For a while, both god and gwisin are silent. Seokga’s eyes have fluttered shut, and his previously tense shoulders have loosened.

When he does speak, Kisa nearly jumps out of her skin (for reasons thoroughly unknown to her, she was watching a small bead of sweat roll down his neck onto his collarbone). “This is…nice,” the god says, opening his eyes as Kisa averts her own. “Thank you.”

She smiles, fanning herself. It’s really so hot in here. “Are you perhaps feeling less murderous?”

A crooked, almost sleepy, smirk. “Maybe.”

“Then I’ve done well.” Kisa pulls her knees up to her chest and lifts her hand, examining the red thread tied around her left pinky. Her eyes narrow as it quivers—as if giggling—and curls itself into little hearts. “It’s doing it again!”

“Hmm?” The god’s gaze is heavy-lidded.

“The thread…” Kisa sighs in exasperation as it smooths itself back out and swirls innocently through the air. WHO, ME? it spells. She glares at it. That cannot be a hallucination. Can it? “Never mind.”

Seokga blinks a few times. “Why didn’t you want to do the wet spas?” he asks, and Kisa’s entire face flames.

“Erm…the wet spas…” She fumbles for words, but her embarrassment turns to frustration as she sees a tiny sliver of a smirk curling his lips. “Oh, really! You know, don’t you?”

“I do,” he snickers, and she glares at him. “I just wanted to see you squirm.”

“You’re honestly terrible,” she mutters, and unexpectedly, there’s a burst of yellow from his end of the thread to hers. His happiness is bright and pleased. Kisa arches her brows at him, and Seokga grimaces. He glares at the thread.

“I don’t know why that happened.”

—happy—teasing—me—like—friends—

Kisa quirks a brow, and it’s Seokga’s turn to blush. This immortal trickster—blushing. Kisa bites back a smile, watching Seokga swat at the insubstantial thread almost playfully. Unable to suppress her amusement, she snorts, before her hands fly to her nose in embarrassment.

Seokga gapes at her. “Was that you?”

“No,” she insists, attempting to withhold another undignified sound. “There’s a pig somewhere in the spa…Lends to the experience, you know…” A surprising pleasure fills her as the trickster dissolves into laughter.

“Hwanung’s tits,” he wheezes, wiping at the corners of his eyes, where a silver lining has formed. “I thought you laughed like her, but that…That was wholly unique…”

She feels her smile waver. I thought you laughed like her. As she tries to shove aside some inexplicable feeling of inadequacy, Kisa is thoroughly betrayed by the Red Thread of Fate as it carries a glow of green from her side to Seokga’s. Her envy. She watches as it melts into Seokga’s finger, as his laughter dies, and she fights against a swell of embarrassment as he looks, in concern, to her.