A few years passed and they happened to be invited into a fairy celebration. By that time they were cherished and important guests there. Which only meant the fairies did their best to care about them as good hosts should. And because forest folk are basically mischievous, cunning and very aware of the power of their spells, fairies made sure that their glasses were always full and that saying no to their hospitality seemed impossible.

At a certain moment Hazel simply gave up, accepting the fact that tomorrow would be dreadful but tonight would be worth it instead. They had their fun, they danced around the fire, but in the end she rather made sure to remain safely seated and avoid any more demanding conversation.

On the other hand she watched Pitch with pure admiration. No matter how much of that damned fairy wine he drank, he seemed still almost sober, just maybe laughing a bit more than usual. But his steps were steady, his speech eloquent and he talked to anyone and about anything that turned up. Hazel wondered what magic helped him keep his composure and, on a more spiteful note, why the hell he didn't share.

Finally, long after midnight, it was time to bid the feast goodbye and go home. Once the light of the bonfires disappeared from their sight and only dark, moonlit forest remained, Pitch leaned heavily against a nearby tree: "I don't recall the last time being this terribly drunk," he chuckled.

Hazel turned to him with surprise: "It seemed like it had no effect on you at all!"

He straightened up with a serious look on his face: "Sheer willpower," but then he smirked again, "I'm afraid I used up what I had."

She laughed with him, leaning closer, her own movements a bit clumsy: "Then let's get us both home."

He looked at her tenderly and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear: "No no, not yet, there's something important I have to tell you..."

"Is there?" she smiled, savouring the warmth of their embrace.

He pulled back slightly, taking in her appearance. A bit ruffled now, true, but with bright brown eyes he liked since their first day together, glancing up at him with trust and anticipation, her messy fair hair shimmered in the moonlight, here or there adorned with flowers on which the fairies insisted. "I've never told you how beautiful you are," he said softly, leaning down to kiss her.

"Now you've noticed?" she giggled teasingly, but his compliment made her blush even more than the wine did before.

"And funny," his lips slipped to her neck in a series of compliments and kisses: "And clever... And caring... And simply adorable..."

"And you are drunk, my love," she smiled, not fighting back his affection.

"That I am," he smiled over her skin and looked at her again, "but so are you, my dear." "True," her grin grew wider, "if you want to talk nonsense, I'm definitely happy to listen."

"You know what I really want?" he whispered to her ear, "to take you home right away... If you are not afraid."

"Why should I be-?"she began, confused, but he didn't wait for her to finish. Instead, holding her firmly, he made a step back into the shadows, pulling her with him into a free fall.

Hazel squealed, which itself made him laugh as he had never heard such a sound from her. Their own bed muffled her accusatory, yet affectionate: "You are awful, Pitch Black, do you know that?"

"You should have thought about that sooner..."