A/N: The magician is my genderfluid, bisexual magician Daya (she/they).
Spoilers for Muriel's route abound.
"This is a good place for stargazing."
"Mmm," Daya says.
Through eyes half-closed and nuzzled into Muriel's shoulder, she can only see glimpses—but she doesn't need to see much to know it's quite a different view compared to home. From her balcony in the heart of Vesuvia, most of the sky is obscured by a near-constant veil of chimney smoke. Out here the expanse above is painted in streaks of dark purple, blue and inky black, dotted with thousands upon thousands of stars.
It's not quite as spectacular as the southern lights—something they'd both witnessed only a few days ago on the Shining Steppe. But it's still a clearer view of the night sky than she's had in who knows how long.
Daya turns a little so she can look up, and tries to suppress the shiver as she tucks her cold hands into her sides. With no campfire to let them see the stars, it's just shy of uncomfortably cold— even with Muriel's comforting warmth.
"Do you do this often?" she asks.
"Sometimes," Muriel says, and points upward. He traces an invisible shape with his fingers. "Look. It's pretty hard to see that one unless you climb the hills outside Vesuvia."
"Mmhm."
"You're not looking," he says, though there's no real annoyance in his tone. With an exaggerated groan Daya sits up, following his gaze.
"Oh, it's the Hunter."
"You know it?"
She laughs softly. "You don't need to sound so surprised. I've studied the constellations well, and Asra has taken me stargazing before."
"Oh."
There's an expression on Muriel's face she's come to recognise; the mixed curiosity and embarrassment when he wants to ask more, but doesn't quite know how.
In the past few days he might have withdrawn and simply left the questions unasked — she has certainly seen him do it enough. But after a moment he draws a deep breath and speaks.
"You and Asra…"
Daya's first instinct is to be coy; to ask what about me and Asra—perhaps that's what Muriel expects her to do. It's almost as much a coping mechanism as his withdrawal—to keep people at arms' length, distract them, you don't have to really be known.
But for him, Daya realises, she wants to be known.
"You know, everyone always assumes that," she says lightly. She turns back to the dark tundra stretched before them, drawing her knees to her chest. "And I understand why. It looks that way sometimes, doesn't it? Sometimes..." she trails off, reluctantly, then speaks. "Sometimes it feels that way."
"You love him," Muriel says. There's a strange tone in his voice, Daya notes absently, but she doesn't have the mind to question it right now.
"Of course I love him. He's my best friend."
There's a long pause, then Muriel speaks again.
"But…"
"But I don't love him like that. At one time I thought maybe there was something, but I was being stupid." Daya sighs. "After all, there has to be a reason why he leaves so much. Maybe I just make him feel… uncomfortable to be around."
An even longer pause, and it's so silent she can hear the wind howling distantly over the steppe. There's a rustle from behind as Muriel shifts. Then to her surprise, warm arms wrap around her shoulders from behind, drawing her back slightly into an equally warm chest.
"You are not stupid," Muriel murmurs. His breath ghosts over her cheek, making her shiver. "Remember what you told me, about putting yourself down. And you don't know how Asra feels unless… unless you ask him. So… ask him."
"Mmm." Daya leans back against him, turning her face into his shoulder. "Maybe I should follow my own advice, then."
"Yes. You should."
It reminds her of the night they first kissed under the southern lights, where he'd held her softly but steadily, and how comforting it had been. They sit together quietly for a few moments, watching the stars. Then Daya points, mimicking his motion of tracing the constellation with her finger.
"There's the Lion. I was born under that sign, you know."
"That makes sense," Muriel says.
He's teasing—a new and utterly delightful evolution in his comfort and trust with them—but Daya takes the bait willingly and turns to face him, exaggerated offense written all over her expression.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
A little smile tugs at his lips.
"Muriel," Daya says, eyebrows arching. "What do you mean?"
He gives a huff, mingled laughter and surprise as she presses a cold hand to his chest, pushing him back down onto the blanket, and leans in close.
"You're fierce," he says, barely above a whisper.
"I thought you said I was soft."
"You are." His hand raises tentatively before sliding into her hair, feeling the thick curls around their face. "And you have a mane."
Daya laughs. "I do not. Stop teasing."
Muriel huffs through his nose."I didn't say I didn't like it."
"Uh-huh."
"What?"
"Nothing." She leans in a little closer, nose brushing against his, and kisses him lightly.
Muriel blushes deep red, like he has every time she's kissed him since the night on the tundra (only a handful of times, not nearly as much as she would have liked).
"I thought we were stargazing," he mutters, but his hand moves ever-so-carefully from her hair to her cheek.
"Do you not want me to kiss you?" Daya asks, and he makes a muffled sound. "What was that?"
"I…"
"Mm, yes?"
"Now who's teasing," he grumbles, and she laughs. "I-I wouldn't mind. If you did."
Her hand smoothes down his stomach, feeling the muscles in his abdomen shift as he goes pliant beneath her.
"No?" Daya murmurs, and leans down. Muriel's eyes close as her lips brush against his again. "It's not so bad… is it?"
His voice is barely above a whisper as her kisses deepen little by little.
"No… it's not."