Love Crafted

When Abigail finally returns, she finds you sitting by a table, showing the girls of the shipping club just how good you are by eating all of their little tea cookies as quickly as you can while also playing with some cherries.

For some reason, these mortals have a game where they eat a cherry, then tie the stem into a knot.

You are very good at this game because you have lots of little tentacles that you can slip out from around the table to tie all the knots at once, and then you get to eat all of their fruit, which makes this one of the most fun games you’ve ever played.

"Hey Dreamer," Abigail says. "Ah, hello everyone."

The nice shipping club girls say hello, then they hush up when Daphne comes around the corner and stands right new to Abigail. Daphne is smiling really big, and so, you notice, is Abigail.

"Ah, I guess you girls will nag me if I don’t say it," Daphne says. "So, um, yeah, I confessed to Abigail." Daphne looks away from all the sudden gasps.

"And then what?" Notebook girl asks. She’s got her book out and is scribbling like mad into it. "Please tell us. We live vicariously through your romantic life."

Abigail reaches out and grabs Daphne’s hand. They both go redder. "Ah, I said that I kinda felt the same way," Abigail says.

The shipping club girls gasp, slap hands over their mouths, and one of them falls onto the girl next to her with a sigh. Then there’s clapping and giggling and the scritching of notebook girl’s pen as she fills out an entire page with notes.

"Congratulations!" Tall girl says.

"Ah, thanks," Daphne says. "We’ll have to go on a proper date or two, of course."

"Right," Abigail says. "We’ll take things slow. Very slow. As, as slowly as we can."

You stand up, food forgotten for now, and walk up to Abigail. Carefully, because Abigail is made of weak stuff, you take her other hand and pull her after you.

She stutters a question at you, but all you can hear is the tump-a-thump of the little heard in your body and the roil of blood in your ears.

Abigail asks you a few questions, but you pretend not to hear until you’re both outside of the green house and around the corner of the nearest school building. There’s not much heree, just a few large trash bins and a dead-end alley set between two of the buildings.

"Dreamer?" Abigail asks again.

You let go of her head.

"Abigail. I..." you pause and think really hard. "I want you to be my Abigail."

Abigail stares at you for a moment, then she gets down onto her knees so that she’s just a little shorter than you.

She pulls you into a hug. "I am yours, Dreamer. Don’t be silly," she says.

"But you’re with Daphne now," you mumble into her shoulder."

"Yes, I guess I am," Abigail says with a laugh. "But that doesn’t mean that I’m not still yours." She pulls back a little to show you her big smile. "You know, Daphne could be yours too?"

You huff. "No. I want you all to myself."

She, being very rude all of a sudden, boops your nose. "Silly. You’re so big and strong, and yet so silly."

"I’m not silly," you say.

Abigail nods. "You are. But I love you anyway, okay?"

You pout. It’s not nice or fair.

"Tell you what. We can talk to Daphne about it. I’m sure she’ll tell you that she wants you to be part of... whatever we become. You’re my familiar, there’s no setting you aside."

You nod. That’s fair. Probably. "I want a quota though."

Abigail blinks behind her big glasses. "A what?"

"A quota. Like, you need to do a certain number of things each day," you explain.

"I... yes, I know what a quota is. But a quota of what?"

"Hugs and headpats and cuddles," you say. "I need a certain amount every day."

Abigail laughs and gives you a pat right then and there. "I’m sure we can negotiate something workable," she says. "What about me? Do I get pats in return?"

You blink.

Have you ever given her a pat?

That... has some interesting possibilities. "Wait, don’t move," you say.

Abigail twitches one eyebrow up, but doesn’t otherwise move. You reach up with one of your small body’s grubby little hands, then, carefully, you bring it down atop Abigail’s head.

You shiver.

"Oh," you say.

"Oh?" Abigail repeats.

"Oh," you agree.

The hand rises and falls again. Another shiver. It feels good.

A smile starts to crawl across your face. "This is good," you say.

***