It was a quiet drive home.
Ymir was in one piece, so Kenny used his parental voodoo instead of doing her the honor of prying. In the absence of said prying, she felt less of a need to bring up the bright hickey on his collarbone catching every single streetlight, or why his shirt was that unbuttoned to start with.
He shared the consideration and stopped short of putting anything he had or hadn't seen to words.
The mock parental cycle of love was complete.
Ymir's phone was off. She'd switched it off for the party, and because she didn't need to be pinged every three seconds about who was dirty dancing with whom during homecoming. Connie and Sasha both had an established history of gossiping at her when their overexcited selves couldn't stand only having each other to share the latest tawdry couplings with. Pieck was even worse, given the proper motivation. Winding up Porco all night pretty much shoved her headfirst into that category.
Without all of them getting on her nerves, there wasn't much left to break the silence besides talking.
Hence the dead silence packing them on home. Some conversations were worth saving.
Her lips still felt warm.
Insanely warm. Warm enough to foster concerns of her running a fever if her thoughts could reach spaces like that after remembering why they were so warm. Hot kind of warm. Hot like someone else she knew had left a piece of herself on them.
Her heart hadn't stopped beating since, which was all normal and fine for being alive, but usually she didn't notice it.
They made it home, Kenny unlocked the door, Ymir waltzed on through, and it was like no dates and exchanges of bodily fluids had happened to either of them. Marcel—the idea of Pock remembering was laughable—had left the hall light on, and hints of the dead lamp in the living room flickered further inside.
Daddio patted her on the head and went up the stairs. Ymir wandered forth to find the two homecoming victims sprawled out on the couch. Both their ties and jackets were tossed over the patched easy chair, and they were snoring away in their rumpled shirts without a care in the world. They hadn't even bothered changing in their rush to wait up for her. Dances wore them out faster than football practice.
Ymir hopped up on the couch arm and bopped Porco on the head. His nose twitched. She poked him again. And a few more times when he made it difficult, prompting thoughts about the likelihood of Porco dying if there was ever a fire in the middle of the night.
After forever, his eyes opened blearily.
Ymir saved them both some of the time he'd cost with his log imitation.
"I think I like her."
