And she was pretty. Really really pretty, and nice, and happy, and just generally perfect, which was known sometimes to reduce him to stammering and blushing and reaching out to touch her hair as she laughed.

They can't afford a place of their own -- but the church funds and the odd jobs they do does stretch to cover a little one-room apartment they manage to rent over the town's barber shop. It's not far from a small park and Kanan likes to go down there and play.

Gonou wants to go down there and join her, but it's not really the manly thing to do, and he's not entirely sure how he'd play on the swings anyway. He might shove her off, or something. The thought is absurdly frightening.

But somehow it's worse imagining her off enjoying herself and him not being there and so eventually he follows her down, watches her. She's not swinging, just sitting on the swings, pushing herself back and forth a little with the tips of her toes, and he walks up behind her, holds out his hands with the thought of surprising her and can't quite bring himself to push in case he startles her.

She turns. "...Gonou?"

Gonou's trying to think up an excuse when her face lights up. "Gonou!" And she's scrambling over the swing, arms out to him and he's put out his own to catch her when the force of her movement flings the swing backward. She bellyflops into the sand.

A moment later and he's there, pulling her up. "Kanan, Kanan -- Are you all right?!"

She blinks, more dazed than anything else, and wraps her arms around his shoulders. "I think so. My knee--"

Careful, gentle, his heart pounding at his own daring, he lifts the hem of her skirt up to a soft white thigh, baring the knee. It's not bad, just scraped, a little dirty. He brushes it with his fingers, draws a wince from her.

"Kiss it," she says. "That makes it better."

He blushes, ducks, sees a long pale stretch of inner thigh, presses his mouth to her knee and comes away with the salty promising taste of blood on his lips.