𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘, 𝖺 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝖻𝗎𝗆

(b.n) didn't mean to

Nico & Bea 🌞 The accidental kiss.

The night after the battle was unusually quiet.

Most of the others had turned in early, exhausted from the chaos. The Iron Lion's stone halls flickered with torchlight, warm and low. Somewhere deeper in the base, someone strummed a few soft notes on a guitar — too quiet to place.

Bea sat cross-legged on the edge of the old table in the strategy room, her hoodie draped over her shoulders, curls wild and windswept. Nico stood nearby, leaning on the pillar opposite her, running a hand through his damp hair. 

They were supposed to be helping Luke organise patrol rotations.

But all they'd done so far was laugh at each other's bad impressions of Vincent.

"You're still limping," Nico said, glancing down.

"And you still smell like smoke," Bea fired back, smirking.

He grinned. "Can't help it. Some of us heroically leapt into explosions."

"You tripped over a rock."

"Heroically."

She laughed, and something in his chest tugged.

It was always like this with her, teasing and warmth and a crackle in the air he couldn't name. He stepped closer without realizing, her boot brushing his shin. She tilted her head, playful but tired.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. Just—"

His voice caught. He didn't know why. Maybe it was the way she looked at him — soft and searching. Maybe it was the closeness.

She leaned in a little, to nudge his shoulder. He turned at the same time, about to say something—

—and their lips met.

Just for a second. It was an accident. Neither of them meant to. But it was still,

Warm. Startling. Still.

They froze.

Eyes wide. Inches apart. Her breath hitched.

"I—" Bea started, blinking.

"That— I didn't—" Nico stammered, flushing immediately.

"No, it's—" she laughed once, breathless. "It's fine. That was... that didn't count, right?"

"Right," he said, quickly. Too quickly. "Didn't count."

Silence. Neither of them moved away.

Finally, she looked down at his mouth, then back up. 

"So, uh... if that one didn't count... Should we try one that does?" He said it without thinking. Then froze. 

Bea's amber eyes glinted like firelight. And she kissed him.

This time, on purpose.

No laughter. No tripping. Just her hand curling into his shirt, and his arm sliding around her waist, and something soft and real and slow blooming in the middle of the half-lit war-torn world.

When they broke apart, she whispered against his jaw:

"That one counted."