—what am I doing—what am I doing—what—am—doing—

Seokga’s eyes snag on the exposed slope of her neck and his knees weaken. He quickly looks away, pasting a casual grin on his face (rather than a lovestruck expression) and trying not to think about how his lips might feel on her neck, if she would writhe under his gentle kisses.

Kisa’s eyes open and she rolls her eyes. “You look precisely like the cat that caught the canary,” she informs him.

He attempts again to smooth his face into something more…subtle. Kisa snorts and pushes off the wall to tread water. “You’re so obvious,” she murmurs.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Kisa’s eyes twinkle. Her hair is a beautiful cloud of brown in the water as she drifts closer and then ebbs away a moment later, reminding him of a gentle tide.

Those twinkling eyes. “What were you thinking about?” he asks quietly, arching a brow and pretending his pounding heart does not feel like it’s going to break free of his ribs and fall out of his chest. “In the dry spa?”

Here, Seokga hopes that a grand romantic confession will follow. That she will admit to being utterly infatuated with him, and full of wonderings regarding the skill of his tongue. Then he will say he would be happy to show her, and she will fall in love with him, and they’ll—

Kisa grimaces. “Sometimes,” she mumbles, “when I…Sometimes, I recite book passages in my head. The thread”—a ferocious glare toward her pinky, at the red knot—“decided to let you listen in, I suppose. Really, it has the worst sense of humor…”

“Ah,” says Seokga, indescribably disappointed. Then he frowns. “What sorts of books are you reading, Kisa?”

“…Good ones,” she replies after a long pause, very blue. “Very…good ones. About many…things. Different sorts of…things.”

He smirks. “I can see that. Or, rather, hear that.” But his response is a moment late, for he’s faltered. A flash of vibrant memory has smeared itself across his mind: a cluttered bookshelf in a New Sinsi apartment. A grinning gumiho offering to let him borrow one of the absurd titles. Something about a pirate. Or was it a Scotsman? Or both?

Perhaps Kisa would know. A passion for raunchy books, it seems, has carried over from one life to the next. Warmth spreads in his chest and yellow happiness flows down the bond. Before Kisa can shoot him a puzzled look, Seokga tips his own head back and stares at the stalactites. His soft joy falters. The last time he was in a cave, he was imprisoning his father. He would bet anything that Mireuk is staring up at stalactites now, too. Has been for thousands of lifetimes, underneath Bound God’s Pass on this very river. This cruise is the closest Seokga has been to his father in lifetimes.