*label M_story_start
[b]Late afternoon, in your office…[/b]

You sigh, stretching your neck as your gaze drifts involuntarily to the window.

[i]It's already so dark.[/i]

Winter always brings early nights, but since you become a detective, the changing light hardly registers anymore. The season fades into the background as you work late most nights, 
and checking the time through the window has become just a needless habit.

But only in winter do your eyes linger wistfully on the smooth descent of falling snow and the bright orange glow of the streetlights.

The sight—especially today—reminds you of your childhood, of the first time Aunt Heidi took you and ${sis_name} to the annual fair at the Fallenmor Winter Festival.

You remember how strange you felt, yet how vivid and memorable everything around you was, and how it became a tradition you looked forward to each year.

A tradition that died with Aunt Heidi.

You force yourself to look away, swallowing down the bitter surge of grief as you gather your belongings and pull on your outerwear.

*page_break It's time to go home.
But of course, the job doesn't end until you leave the department. And before that, you first have to check in and file a couple of departmental reportsdepartment

Today, though—thanks to Klemens—you're spared the usual drill of reporting to the chief and the inspector.

[i]'Consider it a Christmas gift,'[/i] ${man_she} said with a smirk, giving you a quick yet warm pat on the shoulder before slipping into the chief's office.

Of course, Klemens' real gift had nothing to do with paperwork. It was sitting on your desk this morning, wrapped clumsily in stiff craft paper. 

Just the thought of it makes you smile. [i]I'll need to think of something in return,[/i] you think, grabbing the reports you need to hand in before you can leave.

Closing your office door, you begin going through the reports you've completed today, mentally mapping out your route. The last one in the stack is a report from the lab, and it makes you involuntarily linger on the familiar handwriting.

You wonder if ${mor_name}'s already left. You saw ${mor_him} earlier this morning, but knowing ${mor_him}, ${mor_she}'s probably still on shift.

The thought sends a surge of eagerness through your weary body and mind, and you find yourself walking a bit faster than usual.

*page_break 
Reaching the lab, the clinical glow from the creak of the door that seeps into the dimly lit corridor tells you that the lab isn't empty. [i]Good.[/i]

However, just as your hand reaches for the door to open it, you hear the hesitant echo of @{MC_gen a male|a female|an unfamiliar} voice. "Would you like to go out with me? To the festival, I mean…"

You pause, hand hovering near the door handle. [i]Do I interrupt something?[/i]

The festival is a typical excuse to ask someone out, so even though you're just doing your job, the subtle anticipation and hesitation in the voice makes you pause almost against your will, 
filling you with reluctance to interrupt something that feels important.

[i]No, I should—[/i]

"I'm sorry." The familiar monotone voice cuts through, and you freeze—this time internally—as the realization settling in. [i]${mor_name}.[/i] "I still have a job I want to finish."

"O-Oh. Okay… I just—"

In an instant, you bury the strange stillness that's crept over you, as if you're shoving something back inside yourself before pushing the heavy door open. 

Your keep your expression carefully guarded, masking any emotion as you step into the lab, making an effort to ignore the harsh, sterile glow that stings your eyes.

Because seeing ${mor_name}'s emotionless gaze flicker with a brief glimpse of warm recognition the moment ${mor_his} eyes land on you makes it feel worth it.

*page_break 
"I apologize for the interruption," you say, stepping into the room, ensuring the report is visible in your hand to make it clear why you're here. "I—" 

You stop mid-sentence as the ${mc_man} who just asked ${mor_name} out spins around, ${mc_his} expression upset as ${mc_she} wordlessly brushe@{plural |s} past you. "—brought the report…?"

Your gaze lands back on ${mor_name}, and ${mor_she} gives you a small nod.

"Detective," ${mor_she} greets you as if what just happened never occurred at all, standing up from ${mor_his} chair to meet you halfway. "You didn't leave."

The tone of ${mor_his} voice makes ${mor_his} words sound more like a question than a statement, and the soothing depth of ${mor_his} dark brown eyes tells you that perhaps ${mor_she} didn't expect to see you.

[i]Why? ${mor_name} knows I usually work late…[/i]

"I didn't, but I'm in the process and…" You hesitate, and instead of speaking, you silently hand ${mor_him} the report, which ${mor_she} accepts immediately, ${mor_his} eyes lowering to the content of the paper. Watching ${mor_his} focused expression for a moment longer, you finally say, "You didn't leave, either."

${mor_name} pauses before ${mor_she} looks up, meeting your gaze. "I was hoping you would… bring the report today," ${mor_she} says slowly, the report is long forgotten in ${mor_his} hands as ${mor_his} eyes locking into yours with something thick and unspoken.

*page_break Heavy. Warm. Familiar.
"We both know it could have waited until tomorrow, considering your shift ended a few hours ago," you say carefully, watching ${mor_his} reaction. "Especially today."

${mor_name} tilts ${mor_his} head. "Are you referring to the festival?" When you nod, ${mor_name} sighs, turning away from you to step closer to ${mor_his} desk, ${mor_his} tone is calm and thoughtful as ${mor_she} continues, 
"People here seem… very fond of it."

You hadn't noticed how ${mor_his} proximity had warmed the space between you until ${mor_she} pulled away, but those fleeting thoughts are quickly drowned out by the echo of ${mor_his} words.

${mor_name} has worked with you for less than a year, and you know ${mor_she} isn't a local resident of Fallenmor, so you explain, "We have a small town. It's the only large event we have, 
so it is indeed special."

You're not sure what emotions slip through your tone because your own voice sounds distant, laced with the fondness of memories, the remnants of which only cut deeper.

*page_break When will it stop hurting?
"It sounds very special to you, too," ${mor_name}'s voice cuts through gently, the clarity of the warm darkness in ${mor_his} eyes calming your racing thoughts, replacing them with ${mor_his} words that serve as an answer to your unspoken question.

It will never stop hurting because it's about something special.

"Many people in Fallenmor hold it dear," you reply smoothly, reminding yourself to focus. "Maybe you should give it a try yourself."

For a brief moment, you both hold each other's gazes, the silence stretching between you until ${mor_name} breaks it with a question. "Are you inviting me, Detective?"

The words hang in the air, an unexpected warmth sweeping over you, distracting you from the tension that had settled just moments before, leaving you frozen in place.

And then, you notice the corner of ${mor_name}'s lips twitch upward, yet ${mor_his} expression remains as blank as ever, ${mor_his} eyes still focused on you—waiting.

${mor_name} is waiting for your answer.

*fake_choice
	#❤️ You hum, closing the distance between you. "If I am, will you say 'yes'?"
		*set bold true
		You hum, feeling a surge of heat that makes you acutely aware of the outerwear draped over your shoulders. Yet, you keep your focus solely on ${mor_name} while your mind replays the daring twitch of ${mor_his} lips—so subtle you almost convinced yourself you imagined it, but you know you didn't.

		Not with how ${mor_name} looks at you now, ${mor_his} dark brown irises drawing you in with an irresistible force.
		
		"If I am…" you begin, closing the distance between you, and ${mor_name} instinctively steps back, ${mor_his} hips pressing against the edge of the desk behind ${mor_him}. 
		You stop just inches from ${mor_him},  
		*if (M_tall <= 2)
			your proximity forcing ${mor_him} to tilt ${mor_his} head upward to maintain eye contact. 
		*if (M_tall = 3)
			your gaze never leaving ${mor_hrs}. 
		*if (M_tall = 4)
			your proximity forcing you to to tilt your head upward to maintain eye contact. 
		"Will you say 'yes'?"
		
		"Ask me directly first," ${mor_name} replies calmly, and out of the corner of your eye, you notice one of ${mor_his} hands gripping the edge of the desk, as if ${mor_she} needs support—but ${mor_his} steady gaze tells you ${mor_she} doesn't.
		
		$!{mor_she} needs anything but that.
		
		The thought makes the biting heat within you flare again, urging you to act—hating and loving how easily ${mor_name}'s presence affects you.
		
		"You've already been invited," you reply in a low voice. "And you said no. Because of work."
		
		${mor_name} blinks, and you see the realization that you overheard what the ${mc_man} asked ${mor_him} sink in before ${mor_she} tilts ${mor_his} head.
		
		"It wasn't a lie," ${mor_she} responds slowly, ${mor_his} gaze briefly flicking to your lips before meeting your eyes. "I was waiting for… your report."
		
		For a rare moment, ${mor_his} gaze isn't so hard to read.

		*page_break ${mor_name} was waiting for you.
		It takes all your willpower not to lean in closer as you say, "I'd love to go with you to the festival. Will you say 'yes'?"

		The last part comes out not so much as a question, but almost as a demand. Yet, you care little when you see the reaction it has on ${mor_name}—${mor_his} lips part slightly, but no sound escapes. It's your turn to be distracted, only to force yourself to return your gaze to ${mor_hrs}.
		
		"Yes," ${mor_she} finally says, ${mor_his} voice slightly breathless—a detail that would easily slip by if you weren't standing this close. "I'd love to."

		Even after hearing ${mor_his} answer, neither of you dares to move until you finally lean in closer.
		
		There's no reaction from ${mor_him}, but the calm anticipation in ${mor_his} gaze makes it almost impossible to stop. Almost.
		
		"We better hurry, then," you whisper before pulling away, barely containing your smugness as you notice the slight twitch of ${mor_his} eyebrow—a twitch of displeasure, perhaps, or dissatisfaction.
		
		But ${mor_name} should know better than to tease you like that next time. Because you can do it too.
		
		And you also don't want to get the wrong idea. 
	
		*page_break Especially with ${mor_name}.
		"Let me grab my coat," ${mor_name} says after a moment, straightening up and turning away to gather ${mor_his} belongings.

		As you watch ${mor_him}, part of you feels awkwardly happy. It's certainly not a normal way to ask someone to spend time with you, but 
	#💙 "You said you had work to finish," you begin, watching ${mor_his} reaction carefully.
		"You mentioned you had work to finish," you say carefully, watching ${mor_his} every reaction.

		${mor_name} blinks, and you can see the realization that you overheard what the ${mc_man} asked ${mor_him} sink in.
		
		"It wasn't a lie," ${mor_she} responds after a pause, and your pulse quickens as you catch the unmistakable flash of intensity in ${mor_his} eyes, 
		a spark that feels almost regal before ${mor_she} begins to close the distance between you.
		
		Your body reacts instinctively, stepping backward as ${mor_she} steps forward, until you feel the edge of the desk press against your 
		*if (M_tall <= 2)
			hips. ${mor_name} stops just inches from you, your proximity forcing ${mor_him} to tilt ${mor_his} head upward to maintain eye contact.

			"And what was it, then?" 
		*if (M_tall = 3)
			hips while ${mor_name} stops just inches from you.

			"And what was it, then?" 
		*if (M_tall = 4)
			hips. ${mor_name} stops just inches from you, your proximity forcing you to to tilt your head upward to maintain eye contact.
		
			"And what was it, then?" 
		you dare to ask, your tone almost breathless, but you don't care—not with the way ${mor_name} looks at you now, ${mor_his} dark brown irises drawing you in with an almost irresistible force.
		
		But you make an effort to stay still, waiting for ${mor_his} response—just as ${mor_she} waited for yours earlier.
		
		"Will you answer my question if I answer yours?" ${mor_name} asks in a low, subdued tone that sends a shiver down your spine.
		
		Still, you allow yourself to show the reaction ${mor_she} stirs within you, your eyes never leaving ${mor_hrs} as you murmur softly, "Yes."
		
		A simple word that catches in your throat when you see ${mor_his} gaze flicker to your lips as you speak.
		
		It's as if that 'yes' wasn't just an agreement to answer the question—it was a silent consent to everything you want ${mor_him} to do but don't dare voice.

		*page_break Can ${mor_she} feel the power ${mor_she} has over you?
		You almost tremble as the question pulses through you, and when ${mor_name}'s gaze finally returns to yours with almost painful reluctance, ${mor_his} voice caresses you as ${mor_she} gently says, 
		"I was waiting for… your report."

		For a rare moment, ${mor_his} gaze isn't so hard to read: ${mor_name} wasn't waiting for your report. 
		
		$!{mor_she} was waiting for you.

		"It could have waited until tomorrow," you say, your words barely escaping under ${mor_his} gaze—steady, yet charged with an intensity that feels almost unbearable. "We both know that."

		${mor_name}'s voice remains calm, but the unspoken demand behind ${mor_his} words flickers in ${mor_his} eyes as ${mor_she} replies, "That's not the answer to my question."

		You swallow hard, resisting the urge to ask ${mor_him} what ${mor_she}'s doing, to warn ${mor_him} not to give you the wrong impression, afraid it might shatter the ease you feel when you talk to ${mor_him}—when you're around ${mor_him}, casting everything aside and letting your desires become clear.

		"My answer is yes," you say at last, your voice betraying the emotions ${mor_she}'s stirring in you. "If you want to go with me, then—"

		"I'd love to," ${mor_name} gently corrects you, the softness of ${mor_his} tone not matching the calm and unreadable expression ${mor_she} carries as ${mor_she} pulls away. "Let me grab my coat."
		
		But despite ${mor_his} words, ${mor_she} doesn't pull away completely—not just yet—allowing you to catch, through ${mor_his} blank expression, the way ${mor_his} gaze flickers, showing ${mor_his} satisfaction with your answer before ${mor_she} finally turns away to gather ${mor_his} belongings.

		*page_break You suppress a shaky exhale.
		As you watch ${mor_him}, part of you feels awkwardly happy. It's certainly not a normal way to be asked to… spend time with someone. However, 
with ${mor_name}…

With ${mor_name}, everything is different. Strange. New. 

*if (bold = true)
	And you like it. 

	You like how it makes you want to delve deeper—not because you can, but because you want to.

	You 
*if (bold = false)
	And it makes you shiver in the most pleasant way.

	You like how it makes you feel—the effect ${mor_name} has on you—and you'd allow ${mor_him} to push it further because you want ${mor_him} to. 
	But only if ${mor_she} wants it too—something you wish you could understand, something you'd ask ${mor_him} if you dared.
	
	But you know you wouldn't.

	You 
can almost see your own thoughts reflected in ${mor_name}'s gaze as ${mor_she} turns to face you. "I'm ready."

@{bold Your smile softens as you both move|Giving ${mor_him} a small, nervous nod, you follow ${mor_him}} toward the exit, not sure if you're ready for this. It was unplanned, 
but not unwanted—to your surprise, quite the opposite.

But you don't know how to feel about the festival. Part of you is afraid of being hurt by the memories.

*page_break As you always are…
[b]At the festival.[/b]

The streets are alive with the hum of excitement, the glow of bright lights, and the cheerful buzz of celebration. Amidst it all, the feeling of ${mor_name}'s hand gripping the sleeve of your coat, 
${mor_his} voice steady as ${mor_she} tells you ${mor_she} doesn't want to lose you in the crowd, makes something stir within you.

Your perception is shaped by happy memories that still hurt, but through the wistful bitterness, you sense a new spark tugging in the direction ${mor_name} is slowly pulling your sleeve, making your gaze shift to ${mor_his} hands.

$!{mor_his} fingers are red from the cold, ${mor_his} hands bare and ungloved—but ${mor_name} doesn't seem to notice or care about the chill or the state of ${mor_his} hands.

But you do.

${mor_name} can't know this, but what ${mor_she} offers in that moment—with ${mor_his} presence so steady and grounding—is something deeper than ${mor_she} might realize: a quiet anchor against the weight of past memories that often threaten to pull you under.

You're overreacting, of course you are—but only because you know the happiest memories are always the ones that cut the deepest, bringing up feelings you'd rather leave buried.

You still carry many of your concerns and worries tonight, but the only one you can focus on now is that you already know the perfect gift for ${mor_name} that you can buy here—and the sooner you do it, the better for ${mor_his} hands.

Aligning with your thoughts, your eyes wander, searching for the right market stall, until you find the one you need, gently pulling ${mor_name} in that direction.

You hope ${mor_she}'ll like the first gift you want to buy ${mor_him}.

And you hope it won't be the last time you do this—doing something together that isn't related to work.

*page_break It would be a perfect wish for tonight…
*goto_scene main_page