Face washed in the light of their campfire, Francis is a work of art, hood down and head turned towards the sky so that Evan can finally see his eyes past the curtains of his oddly colored hair. It paints a serene picture, unlike the usual face of the arrogant teenager.
Flickering warm light sprawls across the night grass, like fake fireflies, and Evan wonders absent-mindedly, leaning against Mir as he is, what his companion is thinking.
The puppeteer.
Evan quirks a smile. It's funny, isn't it? The puppeteer, when he tugs at the dragon master's heartstrings.
"Are you going to take a picture?" Francis begins, and it sounds conceited but Evan can see past that, see how flustered he's making him just by his obvious appreciation of his appearances. He's always been good at reading people, especially Francis, "Because it'll last longer."
"Sometimes it's better to appreciate the moment," Evan hums cheerfully.
Francis is hesitating and in the night, under the cover of darkness, everything is so much more raw, yet it feels almost as if every word will fade away along with the last traces of moonlight.
"Yeah? Let's do that, then," It's awkward. Not like movies at all when Evan stumbles over Mir, who is fast asleep, and half falls into Francis's lap. Nevertheless, he cups the older boy's face determinedly and leans in.
He tastes sweet and savory, like dessert and dinner all in one, and Evan is long after licking the taste from his lips.