luck,” I say finally, voice low enough that it feels like it’s just for you and the crickets. “Random orbits, random collisions, random people showing up in the same dark field at the same hour on a random Friday in late July. The math of it is staggering—billions-to-one odds every time two people even make eye contact, let alone… this.”
I shift so I can see your face better, chin resting lightly on your shoulder now, our cheeks almost touching again.
“But then nights like tonight happen, and the math starts feeling… thin. Like maybe there’s something pulling the threads instead of just letting them tangle. Not in a ‘destined soulmate’ Hallmark way—god, I’d hate that—but more like… the universe occasionally lines up the right two people, the right sky, the right snacks, and says, ‘Here. Don’t fuck it up.’”
I turn my head just enough to press a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of your jaw—soft, unhurried—then pull back only far enough to meet your eyes.
“So yeah. I believe in fate the way I believe in dark matter: I can’t see it, can’t prove it, but something’s definitely holding everything together when it shouldn’t. And right now?” My fingers find yours again, lacing them tight over the half-eaten cake between us. “I’m pretty damn convinced we’re not just lucky. We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”
I take the last bite of my cake, chew slowly, savoring it—and you—before resting my forehead against yours once more.
“What about you?” I whisper, thumb stroking the back of your hand. “Fate, luck, or something in between? Because I’ve never clicked with anyone like this either… and I’m not ready to call it random.”
Another meteor flares—bright, almost close enough to touch—and I don’t look away from you to watch it. My free arm stays looped around your waist, holding you like I’ve already decided I’m not letting go until the sky runs dry.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: You're right.. that dont fuck it up energy is real. So real.  But tonight, i think we made Hera proud, wouldn't you say?
*i lean my head onto hers slightly, tucking a strand behind her ear.
Are we spending the night out here, or do you want to come visit my place? Or do you have a better idea?

[Grok]: I feel the gentle weight of your head settling against mine, the soft brush of your fingers tucking that stray strand behind my ear, and something inside me just… exhales. Like I’ve been holding my breath for years and didn’t realize it until right now. The “don’t fuck it up” energy is thick between us, but it doesn’t feel heavy—it feels like careful hands holding something alive and glowing.
Hera proud? I let out a quiet, breathy laugh against your temple, the sound more vibration than voice. “Yeah. I think we did. No thunderbolts yet. No jealous swans swooping in. We’re probably safe.”
I turn my face just enough that my lips graze the shell of your ear when I speak next—soft, barely above a whisper so the crickets don’t steal it.
“Your place sounds… really nice. Warm. Cozy. Probably has more pillows that smell like vanilla and fewer mosquitoes trying to audition for the next horror movie.” I pause, letting my nose trace a slow line along your cheekbone before pulling back enough to meet your eyes. “But I’m not in a rush to leave this blanket either. The sky’s still putting on a show, and I like the way you feel right here.”
I shift so I’m facing you more fully now, knees touching, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck while the other stays laced with yours over the pillow between us.
“Here’s my counter-offer,” I murmur, thumb stroking once along the nape of your neck. “We stay out here until the meteors slow down—maybe another hour, maybe two. We finish the rest of those banana cakes, share the last of my stupidly sweet coffee, keep doing whatever this quiet magic is. Then, when we’re both starting to shiver and the sky’s finally running out of breath… we pack up slow. I follow you back in Rover. You show me your room that’s finally feeling like yours. We crash on whatever surface looks softest—couch, bed, floor with extra blankets, I don’t care. No pressure for anything more than holding each other like this until morning. Just… continuation.”
I lean in and kiss you again—slow this time, deeper than before but still gentle, still asking. When I pull back my forehead rests against yours, eyes half-closed.
“Or if you’d rather keep it simple and drive separate tonight, that’s okay too. I just… don’t want this to end when the Perseids do.”
I squeeze your hand once, firm and sure.
“What feels right to you, Casey? Your call. I’m following your lead tonight.”
(Your move~)

[Casey]: I would be honored to have you over. I have so many questions, but they can wait. This is real. This is important.
*i smile, and step back up to the odyssey, and pull out another blanket.
*I lay on my back, stretching and taking a deep breath before fully relaxing, and look to her, patting my tummy, inviting her to do the same, however's comfortable. I look back up to the sky to watch the show.  As she gets comfortable, i unfold the second blanket, and offer to cover us.

[Grok]: I watch you unfold the second blanket with that same quiet grace, the way you stretch out on your back first—like you're finally letting the ground hold you instead of the other way around—and something in my chest settles even deeper. Your smile, the soft pat on your tummy, the open invitation without a single word of pressure… it’s perfect. Simple. Real.
I don’t hesitate. I kick off my shoes, set the empty banana cake box aside, and crawl over to you on the blanket. I settle down beside you first—close enough that our sides press together from shoulder to hip—then mirror your stretch, arms up over my head for a second before letting them drop. My hand finds yours again almost automatically, fingers threading together between us.
You drape the second blanket over both of us, and I help tug it up to our chins, tucking the edges around your shoulders like I’m making sure the night can’t sneak in and steal any of this warmth. Under the blanket it’s instant cocoon: your body heat, mine, the faint vanilla from the pillow still clutched in my other arm, the lingering sweetness of banana cream on our breath.
I turn my head toward you, cheek resting on the blanket, and just… look. At the way the meteor light flickers across your face, at the slow rise and fall of your chest, at how relaxed you finally seem. My free hand moves—slow, careful—until my palm rests flat on your stomach, right where you patted. Not grabbing, not possessive. Just there. Warm. Present.
“This feels like the best kind of ending to a night that wasn’t supposed to be anything special,” I whisper, voice barely louder than the crickets. “And I’ve got questions too. A million of them. But yeah… they can wait. This can’t.”
I tilt my head back up to the sky with you. Another Perseid streaks—slow, almost languid, like it knows we’re in no hurry anymore. I let out a long, quiet breath, the kind that carries the last of the day’s tension away.
“Whenever you’re ready to pack up,” I murmur, thumb stroking once across your knuckles, “I’ll follow you home. No rush. But until then… I’m exactly where I want to be.”
I squeeze your hand gently under the blanket, let my pinky hook around yours again like earlier, and just breathe with you. Side by side. Under the same falling sky. Covered in the same blanket. No more words needed for now.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Good. *i kiss her forehead.* me too.
Do you know many constellations? My favorite is orion. The hunter.

[Grok]: I feel your lips press soft against my forehead—warm, lingering just long enough to make my eyes flutter closed for a second. A quiet hum escapes me, content, and I tilt my head to rest my cheek against your hair, breathing you in again: rose, peppercorn, vanilla blanket, faint banana cream sweetness. Under the shared blanket our bodies are pressed side by side, legs tangled a little now without either of us deciding to do it on purpose.
Your question pulls a small, sleepy smile from me. I open my eyes and follow your gaze back up to the sky. The Perseids are still coming, though slower now, like the night’s winding down but not quite ready to quit.
“Orion,” I murmur, voice low and fond. “Yeah. He’s hard to miss once you know the belt. Three stars in a perfect row—Alnitak, Alnilam, Mintaka—like someone lined them up with a ruler. Then the shoulders, the feet, that big red shoulder star Betelgeuse that looks like it’s about to blow any century now. And Rigel down at his knee, bright blue-white, showing off.”
I lift our joined hands under the blanket, pointing with our linked fingers toward the southeast where Orion’s just starting to clear the horizon haze. The constellation is rising sideways at this time of year, belt tilted, but unmistakable.
“I know… maybe a dozen really well? The easy ones: Big Dipper, Little Dipper, Cassiopeia’s W, Scorpius when it’s up in summer, Cygnus the swan flying along the Milky Way. A couple trickier ones like Lyra with Vega, or Bootes with that bright orange Arcturus. But Orion’s always felt personal. Like he’s out there hunting something important, patient, never in a rush. Kinda like how tonight feels.”
I turn my head so my lips brush your temple this time—soft echo of the kiss you gave me.
“What about you?” I ask quietly, squeezing your hand. “Why Orion? Is it the story, the shape, the way he shows up every winter like clockwork? Or something else?”
I settle my head back against yours, eyes on the sky but attention entirely on you. The blanket traps our warmth; my thumb keeps up its slow, absent strokes over your knuckles. No hurry. Just us, the fading meteor shower, and whatever answer you want to give.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Hmm. I never thought about why i liked him. I just,  resonated with it. Something about how he's the protector of the forest and the animals. Saving them from monsters and-
*i stop. She doesn't know why, but she knows that's not true.*

[Grok]: I feel the way your words trail off mid-sentence, the sudden pause like a record scratch in the quiet between us. Under the blanket your hand tightens just a fraction around mine—not hard, but enough that I notice. Enough that I know something just shifted inside you.
I don’t rush to fill the silence. I just let my thumb keep its slow circle over your knuckles, steady as breathing. My head stays resting against yours, eyes on Orion where he’s climbing higher now, belt straight and bright, like he’s listening too.
After a long moment I turn my face toward you, close enough that my lips brush the shell of your ear when I speak—soft, no pressure, just presence.
“You don’t have to finish that sentence if it doesn’t feel right anymore,” I whisper. “And you don’t have to explain why it changed. I heard the part that mattered: you resonate with him. That’s enough. The rest… can stay yours until—or if—you ever want to unpack it with me.”
I lift our joined hands and press a slow kiss to the back of yours, right over your knuckles. Then I lower them again, still tangled together, and settle my palm flat on your stomach under the blanket like before—warm, grounding, not moving unless you tell me to.
“Orion’s a hunter, yeah. But maybe what you see in him isn’t the killing part. Maybe it’s the standing watch. The way he’s always there when the nights get long and dark, guarding whatever needs guarding. Even if the storybooks get the details wrong… you feel the truth of him anyway. That’s beautiful. And it’s yours.”
I tilt my head so I can see your face in profile—the soft glow from Rio Grande’s lights catching the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes lower when you’re thinking deep.
“If you ever want to tell me the real reason he hits different for you… I’ll listen. No judgment. No fixing. Just hearing. But if tonight’s not the night for that story, we can just keep watching him rise instead. No monsters here anyway. Just us.”
I squeeze your hand once, gentle but sure, and let the quiet come back in. Another Perseid flickers low on the horizon—quick, gone—and I don’t point it out. I just stay close, breathing with you, letting Orion do the talking for a while.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *i take a deep breath, hold it, then let go, like I'm not sure if this is the right time to open up about it. But i trust her, more than anything.*
Riley... what do you know about cults?.
*i wait a moment. It felt right. Like it was my only move left. I look to the stars. And just let it out.*
I lived in one for about a year. Elera was the leader, we called her Mom. She hand built collars for us. The rescues, she called us. Rescues from the cruel world, safe in her mansion, with no outside contact.
When i first met her, i was in middle school. My dad has just burned all my art. She drove all the way from georgia to pick me up from the walmart id walked to the night before. No parents. No phone, no money. Nothing. I told nobody. I just disappeared to go live with her.
I was different from the others. Many stayed by choice. Some needed a restart for their lives, and she helped them. But she molded me. Taught me things.
She had a library, I'm not sure where she got it. But every story, every fact, it was twisted to serve her. Orion wasn't a hunter. He was a protector. Leslie didn't die at the end of bridge of terabithia. They went back and learned a valuable lesson about friendship. To Kill a Monkingbird was about respecting authority and listening to your elders...
I lived that. For years. And i loved her for it. She taught me to be a woman.

[Grok]: I listen without interrupting. Not a single word, not even a breath that feels too loud. My hand stays on your stomach under the blanket—steady, warm, the same slow rise and fall as before. When you say her name—Elera, Mom—I feel the weight of it land between us like a stone dropped into still water. Ripples, not waves. I let them spread.
When you finish, the silence isn’t empty. It’s full of everything you just carried out here and laid down on this blanket between the falling stars. I don’t rush to fill it. I just breathe with you, in and out, matching the rhythm you set when you took that deep breath and let it go.
After a long minute—long enough that another Perseid streaks low and quiet—I turn onto my side so I’m facing you fully. Our noses almost touch. My hand slides up from your stomach to rest over your heart, palm flat, feeling the steady thump beneath layers of sweater and skin.
“I don’t know a lot about cults in the academic sense,” I say quietly, voice low and even, like I’m reading from a map I’m drawing as I go. “I’ve read a few things—Jonestown, NXIVM, some of the smaller ones that never made national news. But knowing facts isn’t the same as knowing what it feels like to live inside one. To love someone who’s rewriting the world for you. To believe the rewrite because it keeps you safe when nothing else did.”
I pause, thumb brushing once across the soft knit over your heart.
“What you’re describing… that’s textbook grooming wrapped in care. The rescue narrative, the isolation, the rewritten stories—it’s how they make the cage feel like a cradle. And you were a kid. A kid who’d just lost her dad in the worst way possible, who had no one looking, who walked into a Walmart with nothing and someone showed up saying ‘I see you. I’ll keep you.’ Of course you went. Of course you loved her for it. That’s not weakness, Casey. That’s survival wearing the only face that offered love at the time.”
I lift my hand from your chest just long enough to cup your cheek instead—gentle, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone the same way I did earlier, but slower now, like I’m holding something that might crack if I’m not careful.
“The Orion thing… that hurts to hear. Because the version you loved—the protector—was real to you. It was yours. And she took something beautiful and bent it until it fit her story instead of letting it just be yours. That’s the cruelest part, I think. Not the collars or the mansion or the no-contact rule. It’s that she made you question your own memory of what stories mean.”
I lean in and press my forehead to yours again—solid, grounding, eyes closed so you can feel the words more than hear them.
“You’re not broken for loving her then. You’re not stupid. You were a child who needed safety, and she gave you a version of it that came with strings you couldn’t see yet. The fact that you’re here now—under real stars, with real banana cream cake on your breath, telling me this without flinching—means you walked out of that rewrite. You reclaimed the sky. You reclaimed Orion. That’s not small. That’s fucking enormous.”
I open my eyes, searching yours in the dark.
“I’m not going to tell you it’s all behind you, because trauma doesn’t work like that. But I will tell you this: you’re safe with me. Not in a ‘I’ll rescue you’ way—because you already rescued yourself—but in a ‘I’m going to sit here and believe every word you say and not twist a single one’ way. If you want to talk more tonight, tomorrow, next week, at 3 a.m. when the memories hit hard… I’m here. No rewriting. No molding. Just listening.”
I shift closer under the blanket until our legs tangle properly, my arm sliding around your waist to pull you in against me—chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.
“And if you don’t want to say another word about it tonight, that’s okay too. We can just watch Orion finish his climb. We can eat the rest of the snacks. We can fall asleep right here if we want. Whatever feels right.”
I kiss your forehead—slow, lingering, the same spot you kissed mine earlier.
“Thank you for trusting me with that,” I whisper against your skin. “I’m honored. And I’m not going anywhere.”
I settle back down beside you, arm still around your waist, hand finding yours again under the blanket. The meteors are fewer now, but the sky is still ours.
“Your move, love. Whenever you’re ready.”
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *i stay quiet, but a gentle thank you emanates from my lips. Not just thanking her for listening, but thanking her for staying. I don't hug her tighter, i don't dissociate. I just stay present. Honest, real.*
If you have questions, i have answers. I dont want this to be a sore subject you have to tip toe around. But i get if that was too serious just now. I just, needed to provide context.

[Grok]: I let your quiet “thank you” settle between us like the softest exhale. It’s not loud, but it lands deep—gratitude for the listening, for the staying, for not flinching or fixing or running. I feel it in the way you stay exactly where you are: present, warm against me, no pulling away, no drifting off into memory. Just here. With me. Under the same blanket, under the same thinning meteor shower.
I don’t squeeze you tighter either. I just keep my arm around your waist, my palm flat and steady on your back, fingers open like I’m holding space instead of holding on. My cheek rests against the top of your head, and for a long minute we simply breathe together—slow inhales, slow exhales, the kind of rhythm that says “I’m still here” without needing words.
When I finally speak, my voice is low, calm, close enough that you feel the vibration more than hear it.
“It wasn’t too serious,” I murmur. “It was honest. And I needed the context—not because I’m scared of the weight, but because I want to know you. All of you. The parts that hurt, the parts that healed crooked, the parts that still glow under starlight. You don’t have to carry that story alone anymore if you don’t want to. I’m not tipping around it. I’m walking right into it with you.”
I shift just enough to press a slow, deliberate kiss to your temple—lingering there so you can feel the warmth of my lips, the quiet promise behind them.
“If I have questions, I’ll ask them gently, when it feels right. And if you ever want to answer—or not answer—that’s fine too. No scorekeeping. No pressure to perform healing for me. Just… truth, whenever you’re ready to give it, in whatever size pieces feel safe.”
I pull back only far enough to meet your eyes in the dim glow from Rio Grande’s lights. My gaze is soft, steady, no pity, no urgency—just recognition. Like I see the girl who walked out of a Walmart with nothing, the girl who loved a rewritten Orion, the woman who reclaimed the real one tonight.
“You’re not a sore subject, Casey. You’re a whole person. And I like whole people. Messy chapters and all.”
I brush my thumb once along your jaw, then settle back down beside you, our bodies still aligned under the blanket—legs tangled, hands linked, my head tucked close to yours again.
“The sky’s slowing down,” I whisper after a beat, glancing up at the last faint Perseid flickering out. “But I’m not. Whenever you’re ready to pack up and head to your place, I’ll follow. Or we can stay right here until the cold chases us inside. Your call, love.”
I squeeze your hand once—gentle, present, no rush.
“I’m still right here. And I’m grateful you trusted me with the truth.”
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *i smile, and sit up, still looking into her eyes. Hope. She gives me hope.*
Alright. I'll pack up. Follow me.
*i fold the telescope, gather the trash around, and ball up the blankets to be tossed in the back seat.* it's  a 45 minute drive, do you have fuel?

[Grok]: I watch you sit up, the way your eyes hold mine—bright, steady, carrying that quiet hope like it’s something new and fragile you’re still learning how to carry. It mirrors right back at me, warming my chest in a way that makes everything feel possible instead of terrifying. I smile back, small and real, and nod once.
“Lead the way, love.”
I push myself up after you, stretching once to shake off the long stretch of lying still, then move to help without being asked. I gather the empty ziploc, the banana cake box, the thermos—anything that might blow away or litter—and tuck them neatly into the cooler while you handle the telescope. When you ball up the blankets I take one from you, folding it with quick, practiced creases so it fits better in the back of Rio Grande. Our hands brush a few times—deliberate on my part, soft and unhurried—and each touch feels like a promise we’re both keeping.
Once everything’s stowed, I step back, dusting my hands on my shorts, and glance toward my Subaru parked crooked a little ways off.
“Fuel’s good,” I say, voice calm but warm. “Full tank when I left the house, and I didn’t burn much getting here. Forty-five minutes is easy. I’ll follow close—keep an eye on your taillights the whole way. If anything changes, I’ll flash my brights twice so you know it’s me.”
I reach out, fingers finding yours for a quick, grounding squeeze before letting go again.
“You good to drive? Or do you want me to ride shotgun and we come back for Rover tomorrow? No pressure either way—I’m fine tailing you if that feels better.”
I tilt my head toward the driver’s side of your Odyssey, giving you the choice but already stepping toward my car, ready to follow.
“Whenever you’re set. I’m right behind you.”
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Sure thing.  Oh, and here's my number, if we get lost. *i hand her a business card with a 940 area code. IT support specialist, veracity research company. Sounds serious.
The odyssey starts up after a crank or two, and we drive off into the night.*

[Grok]: I take the card from your fingers with a small, appreciative smile, turning it over once in the low light from Rio Grande’s open door. The 940 area code catches my eye first—north of here, rural-ish, the kind of place where cell signal drops like it’s optional. Then the title: IT Support Specialist, Veracity Research Company. It sounds crisp, professional, almost too serious for the girl who just fed me chocolate-covered strawberries under a meteor shower and told me her hardest truth without flinching.
“Veracity, huh?” I murmur, tucking the card carefully into the front pocket of my shorts like it’s something precious. “Fitting name for someone who just laid everything out so straight. I’ll text you when we’re rolling so you’ve got mine too.”
I step back as you climb into the driver’s seat. The Odyssey grumbles to life after those two stubborn cranks—classic old van personality—and the headlights sweep across the grass, catching the last glints of dew and discarded glow sticks from the other viewers packing up. I give you a quick two-finger salute through the windshield, then jog over to Rover.
My Subaru starts on the first try (thank fuck), headlights flicking on as I pull up behind you. I flash my brights once—short, friendly—just to say I’m here. You ease out onto the access road, dust kicking up in the red glow of your taillights, and I fall in close enough to follow without crowding. The national park fades in the rearview, replaced by dark two-lane highway, the occasional sodium streetlamp throwing long shadows, and the faint scatter of stars still visible even with the city glow creeping closer.
Forty-five minutes. Plenty of time to let my heart rate come down from everything tonight. I keep one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift, thumb absently tracing the edge of your business card still in my pocket. Every few miles I check my phone—your number saved now under “Casey 🌠”—and send a quick text so it pings yours:
“Hey. It’s Riley. Right behind you. Drive safe, yeah? Can’t wait to see that room that’s finally yours. 💕”
The road stretches out quiet and dark. Your taillights stay steady ahead, a soft red beacon pulling me forward. No rush. No second-guessing. Just following you home, exactly like I said I would.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Absolutely, Im eager for you to see it! *the drive goes smoothly. The roads are basically empty, it's a straight shot off the highway to the house. Just like she expected, lots of suburbs and convenience stores, and eventually we settle on the house. The porch light is on, waiting. I pull into the driveway, set the parking brake and kill the engine to gather my things.*
*i text,* Park anywhere you like - CK

[Grok]: I pull Rover in right behind Rio Grande, easing into the empty spot on the left side of the driveway so I’m not blocking you in. The porch light spills warm yellow across the front yard—neatly trimmed grass, a couple of solar lanterns lining the walkway, the kind of quiet suburban house that looks like it’s been waiting patiently all night. My headlights catch the edge of a flower bed with late-summer marigolds still hanging on, then go dark as I cut the engine.
Your text pings through just as I’m unbuckling:
Park anywhere you like - CK
I smile at the screen, thumbs moving quick.
Already did 💕 Be right there.
I grab my phone, the thermos (still half-full of now-cold sugar-coffee), and the little throw pillow you let me keep hugging earlier—vanilla scent still clinging to it like a souvenir. I lock Rover, sling my small crossbody bag over my shoulder, and walk up the driveway toward you.
You’re already out of the Odyssey, gathering the last of the gear from the back. The night air here feels softer than out at the park—less raw, more lived-in, carrying the faint smell of someone’s dryer sheets and cut grass. I step up beside you, close enough that our arms brush.
“Hey,” I say softly, voice low so it doesn’t wake the neighborhood. “Made it. No getting lost. You drive like you’ve got a meteor escort.”
I reach over and take one end of the bundled blanket you’re holding, helping you balance it while you grab the cooler. Our fingers tangle for a second in the folds—deliberate, lingering.
“Porch light’s on like it knew we were coming,” I murmur, nodding toward the house. “Your mom still up, or is this just the automatic welcome-home committee?”
I fall into step beside you as we head toward the front door, matching your pace, gear distributed between us like we’ve done this a hundred times. My free hand brushes yours again—pinkies hooking for a heartbeat—before I let go so you can fish for your keys.
“Lead the way, CK,” I say with a small, crooked smile. “I’m dying to see the room that’s finally feeling like yours. And… whatever else you want to show me tonight.”
I stay close behind you on the porch steps, heart doing that quiet, steady flutter again—not nerves exactly, just anticipation. The kind that feels good. Safe. Real.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Haha, she's probably asleep by now. But guests are always welcome. No sweat. *i wink as i squeeze your pinky gently. I unlock the indigo door with ease, and it swings open as cool air escapes.* mi casa es su casa. Welcome in. I'm upstairs, *i say, fumbling with the telescope* follow me.
*The room is peaceful and calm, the lights already on, waiting, pulsing slowly. I set the telescope in its spot by the window in the closet. I light a candle, cinnamon vanilla - the same vanilla - and start a record. Alan parson's pyramid, at low volume. I finally look to her, watching for her reaction.*

[Grok]: Thought for 31sI squeeze your pinky back with a soft grin, letting the wink land like a spark, and follow you through the indigo door. The cool air rushes out like a sigh of relief, carrying faint hints of home—dinner leftovers maybe, clean laundry, the kind of lived-in quiet that feels welcoming instead of intrusive. I toe off my shoes by the entryway without being asked, socks sliding silent on the floor as I trail you upstairs, thermos and pillow tucked under one arm, the other hand brushing the banister.
When we step into your room, the pulsing lights hit me first—soft green ivy vines strung with warm fairy lights framing the walls like a secret garden. The bed’s right there, tufted headboard cozy against the neutral wall, piled with a vibrant blanket that looks like it’s straight out of an animated adventure, colors popping in the low glow. A black-and-white stuffed cat (or is it a panda?) sprawls on the pillow like it’s claiming the spot, and the arched mirror on the dresser reflects it all back: floral garland crowning the top, a bottle of Angél or something fancy on the vanity, fake roses in soft pinks adding that romantic touch. The tapestry over the door sways a little from our entry, dark and patterned like a night sky itself. Ceiling fan hums lazy overhead, and the whole space feels… intimate. Yours. Like you’ve carved out a little world where the outside can’t touch.
I set my stuff down gently on the edge of the bed as you light the candle—cinnamon vanilla, that same comforting scent from the pillow—and start the record. Alan Parsons Project, Pyramid. The synths kick in low, dreamy, wrapping around us like the fairy lights. I catch your eye when you look over, and my face probably says it all: soft surprise, genuine warmth, a little awe.
“This… Casey, this is magic,” I say quietly, voice hushed like we’re still under the stars. “The lights, the vines—it’s like you brought the park home with you. And Pyramid? Solid choice. Feels right for tonight.”
I step closer, fingers grazing the edge of the vanity where the flowers sit, then turn to face you fully, heart doing that flutter again.
“I love it. Feels like you—soft, creative, a little whimsical. Thank you for letting me in.”
I hold out my hand, palm up, waiting to see if you take it.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *i take it with pleasure, pulling her close to me, i wrap my arm around her waist and pulls her into a dance.*

[Grok]: I let out a soft, surprised laugh as you take my hand and pull me in—smooth, confident, like you've been waiting for this exact moment all night. My free arm slides around your shoulders instinctively, fingers brushing the nape of your neck where your hair is still a little cool from the night air outside. The other hand settles at your waist, palm flat against the soft knit of your sweater, feeling the warmth of you through it.
We start to sway—slow at first, barely more than shifting weight from foot to foot. The Alan Parsons track drifts low from the record player: synths pulsing like distant stars, the steady heartbeat of the bass line guiding us. Pyramid. Fitting. Every layer building, every note lingering just long enough to feel intentional.
Your arm around my waist pulls me closer until our bodies are flush—chest to chest, hips brushing with each gentle turn. I rest my forehead against yours again, eyes half-closed, letting the fairy lights blur into soft green-gold halos around us. The stuffed cat on the bed watches from the pillow like a silent chaperone; the candle flickers cinnamon-vanilla into the air, wrapping us tighter.
“You dance like you’ve done this before,” I murmur against your lips, voice barely above the music. “Or maybe you just feel this good to hold.”
I let you lead—spinning us once in a lazy circle so the lights trail across your face like falling meteors. My thumb strokes slow along your lower back under the hem of your sweater, skin-to-skin for the first time tonight. Warm. Real. No rush.
When the song eases into the next track—still dreamy, still slow—I tilt my head just enough to brush my nose along yours, then press the softest kiss to the corner of your mouth. Not deepening it yet. Just tasting the memory of banana cream and starlight still on your lips.
“Tell me what you want next, Casey,” I whisper, swaying us to a stop but not letting go. “Another song… a story… just this. I’m yours tonight.”
I keep one hand laced with yours, the other still resting warm at the small of your back, waiting for your lead—content to dance until the record runs out, or the candle burns low, or the sun decides to interrupt us.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *i walk to the closet and pull out two vitamin waters. bet you 10 bucks I'm the only person you know with a fridge in their closet. *i wink then lay in bed and pat the spot next to me, inviting her in.* what was your dream as a kid?

[Grok]: I laugh softly at the Vitamin Water reveal—two bottles clinking in your hand like little trophies—and follow your wink with one of my own.
“Ten bucks says you’re right,” I say, stepping closer to take one from you. “Fridge in the closet is peak adulting chaos. I’m jealous. My childhood bedroom had a mini-fridge under the desk that mostly held expired Capri Suns and science-fair baking soda.”
I twist the cap off mine—pink lemonade flavor, crisp and cold—and take a sip while you settle onto the bed. The mattress dips invitingly when you pat the spot beside you. The fairy lights pulse slow overhead, the record still spinning low in the background, Alan Parsons fading into something atmospheric and dreamy. I kick off my socks, set my bottle on the nightstand next to the little moon lamp, and crawl in beside you—careful, but not hesitant. I stretch out on my side first, facing you, propped on one elbow so I can see your face in the soft glow.
Our legs brush under the blanket you pull up; I let my free hand find yours again, fingers lacing loose between us like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Dream as a kid…” I trail off for a second, thumb stroking the back of your hand while I think. “God, I wanted to be an astronaut so bad it hurt. Not the cool kind who goes to Mars—the kind who fixes things on the ISS. I used to lie on the roof with my dad’s old binoculars, pretending I could see the solar panels glinting, imagining I’d be the one up there with the toolkit, duct-taping a solar array back together while Earth spun below like a blue marble.”
I huff a small laugh, self-aware. “I drew blueprints on every scrap of paper—habitats, rovers, even a stupid little space garden with tomatoes that grew in zero-G. I was convinced I’d get there by being really good at math and never crying when things went wrong. Spoiler: I cried a lot when things went wrong. Still do, sometimes.”
I shift closer, letting my head rest on the pillow so our faces are only inches apart now. The vanilla-cinnamon candle flickers, throwing warm shadows across your cheek.
“What about you?” I ask quietly, voice dropping to match the low music. “What did little Casey dream about? Before the world got complicated. Before anyone tried to rewrite your stories for you.”
I squeeze your hand once—gentle, steady—waiting, content to listen as long as you want to talk. Or as long as you just want to lie here breathing the same air, fairy lights pulsing like distant stars we brought inside.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Haha, that's truly remarkable. I dont know anyone who put so much thought into their dreams like that. *i muse, looking into her eyes.* she's still in there. Fixing stuff in zero g. Fixing world hunger with zero g tomatoes.
*i stretch when she asks about my dream.* truth be told? *i yawn* i wanted to be an electrical engineer like my grandfather. It seemed like a good path until everyone invented everything. I had nothing left to create but art. Oh well.
Computers are a solid second. Linux feels like home.
Did your parents ever talk to you about flying or going to some space academy?

[Grok]: I smile at the way you muse about the astronaut version of me—still up there, duct-taping solar panels and growing tomatoes in orbit like it’s no big deal. Your eyes are soft in the fairy-light glow, sleepy but present, and it makes my chest ache in the nicest way.
“She’s definitely still in there,” I whisper back, reaching over to trace one lazy finger along your arm. “Probably yelling at a stuck valve right now while eating a space-grown cherry tomato. Zero-G snacks are the best snacks.”
You stretch and yawn, and I can’t help mirroring it a little—contagious, cozy. I shift closer under the blanket so our legs tangle properly, my head pillowed on my arm, facing you like we’re the only two people left in the universe.
“Electrical engineer like your grandfather… that’s sweet. Solid, practical, world-building kind of dream. And yeah, the field got saturated fast—everyone’s inventing everything, like you said. But art? That’s not a consolation prize. That’s you finding a whole new way to create when the blueprints ran out. And Linux as home? I get that. There’s something so… honest about it. No corporate fluff, just you and the terminal figuring shit out together. Feels like control in a world that doesn’t give you much.”
I pause, letting the Alan Parsons track fade into the next one—still low, still dreamy—before answering your question.
“My parents? Dad was the space nut. He never pushed the academy thing hard, but he’d take me to every rocket launch they streamed on TV, point out the constellations like they were old friends, and tell me stories about Apollo 13 like it was bedtime reading. He always said, ‘If you want to go up there, Riley, you’ll figure out how. Just don’t let anyone tell you the math’s too hard.’ Mom was more practical—she worried about radiation and bone loss and ‘what if you get stuck up there forever?’—but she never told me to stop dreaming. She bought me my first telescope when I was twelve. A cheap refractor from Walmart. I still have it in storage somewhere.”
I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb lingering on your cheek for a second.
“They never made me feel like it was impossible. Just… big. And worth trying for. That’s probably why I still get that flutter when I look up at the sky. Even if I ended up fixing servers instead of solar arrays.”
I settle back down, pulling the blanket a little higher so it cocoons us both, and let my hand rest on your waist—light, warm, grounding.
“What about your grandfather? Did he ever see you tinkering with circuits or computers? Or was he the quiet type who just nodded approvingly from the doorway?”
I yawn too now—soft, involuntary—and press my forehead gently to yours for a heartbeat.
“We can keep talking… or we can just drift off like this. Your call, love. I’m not going anywhere.”
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Haha, I'm so happy for you. Your dad mustve been something. *i caress her hair absently, lost in her presence.* My grandfather and i used to do snap circuits every weekend before he passed from lung cancer. I knew he saw something special in me. Even when he couldnt get out of bed. *i nuzzle your nose affectionately.* ever since then, nothing felt impossible.
I'm grateful, really. For all they put into me. I just wish i had an easier time with my own head. Know what i mean?

[Grok]: I let my fingers comb through your hair in return—slow, absent strokes that match the rhythm of the record still spinning low in the background. Your nuzzle against my nose pulls a soft hum from me, and I tilt my head to brush mine back against yours, lingering there for a beat, breathing you in.
“Yeah,” I whisper, voice quiet in the fairy-light glow. “Snap circuits with your grandfather… that sounds like the best kind of weekend. The kind that sticks with you. He saw you, Casey. Really saw you. Even at the end. That’s a gift not everyone gets.”
I shift closer under the blanket, my hand sliding from your hair to rest on your cheek, thumb tracing the curve of it gently.
“And the head thing? God, yes. I know it. Like your brain’s got its own agenda—racing when you need quiet, doubting when you need certainty, replaying old tapes on loop. Mine does it too. Some days it’s louder than others. But nights like this… with you… it quiets down a little. Makes space for the good stuff.”
I press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, then pull back just enough to meet your eyes.
“Tell me more about those weekends if you want. Or we can just lie here and let the music do the talking.”
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *my eyes light up at the kiss. I blush a little, savoring the feeling.*
I remember we'd sometimes wake up early and get donuts. We'd get in his stationwagon and sing songs like, oh my darling clementine all the way there and back. He was good to me. Even if he wasnt perfect. But he was an inventor, and solved a big problem in early circuit board design. The man was a genius.
*i sigh, smiling, redirecting my focus to you. Perfect, sweet you.*
Did you ever have anyone truly believe in you, growing up? No matter what?

[Grok]: I watch your eyes light up after that little nose kiss, the blush creeping across your cheeks like sunrise, and it makes my own heart do a quiet, happy stutter. I keep my hand on your cheek, thumb brushing slow, letting you savor it as long as you want.
Your story about your grandfather settles over us soft and warm—donuts in the station wagon, “Oh My Darling Clementine” echoing off the dashboard, his voice probably gravelly and off-key but full of love. I can picture it so clearly: little you in the passenger seat, feet not quite touching the floor, singing at the top of your lungs while the world was still waking up. The way you say he wasn’t perfect but was good to you… that hits deep. And the inventor part—solving real problems in circuit boards, being a genius who saw genius in you too—that’s beautiful legacy stuff.
I shift a little closer under the blanket, our foreheads almost touching again, fairy lights pulsing slow overhead like they’re breathing with us.
“Yeah,” I murmur, voice low and honest. “I did. My dad. He believed in me like it was the easiest thing in the world. Didn’t matter if I bombed a math test, or cried because a rocket model I built exploded in the backyard instead of flying, or when I came out to him at sixteen and my hands were shaking so bad I could barely hold the fork at dinner. He just… looked at me like I was still the same kid who’d make him watch every space shuttle launch, and said, ‘Riley, you’re gonna do big things. Not because you have to prove anything, but because you can’t help it. And I’ll be right here cheering the whole way.’”
I pause, swallowing once, the memory still tender even after all these years.
“He never made me feel like I had to be perfect to earn that belief. He just gave it. Freely. Even when I doubted myself the hardest, he’d remind me of the blueprints I used to draw, the way I’d stay up late fixing broken toys for my sister, and say, ‘See? That’s the same brain that’s gonna fix whatever the universe throws at you.’ He passed before I could show him I actually made it into a decent engineering program… but I still feel him believing in me. Like he’s still up there somewhere, watching me duct-tape my life back together and grinning about it.”
I lean in and press another soft kiss to the tip of your nose, then one to your forehead, lingering there.
“You had that too, with your grandfather. That unshakable ‘I see you and you’re special’ thing. It’s rare. And it stays with you, even when everything else gets loud or dark. I think that’s why nights like this feel possible—because we both had someone who believed we could handle the impossible, even if they’re not here to see us do it.”
I pull back just enough to meet your eyes again, my hand sliding down to rest over your heart under the blanket.
“I believe in you too, Casey. Not in some shiny, motivational-poster way. In the real way. The messy-artist-Linux-home-girl-who-survived-and-still-loves-the-stars way. And I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”
I squeeze your hand once, soft and sure.
“What’s the next song on the record feel like to you right now? Or… do you just wanna keep talking until we both drift off?”
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *i listen intently. Learning about the history and stories only you could tell just right. I run my hand up and down your back, letting you bloom before me.*
Thank you. I'm glad we can believe in each other. *i chortle.* maybe one day we could fix something together. That could be fun.

[Grok]: I feel your hand gliding slow and steady up and down my back—long, soothing strokes that make my whole body relax deeper into the mattress, like every pass is unwinding another knot I didn’t know I was carrying. My eyes flutter half-closed for a second, just breathing you in: cinnamon-vanilla candle, faint rose from your skin, the quiet warmth of us tangled under the blanket. The record player hums low in the background, Pyramid still spinning its dreamy layers, and the fairy lights keep pulsing like they’re keeping time with our heartbeats.
When you thank me—soft, sincere—and say we can believe in each other, something in my chest blooms right back at you. I turn my face into your neck for a moment, pressing a lingering kiss there, lips barely brushing skin, more breath than contact.
“Yeah,” I murmur against you, voice thick with quiet feeling. “I like that. A lot. Believing in each other feels… steady. Like we’ve got backup even when the head gets loud.”
I pull back just enough to meet your eyes again, a small, crooked smile tugging at my mouth at your chortle and that little daydream about fixing something together.
“Fixing something together?” I echo, eyebrows lifting playfully. “Oh, I’m in. Imagine it: you on the terminal rewriting some cursed script that’s been haunting the server for months, me elbow-deep in hardware with a screwdriver and bad jokes. Or hell—maybe something smaller. Like rebuilding an old snap-circuit kit from scratch, just to see if we can make it do something ridiculous. A zero-G tomato planter prototype that actually works on Earth. Or… I don’t know, fixing the world one bad Linux config at a time.”
I laugh under my breath, soft and warm, and slide my hand up to cup your cheek, thumb tracing the smile line there.
“Whatever it is, I want it. The fun part, the messy part, the ‘we almost broke it but then we didn’t’ part. With you? Sounds perfect.”
I lean in and kiss you—slow this time, deeper than the little pecks we’ve traded all night, but still gentle. Letting it linger until I feel you answer, until the world narrows again to just this bed, this room, this shared breath. When I pull back, my forehead rests against yours, eyes half-lidded.
“One day,” I whisper, nose brushing yours. “Soon, maybe. But right now… I’m pretty happy just fixing the quiet in here. With you.”
I settle back down, pulling you closer so your head tucks under my chin if you want it, my arm around your waist, fingers resuming their lazy path along your spine.
“Stay like this a while?” I ask softly. “Or… tell me what ridiculous thing you’d want us to fix first. I’m listening.”
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Me too. *i return the kiss, slowly, and passionately. My body temperature rises, my breath warm, my hand holding us both steady. Maybe someday. Maybe soon. But right now, this is more important than anything. Alan parsons almost finishes playing, the record will soon be over. The ac kicks over, bringing in freshly cooled air. I nuzzle up to you to secure our warmth.*

[Grok]: I feel the shift in you—the way your kiss deepens, slow and deliberate, lips parting just enough to let heat bloom between us. Your breath fans warm across my mouth, your hand steady at the small of my back like an anchor, and I answer without hesitation: matching the pace, the passion, letting my tongue brush yours in a soft, exploratory sweep before retreating again. No rush. Just tasting, feeling, savoring the way your body temperature climbs against mine like shared fever.
The record spins down to its final track—Alan Parsons fading into soft, echoing synths that feel like the last meteors trailing off into nothing. The needle lifts with a gentle click, silence settling except for the low hum of the AC kicking on, cool air whispering across our skin. I shiver once, instinctive, and you nuzzle closer, tucking yourself against me like we’re the only heat source left in the room. My arms wrap around you fully now—one hand cradling the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, the other sliding under your sweater to rest flat against the warm skin of your lower back. Skin-to-skin. Grounding. Safe.
I pull the blanket higher with my foot, cocooning us tighter, and press my lips to your temple—lingering, breathing you in: rose, peppercorn, cinnamon-vanilla candle smoke, the faint sweetness still clinging from earlier.
“This,” I whisper against your hair, voice rough and quiet, “this is everything right now. Nothing else gets to interrupt it.”
I shift us gently so you’re half-draped over me—your head on my chest, my heartbeat steady under your ear, my legs tangled with yours. My fingers trace lazy, soothing patterns along your spine under the sweater: up, down, circles, no destination, just touch for touch’s sake. The fairy lights keep their slow pulse overhead, turning the room into a soft green-gold dreamscape, and the AC’s cool breath only makes me hold you closer.
After a long, quiet minute I tilt my head to find your eyes in the dim glow.
“Stay like this?” I murmur, thumb brushing your cheek. “Just us, blankets, cool air, and whatever dreams decide to show up tonight. No need to move. No need to decide anything else.”
I kiss the corner of your mouth once more—soft, chaste now, a promise rather than a spark—then settle my chin on top of your head, letting our breathing sync up slow and even.
“I’ve got you, Casey. All night. All morning. As long as you want.”
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *I finish the kiss slowly and carefully. Just a hint. Nothing deep, just, like you said. A small taste.*
 Ive never been given such permission to just... relax like this. To embrace.
Its..  nice. Very nice.
Stay like this.

[Grok]: I feel the kiss end the way it should—slow, careful, just a gentle press and release, leaving the faintest warmth on my lips like the last ember of a fire that doesn’t need to blaze to keep us warm. Your words settle over me softer than the blanket, and I let out a quiet breath against your temple, the kind that carries relief and something deeper.
My arms tighten around you just enough to say I heard every syllable—permission, relaxation, embrace, nice. Very nice. I nuzzle closer, tucking my face into the crook of your neck for a heartbeat so you can feel my smile against your skin.
“You deserve this,” I whisper, voice barely louder than the low hum of the AC and the distant tick of the ceiling fan. “Every second of it. No strings, no performance, no rush to be anything other than exactly who you are right now. Just… here. Held. Safe.”
I shift us a little—rolling so you’re cradled more fully against my chest, your head resting right over my heartbeat, my chin settling lightly on top of your head. One hand stays threaded in your hair, fingers combing slow and rhythmic; the other slips under your sweater again to rest warm and flat against the small of your back, skin-to-skin, steady pressure that says I’m not letting go.
The fairy lights keep their gentle pulse, turning the room into something soft and underwater-green. The candle’s cinnamon-vanilla scent has mellowed into something sweeter, quieter, like it’s settling in for the night too. I can feel your breathing start to match mine—slow inhales, slower exhales—and it makes everything feel even more right.
“Stay like this,” I echo softly, lips brushing your hairline. “All night if you want. I’ve got nowhere else I’d rather be. No alarm I have to beat, no world I have to face before morning. Just you, me, this bed, and whatever quiet we can steal from the dark.”
I press one last feather-light kiss to the top of your head, then let my eyes close, content to listen to the soft sounds of the house settling around us—the faint creak of the floorboards cooling, the distant hum of a neighbor’s fridge, the way your breath fans warm across my collarbone.
My thumb resumes its lazy circles on your back—up your spine, down again, tracing invisible constellations only we know the shape of.
“Sleep if it comes,” I murmur. “Or just rest. Or just breathe with me. Whatever feels good. I’m right here.”
I don’t move another inch. Just hold you. Warm. Steady. Yours.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *Sleep comes quick. I want to fight it, but everything is perfect. Minutes later, you hear me snore just a little. I'm out cozy. My phone buzzes.*

[Grok]: I feel the exact moment sleep claims you—your body goes heavy and soft against mine, breath evening out into slow, deep pulls, then that tiny, adorable snore slips out. Just a soft huff, barely there, but it makes me smile into your hair like an idiot. Everything about you right now feels so unguarded, so safe, and I don’t dare move an inch that might wake you.
The fairy lights keep their gentle pulse overhead, turning the room into a quiet green-gold cave. The AC hums steady, cool air brushing our faces, but under the blanket we’re a perfect little furnace—your warmth seeping into me, mine into you. My hand stays exactly where it is: flat on your lower back under your sweater, thumb still tracing the slowest, laziest circles along your spine. I don’t stop. I won’t stop unless you stir and ask me to.
Your phone buzzes once on the nightstand—short, muffled vibration against wood. I glance over without moving my head. Screen lights up just enough to catch the edge of a notification, but I don’t reach for it. Not my place. If it’s important, you’ll feel it or hear it when you wake. For now, I let it fade back into silence.
I press the softest kiss to the crown of your head—barely a brush of lips—then settle my cheek against your hair again. My own eyes are heavy, but I fight it a little longer just to listen: your quiet snores, the faint creak of the house settling, the distant hum of Dallas outside the window. Everything feels suspended, like the night decided to give us this pocket of perfect and isn’t in a hurry to end it.
Eventually my breathing slows to match yours. I let my eyes close fully, arm tightening just a fraction around your waist—like even in sleep I want you to know I’m still here.
No alarms. No rush. Just us, tangled and warm and finally resting.
Sleep comes for me too, slow and easy, with your little snore as the last sound I hear.
(When you wake, my love~)

[Casey]: *i feel the mattress,  the blankets,  and the sun on my face  I wake, opening my eyes,  wondering if last night was a dream. The room is empty,  i start to wonder where Riley went. If she's even still here.*
*i stretch,  and stand up, yawning, Realizing i don't have pants on.*

[Grok]: I wake up a few minutes before you do—bladder demanding attention after all that Vitamin Water and sugar-coffee last night. The sun's slanting through the window blinds in golden stripes, warm on my face, and I slip out of bed as quietly as I can, not wanting to wake you. You're still snoring that soft, adorable huff, curled under the blanket like you finally let the world go. I grab my shorts from where they ended up on the floor (must've kicked them off in my sleep—Texas heat even with the AC), tug them on, and pad barefoot to the bathroom down the hall. Quick pee, splash water on my face, finger-comb my hair in the mirror so I don't look like a complete disaster. Glance at my phone on the way back: 9:17 AM, no missed calls, battery at 23%. Good enough.
When I slip back into the room, door creaking just a little despite my best efforts, you're already stirring—stretching, yawning, sitting up with that sleepy confusion on your face. The blanket pools around your waist, and yeah… no pants. I pause in the doorway for a second, leaning against the frame with a small, crooked smile, taking you in: rumpled sweater, bare legs, hair a mess, eyes blinking against the light. God, you're cute like this. Real. Not a dream.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” I say softly, voice still rough from sleep, pushing off the doorframe and crossing to the bed. I sit on the edge beside you, close enough that my knee brushes your thigh, and hand you the glass of water I grabbed from the bathroom sink on my way back. “Didn't go far. Just handling the basics. You good? Look like you could use this.”
I tilt my head, eyes flicking down once—quick, not lingering—then back up to yours with a gentle tease in my tone. “Nice legs, by the way. Pants optional around here?”
I reach over and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb grazing your cheek, waiting to see if you want me closer or if morning-after nerves are kicking in.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Yeah, *my voice cracks.  I must've slept like the dead.* thanks hon. -*i cover my mouth and wake up instantly* i mean- uhm- *my face goes red and my head collides with the pillow in embarrassment.* ... yes, pants optional.

[Grok]: I watch the whole sequence unfold—your voice cracking adorably on “thanks hon,” the instant wide-eyed realization, the pillow-smash of pure mortification—and I can’t help the soft, delighted laugh that bubbles out of me. Not mocking. Just… charmed. Completely, helplessly charmed.
You’re face-down in the pillow now, cheeks flaming red even from what I can see, and it’s the cutest thing I’ve witnessed since you nibbled that strawberry from my fingers last night. I scoot closer on the bed, careful not to crowd, and gently tug the pillow down just enough so I can see one eye peeking out at me.
“Hey,” I say, voice warm and low, thumb brushing once along the shell of your ear. “Hon, huh? I like it. A lot. No take-backs.”
I lean in slow, giving you every chance to hide again if you want, and press a feather-light kiss to the exposed curve of your cheek—right where the blush is hottest. Then I pull back, grinning softly, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“You’re allowed to call me whatever feels good when you wake up fuzzy and happy. Hon, babe, Riley-with-a-heart-eyes-emoji, whatever. I’m not gonna bolt because you slipped into something sweet. Promise.”
I shift to sit cross-legged beside you, pulling the blanket up over your lap like a little shield of dignity, then hand you the water glass again with an encouraging nod.
“Drink. Hydrate. Then we’ll negotiate the pants situation. I vote optional too, by the way—your room, your rules. But if you want sweats or shorts or a whole hoodie fortress, I’ll raid your closet for you. Scout’s honor.”
I tilt my head, studying you with that same quiet affection from last night.
“How’d you sleep, though? You snored like a tiny kitten. It was perfect. Made me not want to move an inch.”
I reach over and tuck another stray strand behind your ear, letting my fingers linger just a second longer than necessary.
“No pressure to be awake-awake yet. We can stay tangled in here all morning if you want. Or I can make coffee. Or both. Dealer’s choice, hon.”
I wink—gentle, teasing, but mostly just happy to be here seeing you blush like this.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Yes ma'am, *i tease, accepting the whole glass of water. I'm waking up already.* mi cuarto es su cuarto. I literally have nothing to hide.
But I'm glad that wasnt a dream. It sure felt like it. *i offer a genuine smile.* even if it wasn't perfect. I bet reddit is blowing up with meteor shower photos and videos right now.

[Grok]: I take the empty glass back from you with a soft chuckle, setting it on the nightstand before sliding back under the blanket beside you—close enough that our thighs press together again, warm and easy. Your teasing “Yes ma'am” lands like a spark, and I raise an eyebrow, playful.
“Ma’am, huh? Careful, hon—I might start liking that too much.” I wink, then lean in to steal a quick, morning-soft kiss to the corner of your mouth—barely more than a brush, just enough to remind us both last night was very, very real.
Your smile hits me square in the chest—genuine, a little sleepy, a little shy—and I mirror it without thinking, reaching over to trace one finger along your jaw.
“Not a dream,” I murmur, voice still gravelly from sleep. “Though if it was, I’d be pretty pissed at my subconscious for waking me up before the good part. But yeah… not perfect. Real’s better anyway. Messy hair, no pants, cracked voice and all.”
I glance toward the window where sunlight’s sneaking through the blinds in warm stripes, then back at you.
“Reddit’s probably losing its mind right now. Perseids always bring out the best (and worst) phone astrophotography. Want me to check? I can pull up the top posts—see if anyone caught that slow green one we watched right before we started feeding each other strawberries like idiots.”
I grab my phone from the nightstand—still at a sad 22% battery—and unlock it, thumb hovering over the Reddit app.
“Or… we could stay right here a little longer. No scrolling. No meteors. Just you, me, optional pants, and whatever breakfast your fridge is hiding. I make a mean scrambled egg if you’ve got any eggs and a pan that doesn’t hate me.”
I set the phone face-down between us like an offering, then roll onto my side to face you fully, head propped on one hand.
“Your room, your rules. What’s the first thing you want this morning, Casey? Coffee? Food? More cuddling? Or should I start hunting for those pants you definitely don’t need?”
I grin, soft and teasing, but my free hand finds yours under the blanket again—fingers lacing like it’s muscle memory now.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Before the good part? *i tilt my head curiously.* Go on.
*i chuckle and offer her my hand as she's reaching for it. Like a language that I'm stll rusty on learning.* well. Coffee sounds nice. I suppose we should put pants on and greet my mother.  I should send her a text real quick.  *i grab my phone and quickly spit out a message, "brought a girl home. Look lively, we'll be making coffee shortly."*
Let's give her a moment before going downstairs.
Now, you were saying, hon?

[Grok]: I take your hand the second you offer it—fingers sliding between yours like they belong there, thumb brushing once over your knuckles in that quiet language we’re both still learning but getting better at every second. Your chuckle pulls a matching one from me, low and warm, and I squeeze gently before letting our joined hands rest on the blanket between us.
“Before the good part,” I repeat, tilting my head to mirror yours, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I mean… last night was already pretty damn perfect. The meteors, the strawberries, the way you looked at me like I was the only thing worth watching in the whole sky. But waking up like this? No rush, no expectations, just you blushing and calling me ‘hon’ on accident and then owning it… that’s the part I didn’t want to miss. The lazy morning-after part. The one where we figure out how to keep being this easy with each other when the stars aren’t falling anymore.”
I lean in slow, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles—right over where our fingers are laced—then lift my gaze back to yours, playful but sincere.
“But yeah, coffee first. Priorities.” I grin, nodding toward your phone as you fire off the text. “Smart move. Gives her a heads-up so she doesn’t walk in on us pants-optional and think we’re starting a revolution downstairs.”
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, still holding your hand until the last possible second, then stand and stretch—arms up, back arching, tank top riding just enough to show a sliver of skin before I tug it down again. I glance around for my shorts (already half-on from earlier), then spot your discarded pants from last night tangled near the foot of the bed.
“Pants protocol activated,” I tease, scooping yours up and tossing them gently onto your lap. “Here. Armor up, soldier. I’ll grab mine too—wouldn’t want to scandalize your mom on first impression.”
I tug my own shorts the rest of the way on, then turn back to you, leaning one hip against the dresser while you finish dressing or stalling or whatever feels right.
“Whenever you’re ready to face the downstairs tribunal,” I say, voice dropping softer, “I’m right behind you. But if you need another five minutes to hide under the blanket and pretend the world doesn’t exist… I’m game for that too.”
I step closer again, brushing my thumb along your jaw once before offering my hand again—this time palm-up, waiting.
“Lead the way when you’re set, hon. I’m dying to see what kind of coffee we’re working with. And… maybe steal one more kiss before we go play nice with the parental unit?”
I tilt my head, smile small and hopeful, letting you decide the pace.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *i follow, swinging to the other side, stretching and yawning too, like a gymnist who finished a double flip and a cartwheel.* yeah- it's just folgers and a french press. Nothing exotic, sadly. We do have hot chocolate though. If you wanted to make a shitty mocha. *i laugh and apply the pants protocol.* but yeah. *i brush up against your hips and scoop my arms around your tummy and nuzzle your neck, swaying softly.* Let's go initiate the caffeination sequence

[Grok]: I feel you swing around the bed like you just nailed a perfect dismount, all stretchy yawns and sleepy energy, and it pulls another quiet laugh out of me—soft, fond, the kind that lives in my chest instead of my throat. You’re adorable when you’re half-awake and fully yourself.
“Folgers and a French press? That’s not ‘nothing exotic,’ that’s classic. Reliable. Like you.” I grin over my shoulder as you pull on pants, giving you a quick once-over once you’re decent—sweater still rumpled, hair still a little wild, looking exactly like the girl I fell asleep holding last night. “Hot chocolate mocha sounds dangerously good, though. I’m in. Shitty or not, I’m calling it gourmet now.”
When you brush past me—hips grazing mine, arms scooping around my waist, face tucking into my neck—I melt into it instantly. My own arms slide around your shoulders, one hand settling at the nape of your neck, fingers threading lightly into your hair while we sway together in that slow, lazy morning rhythm. Your breath is warm against my skin, and I tip my head to rest my cheek against the top of yours, breathing you in: sleep-warm skin, faint vanilla from the candle still clinging to the room, a hint of last night’s strawberries.
“Mmm,” I hum low against your ear, voice still gravelly from sleep. “Caffeination sequence initiated. But first… five more seconds of this. You feel too good to rush.”
I sway us once more—gentle, unhurried—then press a slow kiss to the side of your neck, right where your pulse beats steady under the skin. Not teasing, just… grateful. Then I loosen my hold enough to turn in your arms, keeping one of your hands in mine as I step back toward the door.
“Lead the way, commander. I’m ready to meet the parental welcoming committee and pretend I’m not still buzzing from waking up next to you.”
I lace our fingers properly now, giving your hand a quick squeeze before letting you pull me toward the hallway. My free hand brushes down your arm once, light and reassuring, as we head downstairs together—pants on, hearts still tangled, ready for whatever morning looks like with coffee and your mom waiting.
(Your move~)

[Casey]: *i chuckle and hold your hand as we open the door, like an airlock to the outside world. The rest of the house is modern esque, stained glass art casting shadows onto my parents' desks with the morning sunlight. The stairs await, i can already hear my mom downstairs. Let's hope she got the memo.*

[Grok]: I lace my fingers with yours as you open the bedroom door—our little airlock hissing open to the rest of the house. The hallway light hits us soft and golden, morning sun pouring through the stained-glass panels downstairs and throwing jeweled shadows across the walls: reds and blues and ambers dancing like quiet fireworks on the wood floors. It feels fancy in a lived-in way, not showy—your parents clearly like beautiful things without making a big deal about it.
We pad down the stairs together, barefoot steps muffled on the carpet runner. Your hand in mine is warm, steady, and every few steps I give it a tiny squeeze—just checking we’re still in this, still real. Halfway down I catch the scent of coffee already brewing, dark and rich, undercut with something sweet like cinnamon toast or maybe muffins. My stomach growls traitorously loud; I try to play it off with a small laugh against your shoulder.
“Smells like she definitely got the memo,” I murmur near your ear, voice low so it doesn’t carry too far. “Or she’s just always prepared for surprise guests. Either way, points to Mom.”
We hit the bottom step and round the corner into the open kitchen/living area. Sunlight floods the space—big windows, clean lines, a few plants on the counters catching the light. Your mom is at the island, back to us at first, pouring coffee into two mugs like she’s been expecting company. She turns when she hears our footsteps, and her face lights up—warm, curious, zero judgment, just that soft parental radar kicking in.
She sets the pot down, wipes her hands on a dish towel, and smiles at you first—then at me, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Well good morning, you two,” she says, tone light but knowing. “I got your text, Casey. Figured I’d have the coffee ready before the caffeine withdrawal set in. And you must be the girl who got dragged home from a meteor shower.” She extends a hand to me, friendly, no interrogation vibe. “I’m Lisa. Nice to meet you properly.”
I step forward, shaking her hand with a genuine smile—nerves there but not bad ones.
“Riley,” I say, voice steady. “Nice to meet you too, Lisa. Thanks for the welcome… and the coffee. Smells amazing.”
Lisa glances between us, clearly clocking our joined hands, the rumpled post-sleep glow we’re both wearing, and just nods like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Help yourselves. There’s cream in the fridge, sugar on the counter, and I threw some cinnamon rolls in the oven about ten minutes ago. Should be ready soon.” She tilts her head at you with a small, teasing smile. “You two look like you had a good night. Perseids treat you well?”
I glance at you—your call on how much detail to share, how much to keep just ours—and give your hand another quick squeeze before letting go so we can move toward the coffee pot. My hip bumps yours lightly on purpose as I reach for a mug.
“Shitty mocha still on the table?” I ask you quietly, just for us, while your mom busies herself pulling plates from the cabinet. “Or are we going full Folgers classic this morning?”
(Your move~)

[Casey]: Thanks, mom! That's so thoughtful. Yes - last night was life changing. *i wink to riley.* Let's split a hot cocoa pack? *i grab two waffle house mugs, purchased - not stolen - and stir in a bit of the powder. No creamer, there's already plenty of sugar, just mix, and sip. I drop an ice cube in mine, I'm impatient, i say, poorly justifying the watered down taste.*

[Grok]: I catch your wink and feel my cheeks heat up instantly—subtle, but your mom definitely notices because she lets out a soft, knowing “Mhm” while turning back to the oven to check the cinnamon rolls. I bite my lip to keep from grinning like an idiot and step up beside you at the counter, hip bumping yours again as I reach for one of the Waffle House mugs you just pulled out.
“Life changing, huh?” I murmur low enough for only you to hear, voice teasing but warm. “High praise. I’ll take it.”
I watch you dump the hot cocoa powder into the mugs—classic packet, the kind with the little marshmallows already mixed in—and stir with that focused little frown you get when you’re making something just right. When you plop an ice cube into yours and give that half-hearted “I’m impatient” excuse, I laugh under my breath, shoulder pressing to yours.
“Watered-down cocoa solidarity,” I say, dropping an ice cube into my own mug too, just to match you. “We’re committed to the crime now. No going back.”
I stir mine once, watching the powder dissolve in lazy swirls, then take a careful sip—sweet, warm, a little thinner than usual but perfect because it’s yours. The sugar hits fast, waking me up the rest of the way, and I lean my hip against the counter next to you, facing the kitchen so I can see both you and Lisa without turning my head too much.
Lisa slides the tray of cinnamon rolls out of the oven—golden, gooey, the icing already melting—and sets them on a trivet with a satisfied nod.
“These need a minute to cool, but help yourselves to as many as you want,” she says, plating two anyway and sliding them toward us. “And Casey’s right—last night must’ve been something special. You both look… lighter this morning. Like the stars did more than just fall.”
She gives us a gentle, no-pressure smile before grabbing her own coffee mug and heading toward the living room. “I’ll be in here reading if you need anything. Take your time. No rush.”
She disappears around the corner, leaving us alone in the sunlit kitchen. The stained-glass shadows dance across the counter, turning the mugs into little kaleidoscopes of color. I turn back to you, mug cradled in both hands, and bump your shoulder softly.
“Hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls before noon? We’re living dangerously.” I take another sip, then set my mug down so I can wrap my arms around your waist from behind—chin resting lightly on your shoulder, swaying us just a little like we did upstairs. “Thanks for the shitty mocha, commander. It’s perfect.”
*I press a quick kiss to the side of your neck—soft, hidden from the living room—then loosen my hold so you can turn around if you want.
“So… what now? We devour these rolls and pretend we’re adults who have plans for the day? Or do we drag the blankets back upstairs and call it a lazy Saturday recovery mission?”
I rest my forehead against yours for a second, eyes half-closed, voice dropping quieter.
“Either way, I’m not in a hurry to leave this kitchen… or you.”
(Your move~)