[i]He could feel when she was nervous.

In her defense, it was a lot easier when he was nestled in her lap, hugged tight to her chest, with her breath (or sudden lack thereof) tickling his ears. She’d spent ages learning how to silently, gravitationally lock their doors. It wouldn’t do to disparage the effort.

Besides, it didn’t make the rest of it any easier.

“Of course, I have no [b]concrete[/b] plans,” and he couldn’t tell if she’d dreamed this up today or had a full suit hiding in the closet. “Beri is woefully lacking in tournaments of honor, and the Crystal Knight may take offense if I were to outshine her at the next parade,” and. Hrm. On the off chance that wasn’t a joke? He trusted she’d done a proper amount of math on that. “But,” she sighs, and all he can hear is star-flung longing. “If a girl’s to dream, she may as well dream in detail, no?”

In his hands, a little book. In the book, sketches. Drawings. Palettes. And one illustration they all built to.

Dolce thinks. Long enough to give it proper consideration. Not so long she would suffer.

He could feel how she was nervous.

“If I were to see you like this? I may not survive the experience. I’m not sure you’d consider that a flaw.”

A rumble of approval rolls through her, and into him. “Do you know why I picked these colors?”

“The purple, it’s from the Starsong, no? I remember, you told me of the first time you really, really looked at space from within it. You saw colors you didn’t even know could exist. One in particular stuck with you.”

“And I’m still not convinced the shade is [b]quite[/b] correct.”

“The gold is from Lakkos, and from you. Your family loved it. You wanted something better.”

“Is it a crime to deserve the best?” 

“This cream-white,” he taps with his finger. Sure enough, the colors match exactly. “I don’t see many knights with white in their colors. I don’t think it’s just because of the Skies either. It must be rather difficult to keep clean in battle. Other colors, you have a little more leeway, a better chance for stains to stay hidden.”

There’s a silent permission given. She doesn’t have to do this for him. He doesn’t need to see her fly to battle in his colors to know how she cares.

“Mm.” Her arms wrapped tight. Her fingers dug [b]deep.[/b] “I shall simply have to be better than everyone, then.”[/i]

*****************************

[b]Bella![/b]

You may be the only one here who can hear Dolce before he makes himself heard.

[i]-jinglle jinglle jinglle-[/i]

The two of you may be the only ones who know it’s a different bell now.

He stops in front of your couch. His outfit is precisely as perfect as all of your surroundings. Even when he turns to face you, you cannot find a bad angle to view him from. The humble, yet elegant vest even goes with his collar.

Blue. Woven with several other matching blues.

“What. Have they done. To make you give them that much faith.”

You. [i]You.[/i] Give them the benefit of the doubt. A courtesy. You. There’s a question. For you, Praetor. He needs to know. Please don’t answer.

“I think.” He doesn’t wait. “I have forgotten to thank you. Properly. For Sanalessa.” He doesn’t bow. “Artemis entrusted her to me. She. Was gracious enough to teach me much, about.” He doesn’t look away. “Many things. It would have been. [i]Improper.[/i] To lose her, and all the gifts of a goddess, before we were.”

“Finished.”

He doesn’t blink.

He doesn’t [i]dare[/i] blink.

“So. Is there something I can do for you. To thank you?”

Praetor. Bella. Friend. 

[i]Please.[/i]

Give him something to do that he won’t regret.