Nord squinted at the notebook in her hands, each page a kaleidoscope of symbols and shapes that felt foreign yet intriguing. "This is it, huh? Everything?"

Baal, leaning on the wall of Nord’s room, looked distant for a moment. "As far as my mind can stretch, yeah. Can't think of anything else you'd need."

With a careful thumb, she flipped through the pages as if afraid the ink might leap up and stain her. "It's a lot, isn't it? What do I do, carry this spellbook around like some wannabe wizard?"

Eyes leaving the schematics, Baal observed her swap the mundane uniform for a frilly pink dress. "You won't have to lug around the book. I'm thinking of turning these into physical items like keys —say, attached to a necklace or a bracelet."

Her eyes narrowed into slits. "You expect me to keep track of more things? Seriously?"

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Well, Morningstar, nobody said destroying the Hollow was convenient."

Setting the notebook down, Nord's face hardened. "Listen, Baal, whatever this is, it needs to be foolproof. It has to stay with me, rain or shine. You won't be there to help me. I'll be on my own."

His gaze trailed down to her boots, worn but sturdy. "Those boots. You love 'em, right? Why not integrate the keys into them?"

Nord's eyes dropped to her feet, her boots suddenly at the centre of a very personal universe. "Hey, what's wrong with my boots? They're practical! And they feel like a 'Don't mess with me' sign. Kinda like a certain demon, I know," she smirked and added, "Don't touch my boots!"

His laughter was warm, his eyes bright with something more than just intellectual curiosity. "That's the point. They're a part of you. Marrying them to the keys ensures you're always prepared."

"Dude, you're not laying a finger on my boots," Nord interjected, halting his enthusiasm. "We need another plan." She picked up a gloss lipstick and rolled it open.

His eyes flickered with confusion. "What are you doing?"

"I'm getting ready," she said, applying a coat of deep shimmer to her lips.

"Ready? For what?"

"I have a date."

His eyes widened. "A date?"

She capped the lipstick, looking at him through the mirror. "Yes, Baal. Like a date-date. A movie and maybe popcorn and grown-up stuff."

He frowned. "Why are you wearing that dress? You look like a marshmallow cupcake!"

Indignant, she retorted, "What's wrong with how I look? Not up to your demon standards of beauty? I'm not good enough?"

He bit his lower lip, holding back words he'd regret. "You're drowning in pink. I can barely see you in there. It's not Morningstar."

"Maybe I just want to be Nord tonight!" She snapped the eyeliner shut. "Well, I think I look cute. And if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. I'm already nervous."

Their eyes met in the mirror. A thousand unsaid words hovered in the air, each waiting for the right moment to land.

----------------------------------------

Nord hugged her knees to her chest as she sat on the cinema steps, the illuminated screen of her phone showing an unread message, "Where are you?" The movie had been playing for fifteen minutes now, but her date was nowhere to be found.

"Dumb, dumb, dumb," she muttered to herself. She felt naive, almost childish, for believing that someone like her could go on a date with one of the high school heartthrobs. The words Baal had almost said—the ones she'd seen forming behind his bitten lip—came crashing back. Maybe he was right. Maybe she did look ridiculous.

"How stupid am I? So fucking stupid!"

Heading home wasn't an option; she wasn't ready to face the questions her mother and stepfather would surely have. Nor was she eager for the next wave of humiliation that was bound to hit her when she returned to school—or when Baal inevitably asked how her evening had gone.

She scanned the dimly lit street, looking for a place to wait out the embarrassment. Everything was closed, and aimlessly walking the streets at this hour was begging for trouble.

Resigned, Nord let out a long sigh. She leaned her head back against the cold metal railing of the stairs, looking up at the starless city sky. "Time," she whispered, "can you hurry up for once? I just want to go home!"

As she sat there, lost in her own misery, she barely noticed a shadow approaching. It wasn't until she heard a familiar voice that she looked up.

"Nord? What are you doing here?"

It was Baal. His dark eyes held a mixture of surprise and concern as if he'd stumbled upon a forbidden scene. "I thought you had a date," he said, his voice tinged with hesitance.

Nord felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Of course, he'd come here. Of course, he'd ask. Of all the people to bear witness to her humiliation, it had to be him, a demon!

"I did. Or, I was supposed to. I got stood up," she finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, "It's okay, is not the first time, and probably not the last one. I just don't seem to learn that. Nobody wants a girl like me, right?"

Baal paused. For a moment, his eyes seemed to search hers as though trying to gauge the depth of her embarrassment, her sadness.

He sat on the stairs next to her, carefully leaning his head on her shoulder, breaking the silence. "Hey, if I show you something, will you promise to smile?"

"Wha—" She didn't finish, interrupted by a delicate meow. He unveiled a small orange tabby kitten from the fold of his jacket.

"Where did you find her?" Her eyes widened, momentarily forgetting her own gloom.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Dumpster-diving. Can you believe it? Who the fuck would do that? Someone tossed her like yesterday's news. But she's had a bath and everything. Wanna hold her?" Gently, he extended the kitten toward her, "I came here just to show her to you."

Taking the tiny creature into her hands, she looked puzzled. "What's her name?"

He kept his head on her shoulder as he spoke, "Why don't you tell me?"

"Why should I get to name her?"

He whispered, nearly a murmur, "I don't want to answer that."

She felt the weight of his words but let them pass. "What's gotten into you?"

His fingers reached out to lightly stroke the kitten's fur. "I'd rather not talk about it. It hurts." A pause lingered between them before he suggested, "How about Kitty for a name?"

"That's so cliché," she scoffed. "Every cute cat is called that. What about Kirara? It means 'demon cat.'"

"No, it doesn't!" He chuckled, finally lifting his head from her shoulder. "It means 'glitter,' you know."

"Can we pretend?" Her voice was softer, almost pleading.

His eyes met hers, and for the first time that evening, they both smiled. "Yeah, we can pretend."

Scanning the marquee again, he asked, "Any other movies we could catch?"

"The next one's a B-list film. The reviews say it's awful," Nord warned.

He looked deep into her eyes, and the vulnerability lay bare. "Would you like to, you know, watch a terrible movie with me? With popcorn and... stuff?"

"And what about Kirara?" She glanced at the kitten, now playfully tugging at the hem of her frizzy skirt.

"She's part of the package," he said, his eyes finally brightening. He stood, offering her his hand. As she took it, he carefully slid Kirara back into his pocket.

As the opening credits of the abysmal B-list movie rolled on, the pair settled into their seats, Kirara purring softly from her spot on her lap. Popcorn in hand, they soon found themselves not watching the movie but rather mocking its predictable plot twists and corny dialogue.

"Seriously? A jump scare with a pickle? Even Kirara could direct a better movie," he jibed, tossing a popcorn kernel at the screen.

"Yeah, and she'd probably cast herself as the feline villain fluff!" Nord added, catapulting a piece of popcorn of her own.

Throughout the screening, their laughter filled the otherwise empty theatre, punctuated by playful jeers and the periodic lobbing of popcorn. Their hands found each other, their fingers lacing together instinctively, and they remained that way, unbroken, until the lights came up.

As they blinked back into reality, she surveyed the mess they'd made—the popcorn-strewn floor, the salty kernels adhering to the screen. "We have to make a run for it!" she said, eyes alight with mischief.

"Follow me!" he exclaimed, feigning a crouch as if they were spies on a covert mission. Of course, they were painfully conspicuous, but the point was to pretend otherwise.

Bursting through the exit, they spilt into the city's night air, laughing uncontrollably as they ran down the dimly lit street. They weren't fleeing from the mess they'd left behind or even the fact that they'd mocked a bad film. No, they were running toward something—that lingering secret between them.

And as they lost themselves in the labyrinth of city streets, their laughter echoing in the quiet night, they realized they didn't need a script or a predictable plotline. All they needed was this moment and whatever moments would come next.

As they ambled through the shadowy streets, the echo of their laughter now fading, a new kind of silence settled between them. It wasn't uncomfortable, exactly, but it was thick—with questions, with unspoken thoughts. Nord could sense a restlessness in him but wasn't quite sure how to broach the subject.

Finally, he cleared his throat and asked, "What would've happened if the other guy had shown up tonight?"

"Why are you asking that?" Her brow furrowed, intrigued by the sudden change in conversation.

"Would you have kissed him?" His voice was tinged with a seriousness that hadn't been there before.

"Probably," she admitted.

His eyes met hers, searching. "Are you in love with him?"

"No, I'm not."

"But you would've kissed him?"

She hesitated for a moment, then let out a sigh. "Look, I've never been kissed. Never had a boyfriend, never had anyone show interest. I'm 15. It seems like everyone else is doing these things, so why not me? Why do I have to be different? I don't think I'm that ugly or that weird, am I?"

His expression changed, almost as if he was weighing her words carefully. "It's different for humans, then. Your kin don't really care who you share those things with. It can happen to anyone."

Nord looked at him, her eyes softening. "It's not about not caring. It's about the pressure to experience things, to not feel left behind. But that doesn't mean it's right. I guess tonight made me realize that. Everyone wants prince charmy, but no one plays the role. It's just frogs and ugly ducklings."

The two walked in silence again until Baal broke the silence. "Well, I, for one, am glad that the other guy didn't show up."

"Yeah?" Nord's voice lifted, and she couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah," he affirmed, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Otherwise, Kirara wouldn't have gotten to make her big screen debut with the pickle monster."

Her laughter trailed off, replaced by a sudden seriousness that took root as they walked. "You said it's different for demons. How different?"

He stopped, meeting her eyes with an intensity she hadn't seen before. "Demons don't love. Most of us can't feel it."

She felt a sudden pang of disappointment, unsure why his words struck her so deeply. "That is really different."

"But when we do love," he continued, "it's absolute. Unbreakable. We love only one person, one creature, for our entire lives. If we lose that person, we lose everything."

"Shouldn't that be a good thing? Loving someone that deeply?"

Baal bit his lip. Nord had come to recognize this as a sign that he was holding something back. "It's not so simple. It's not a good thing when you realize that person will eventually forget you, not even remember you existed. Ten years is not a lifetime, Nord. And the more time passes, the more I realize that I can't…"

She stared at him, captivated but confused. "You can't what?"

"Nord, I can't fall in love with you. I just can't afford to."

Her heart sank a little, but she wasn't sure why. Was it because she felt the same, or was it the ache of a door she didn't even know was there closing?

"If I do, you'll break my heart."

Neither of them spoke. What could be said? Instead, they resumed walking, the sound of their footsteps filling the silence. Kirara, nestled in Baal's pocket, let out a soft meow.

"Nord?" Baal's voice broke the quiet as they passed a peculiar shop, its windows filled with inked illustrations. The sign read, "The Warlock's Ink."

She turned her eyes to meet his, and they both paused in front of the shop. An idea, spontaneous and electric, sparked between them.

"Oh my god, the keys!" she burst out, her eyes widening at the thought.

"The keys in your skin! Imagine not being able to lose them because they're tattooed on you!" He was almost breathless with excitement.

"I would look so freaking badass!" she exclaimed.

"And you could draw the spells—translate them into images, so you never forget what they mean!" His eyes were practically glowing, feeding off her enthusiasm.

"This is so awesome!" she agreed, her voice tinged with wonder.

"I know!" he echoed.

They both didn't realize that their hands had found each other again, fingers intertwining in their shared excitement. Even less did Nord realize that in the heat of the moment, her lips pressed against his.

It was brief, a mere whisper of a kiss, but it was enough to leave them both startled, eyes wide as they met in the reflected glow of the tattoo store neon sign.

"You're my first kiss," she whispered, her eyes searching his as if for some hidden sign.

"And you will be my last kiss," he replied, his voice heavy with sincerity.

At that moment, it hit them both like a quiet storm—the unsettling idea that their love story came with an expiration date. But at fifteen, maybe sixteen, who really thinks about the forever? Consequences feel so distant that they blur into abstraction.

He leaned in, his eyes closing as they approached her lips. She tasted like cherries, not the real fruit but the synthetic flavour of her lip gloss. Yet to him, in that moment, it was the sweetest thing he'd ever known. His lips met hers softly, gently, as though they were something fragile. Her mouth responded, equally tender, and the world around them seemed to pause as if giving them the privacy of their shared firsts and lasts.

And just like that, they kissed—a kiss filled with the poignant weight of beginnings and endings that were too close to home.

Their first kiss.