Chapter 29: So much
It takes every ounce of strength I have to pull away from the kiss. My mind feels foggy, my body humming with the warmth of him. I reluctantly break the connection, but when I look at Noelle, those deep, vivid green eyes stare back at me, filled with something I can't quite name. Desire? Affection? My heart stutters in my chest, skipping a beat as I try to steady myself.
I exhale slowly, feeling the rush of cold wind against my flushed skin. Reaching for my cane, I push myself to stand, though my legs feel unsteady for reasons that have nothing to do with the cold. My hand finds his, smaller but full of warmth, and I lace my fingers with his, the touch sending sparks up my arm. His grip feels fragile yet strong—like he's grounding me to the earth while at the same time reminding me of how delicate this moment is.
We start walking down the hill, side by side, his hand firmly in mine. Each step feels heavier than it should, as if I'm reluctant to let this moment go. The wind picks up, biting at our skin, but all I can focus on is the feel of his hand—how it feels so right in mine, like it belongs there. It's strange, really, how someone so seemingly small can make me feel more grounded than I have in years.
Just as we're about to reach home, the familiar sound of a bird cawing catches our attention. Its piercing call cuts through the air, and we immediately recognize the culprit—the blue-feathered menace that Noelle, over the months, has come to label his arch-nemesis. In the fading light of the setting sun, its vibrant feathers shimmer, but something is off.
The bird plummets from the sky, crashing into the ground in a flurry of blue feathers. Instinct kicks in, and we rush towards it, my heart tightening at the sight. Noelle reaches it first, scooping the small creature into his arms. His brow furrows in concern as he gently turns it over, revealing a bleeding wing.
"Oh no," I say, leaning closer to get a better look. "Let's take it back to treat it." Odd as it may seem, we've grown attached to the little pest.
Noelle nods, cradling the bird with surprising tenderness. We turn to head home, but the bird screeches and thrashes in his arms, refusing to stay still. He tries again, but this time it caws loudly and breaks free, scampering awkwardly on the ground before darting towards the trees.
"Wait—what's it doing?" Noelle mutters, frowning.
We chase after it, the bird occasionally stopping to glance back at us, as if ensuring we're following. Its wing is clearly broken, but it pushes forward, leading us deeper into the woods. I glance at Noelle, who's biting his lip, worry etched into his features.
Eventually, we come upon a small clearing where the bird halts, and we finally see why it was so desperate to get here. In front of us, a small green-and-white bird is caught in a struggle, locked in a fight with a snake that hisses and strikes with venomous intent. Our blue-feathered friend rushes forward to join the fray, even in its wounded state.