Leafy Restings

“You seem relaxed,” Mercy almost hums, running their fingers through a set of wispy grey bangs. The owner of said bangs sucks his teeth, lifts his hand, and swats her fingers away from his forehead. Undaunted, they come right back. 

“I must say, I was far more relaxed before a certain someone decided to accompany me on my excursion,” Kuro grumbles back at the clergy member above him. His head is resting on their thighs, comfortable, yes… as unfortunate as the position is for him. He alleviates the misfortune by simply choosing not to think about the soft fabric of their skirts or the warmth radiating off of their legs that provides a soft blanket against the brisk chill in the burrow blown in by the autumn winds from above. 

“A terrible liar as always, Father Kuro,” Mercy teases. They tease in a way particular to their own strengths, something without giggles and pointing fingers that rests on the line between condescending and aloof just perfectly. It’s the exact recipe to get under Kuro’s skin and bring his blood to a boil faster than any stove ever could. He flicks his eyes open to look up at them, silently demanding an explanation. “Were it not for my suggestion, you would have never left the church’s walls to come play in a field.You’re far beyond the acts of lying down in the dirt, aren’t you? I do recall what you said quite clearly… Here, allow me to refresh your memory.” They clear their throat, straighten their posture, and drop their voice down an octave. “Frolicking amongst the leaves is child’s play, Clergy Mercy. I won’t be caught wasting my time playing like a juvenile sloth bu-” 

Kuro’s fingers come up again. This time, they press themselves directly against their mouth, cutting Mercy’s words off before more can escape and render him to embarrassed ashes. His cheeks are pink - not from the chill. Mercy’s eyes twinkle above his hand with the glow of mischievous satisfaction. They nudge their mouth into them, accepting the touch with a parting of their lips as though they mean to kiss Kuro’s hand. They never get that far, of course, as he yanks his hand back the moment he realizes their intentions. Good enough for them, it allows them to speak once more.

“You can’t possibly mean that you would be enjoying the leaf fall all on your own, can you? Is it so much worse to admit that I brought you out here against your will than it is to agree that you, Father Kuro, would get to your knees in the dirt and leaves because you felt like it?” Their words dig into him like little, annoying, blunted points. Meanwhile, their fingers return to the duty of brushing through his hair. They leave his bangs to trace his cheeks, the aged and stiff lines of his jaw and cheekbones, and the sharp angle of his nose. It takes the full focus of his restraint not to squirm on their lap to get away from the touch of their hands.

“F-fine…” grumbles a man who HATES giving in with every bone in his body. More specifically, he hates giving in to Mercy with every bone in his body. “You suggested that it would be a waste not to enjoy the foliage while it was still on the trees. I agreed under duress.”

“I also suggested perhaps you should cool your head after you cropped a man so hard he left the building limping on both sides with hearts in his eyes…”

“He made a mess on my s h o e s,” Kuro huffs.

“Surely you must be used to this by now…”

As Kuro opens his mouth to continue his protests, a stray orange leaf floats down from the canopy above. It floats over Mercy’s shoulder, down to their lap, and settles on Kuro’s exposed forehead. He crosses his eyes to look up at it, teeth clenched in annoyance at the organic intruder. Before he can make his motions to flick it off, Mercy has grabbed him by one wrist and pinned said wrist down to the ground under him. They reach up, pluck the leaf from his forehead, and tuck it into the black fuzz of his ear instead. Kuro does not seem less annoyed by this option however, he allows it to stay there without further comment. Instead, the older doll closes his eyes, crosses his arms over his chest, and takes a DEEP breath.

The autumn air truly is… relaxing. The air is crisp as it begins to circulate cold air down through the hollow earth, relieving the burrowgatory of the humid haze of summer and sweat. There’s a faint touch of apples on the breeze as those not collected in the month prior ferment on the ground and the overripe bushels are pressed and stewed into cider, a kiss of cinnamon and spices follows after; pumpkin pie and flaky baked crust. The leaves themselves smell of wet earth, the musky scent of rain and dark soil. Then, of course, there’s something else… old books, wood, candle smoke, floral perfume - he recognizes it far too well. Mercy, unique as they always are, bookending the palette of his nose. 

Kuro continues to elect to say nothing as he turns his head to the side, shifts closer to the warm body under him, and presses his nose against the fabric of Mercy’s skirts. They chuckle, pluck the glasses from his nose so they do not get smudged, and resume the careful art of running their fingers through his hair and against his scalp. Kuro’s tail shifts behind him, rustling through the leaves until it brushes against Mercy’s leg.

“Perhaps… not all the ideas you have are completely horrid…” Kuro grumbles.

“Ah-ah,” Mercy stops him. “Let’s not say things you’ll come to regret, Father Kuro.”