Branch moves his face close to the apple of Poppy's cheek, the soft roundness of the pink girl's face, careful, gentle, cautious not to startle her, so close that his eyes are almost touching hers.
The closeness of Poppy's face to Branch's eyes is so warm, comforting. It's soothing, comfortable. The teal troll flutters his eyelids just so, lifting one hand and bringing his palm to the side of Poppy's face to hold her in place.
Branch moves his eyes closer to Poppy's to try and bring their faces together, closer, even closer, so much so that he almost brings his mouth to hers and kisses her there. But Branch can't kiss her yet. He can't quite kiss her yet.
Branch moves slowly, so the motion is gentle and effortless, as he flutters his lashes against The Pop Queen's cheek, kissing her like a butterfly would, gentle and soft but ever so cautious still.
Poppy kisses Branch back that same way he had kissed her. Only in butterfly kisses, so he feels like he's in a garden with butterflies scampering all around him, monarches moving close to him and kissing his cheek all over.
A hint of a stubble dots along Branch's chin and the bottom, fleshier part of his cheek, but only a hint of it. He has only ever had a hint of a stubble but nothing more than that, nothing more than a permanent clue of his youth. He would be young forever, and so would Poppy.
They would stay close to each other forever, so young and so beautiful. They don't even have to worry about kissing in this lifetime. They would have all the time to kiss. Properly, next time. No shyness, no hesitation.