Chapter Text
It was a sweltering summer afternoon, the kind where the heat clings to your skin like a second layer and the air itself seems to shimmer in place. The sun cast lazy golden streaks across the horizon, bathing everything in a soft, honeyed glow. Inside the cozy, somewhat cluttered confines of one of Dooby’s train cars—one she’d converted to serve as a combination bedroom and living room—the atmosphere was relaxed, despite the constant, gentle rhythm of the tracks beneath them.
Saba had taken a day off from manning her lighthouse, allowing herself a brief pause to chill with her closest—and honestly, only—friend. She was sitting now across from Dooby, sipping something cold and sweet, her eyes half-closed in comfort as her tail swayed from side to side.
At the moment, she was rambling enthusiastically about cereal rankings of all things, gesturing animatedly as she explained tiers lists and criteria such as sogginess and crunchiness and oddly specific theories on the ideal milk-to-cereal ratio.
“I’m just saying,” she declared, tapping her glass for emphasis, “if you pour the milk first, you’ve already lost. It’s about texture management, Dooby.”
Dooby leaned back in her chair, smiling amusedly and nodding along, her eyes flicking occasionally to the passing trees outside. She liked listening to Saba talk—it was kind of like watching a kettle on the stove: warm, chaotic, and inevitably about to whistle.
But today, she had something else on her mind. Spotting an opening she broached a possibly uncomfortable topic.
“Hey,” she said suddenly, casually, like it was no big deal, “I’ve been meaning to ask. Would you be interested in meeting some of my other friends?”
Saba paused mid-sentence, the sudden shift in topic throwing her off balance. Her brow furrowed slightly, and she sat a little straighter. The sound of the train on the tracks filled the silence between them as she processed the question.
Dooby, recognizing the hesitation, rushed to soften the proposal.
“I mean—no pressure,” she added quickly, waving her hand in reassurance. “But... you really do need to get out of that lighthouse more often and talk to someone besides me. I love hanging out with you, obviously, but meeting new people wouldn’t be a bad thing, right?”
When Saba didn’t immediately shoot the idea down, Dooby took that as a small victory—and a green light to continue.
“There’s someone I think you’d really like. A tapir girl—Baku technically—nurse named Nimi—I met her kinda recently. She’s got a calm vibe, kind of soft-spoken, and she’s into some of the same stuff you are. Honestly, she just radiates this gentle mom aura that makes you relax.”
She leaned in with a sly grin, lowering her voice to a playful whisper. “Plus, she goes off on tangents just as much as you do.”
Then, unexpectedly, a trace of seriousness crept into Dooby’s tone.
“There’s something… familiar about her. Not like us, but something close. Also, she's got a green thumb and does gardening as a hobby. Jokes that she must’ve been a Gardener in a past life—says it with a laugh—but there’s this way she looks at plants. Like... this melancholic, lingering sadness. Sometimes she’ll just stare at a flower like it holds the answer to something lost, and it takes her a few seconds to snap back.”
The train gave a soft lurch as it passed over a stretch of warped track. Neither of them spoke for a few moments after that.
The ocean breeze tousled Saba’s hair as she sat on a sun-warmed rock near her lighthouse, sketchpad open but forgotten on her lap. The waves murmured in the distance, calm and rhythmic—until a sudden, clumsy shuffle of footsteps broke her focus.
She looked up to see a blue-haired cat girl standing awkwardly a few feet away, fidgeting with her sleeves nervously.
“ H-hi! I’m Kurageu Roa, ” the girl blurted out with the urgency of someone trying to outrun her own nerves. “ I mean—uh—would you... would you be my bride?! ”
There was a long pause as the words hung in the air like mist. Roa’s face turned beet red, and she promptly turned on her heel, mortified.
“ I—I mean, wait, no—sorry! I didn’t mean to say that out loud—! ”
Saba blinked, stunned into silence by the bizarrely sudden proposal. But instead of recoiling, she found herself inexplicably… curious. There was something about Roa—a strange familiarity, a spark of déjà vu that tickled the edge of her mind. And weirdly, it brought with it an odd mental image. Garlic?
Eventually, after a few minutes of mutual fluster and tentative words, the two managed to sit and talk properly. Roa explained that she had approached because she’d felt a strange pull—as if she recognized Saba from somewhere. The feeling was mutual, Saba admitted, though she was still unsure why. She had an idea.
“ But the moment I saw you up close, ” Roa confessed, burying her face in her hands, “ It just hit me. All I could think was: That’s my wife. It was so intense I kind of panicked… ”
Still blushing, Roa stood and prepared to leave, murmuring an apology for the awkwardness. But just as she turned away, Saba gently reached out and stopped her.
“ Wait, ” she said, pulling out her phone. With a faint, uncertain smile, she handed Roa a slip of paper. “ Here’s my number. If you still feel like talking… I’d like that. ”
Roa accepted the note as if it were sacred—eyes wide, heart racing.
“ I’ll call you, ” she whispered.
And with that, the strange spark between them began to glow just a little brighter.