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Hunter can't stop staring at his hands, big goofy grin threatening to leave permanent dimples in the sides of his cheeks, because Willow—
Willow is holding his hand.
It's been five whole minutes since Willow walked up to him, told him he means a lot to her too, and wrapped her littlest finger around his own like a pinky promise — and the shock of it still hasn't worn off, a happiness so potent it's like the ache of a tense muscle finally unwinding, bubbling up inside his chest and spilling out of the corners of his eyes.
It feels strange to be crying over something that makes him happy for a change, but he's been doing that a lot lately—
When Ghost curled up in his lap and started purring like a thousand tiny Clovers, and Amity smiled and told him that she only does that with the people she trusts.
When Gus called him 'big bro' and he broke down sobbing in the middle of the queue at Robin's Roast (Oh, you like my Captain Avery costume? Thanks, my big bro made it for me. He's really good at sewing.)
When Luz called him family and promised to do everything in her power to keep him safe.
But this. This is like nothing he's ever felt before. And maybe it's because it's so close on the heels of another tragedy, that even the tiniest sliver of something good feels astronomical in the wake of Belos's invasion and the loss of his very first friend. Or maybe it's simply because it's Willow, and for the first time in his life, something he's allowed himself to hope for might actually become a very real possibility.
Hunter can't stop smiling, staring down at their entwined hands like he still can't believe this is actually real, that Willow actually likes him.
Maybe even — dare he hope — like-likes him?
Oh, but maybe he's allowed himself to hope a little too much. Maybe that's just wishful thinking. Maybe this is just a friendly gesture.
Maybe friends routinely catch each other mid-air. Hold each other in their arms like they're holding their own raw, beating heart. Feel that heart quicken and leap into their throat every time the other so much as smiles at them.
Maybe friends start fires inside each other's chests that feel like they could simultaneously warm a winter village and burn down a rainforest — a heat so powerful it spills past their ribs and sinks into their skin, igniting their cheeks in bright, ruddy bursts.
Maybe friends tell each other they mean the world to one another. Link their pinky fingers in an unspoken promise. Tilt their wrists so that their hands are pressed right up against one another's, like they just couldn't get close enough.
It's more than anything he's ever done with any of the others, and it definitely feels different. Maybe this is…advanced friendship?
Hunter glances up at her, breath catching at the way all the stars in the night sky seem to dance in her bright green eyes as she gazes back at him, that signature soft smile she seems to reserve just for him tugging at the corners of her lips as a delicate shade of pink blossoms across her cheeks like spring hydrangeas — and a wondrous swell of hope sparks to life inside his chest, because the last time Hunter checked, friends don't look at each other like that.
And oh, isn't that a thought that's suddenly as terrifying as it is exhilarating? Because what if she actually does like him back romantically? Oh titan. Hunter had always hoped, but he never thought he'd actually get this far. It was one thing when it was just this seemingly impossible fantasy he'd entertained in his head, but now…
What is he supposed to do?
Hunter knows that what he feels for Willow is definitely more than just friendship…but is it enough? Is it even real? Can a galdorstone heart feel love the same way a witch's or a human's can? He's never felt this way about anyone before, so how could he possibly know for certain? Willow deserves the world, but what if…what if Hunter can't give her that?
Sure, Gus and Willow know that he's a grimwalker now, and he's beyond relieved that they're okay with it — we don't care who you're supposed to be, because you're one of us now, never forget that — and maybe that's enough for friendship, but what if it's not enough for…advanced friendship? What if he is not enough for her?
Willow's smile falters as she catches the troubled frown curving lower by the second on Hunter's face, the heartbroken crease between his eyebrows. Worries for a moment that she's overstepped some kind of invisible boundary, reaching for his hand like that — if the close contact is too much for him — and starts to pull away. But Hunter instinctively holds on tighter, slipping his hand into hers until every one of his fingers is settled between hers, binding them together like tree roots clinging to the earth.
Willow breathes a sigh of relief and casts him a cautious smile.
"Hey," she says softly, gently bumping his shoulder with hers. "You wanna talk about it?"
"What?" Hunter startles, looking up at her like a deer in headlights. Realizes he's been caught, and deflates a little, looking, if possible, even more forlorn and devastated than he had before.
"Oh, I—" he falters, the hand not connected with hers balling into a gentle fist. "It's nothing. I don't want to burden you."
"I think, if we've learned anything today, it's that you shouldn't keep your feelings bottled up," Willow reasons, frowning down at the spiraling imprint of thorny vines wrapped around her wrists.
"I'm here for you, Hunter," she says, giving the palm of his hand a gentle, three-pulse squeeze. "Just like you were for me."
Hunter stares at her for a moment, warm brown eyes crinkled in a sadness so heartbreaking it steals the breath from Willow's lungs, and then lets out a long, slow, heavy sigh, shoulders sinking in surrender.
"It's just…I've never done this before," he says softly, lifting up their entwined hands and staring at them like he still can't believe he's actually getting to do this — all those months of wanting desperately to reach out and take her hand, and she's the one who initiated it. Wild.
"Neither have I," she says, lips curving upward in an encouraging smile, some of the tension rolling off her shoulders at the relief that she hadn't been reading him wrong all this time.
"But— but I have no idea what I'm doing, or what this is supposed to feel like," Hunter blurts out in a flustered rush, worried crease diving deep as the Mariana's Trench between his eyebrows. "Who knows if grimwalkers can even feel love? What if I'm incapable of giving you the kind of love that you deserve? What if I'm not real enough to feel—"
But the rest of his words are cut off as Willow tugs him down toward her by the collar of his wrinkly, pond-sodden, poorly-cobbled wolf t-shit, and presses her lips against his.
And it's— oh.
Shivers erupt down the length of Hunter's spine, rippling over every inch of his skin like an electrical storm, heart crashing against his ribcage like hurricane waves in the boiling sea, heat like its depths flooding his veins. It's simultaneously too much and not enough. He can't breathe and would gladly drown in her.
Shaking hands find purchase along her back, tangling in her loosely braided hair, dark as midnight and soft as silk. All the bones in Hunter's ribcage hum as a giddy, euphoric giggle bubbles up inside Willow's chest, warm breath ghosting across Hunter's lips in a breathless rush, and his mind goes wild with the desperate need to make that happen as much and as often as he possibly can.
Because oh, he loves her. There isn't a shadow of a doubt in his mind anymore. This is love. This is what love feels like.
Hunter isn't just capable, he's bursting at the seams with it. This is real and so is he. He's God's miracle. He—
Hunter stumbles forward and nearly crashes into her when she pulls back to look at him, a spark of impish delight in her bright green eyes.
"Real enough for you?" she asks, lips curling into a satisfied smirk at the sight of Hunter's blissed-out grin spreading wide across his tomato red face. And oh, if that little burst of self-confidence doesn't make him love her all the more.
It's truly a mark of Hunter's self-restraint that he doesn't get down on one knee and propose to her right then and there, hope for the future running wild in his imagination as Willow slips her hand back into his and takes her place beside him, beatific smile dimpling her cherry blossom cheeks as she gazes up at the star-strewn sky.
After all, he should probably ask her to be his girlfriend before he asks her to be his wife.
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