darkest part of the year, but not when you're here

“You really suck at roasting marshmallows, Slug.” Byakko muttered, watching as the Snugzi caught his third sweet-treat on fire. “Oi, watch it.” Slug hissed, “I didn’t even wanna roast marshmallows with you in the first place. I think this holiday nonsense is all bullshit.” The ginger remarked, giving up entirely and tossing his roasting stick into the bonfire with an irritated huff. “I don’t even know why I keep letting you talk me into coming to this schtick every year.”

“You let me convince you because I’m fun to be around.” Byakko quipped, “And because you’d be a shut-in without me. Seriously- would it kill you to have a little patience? We’re supposed to be having a good time, not groaning and moaning like a pouty little kid.” God, Slug was like this every single year. Every time the Dark Festival rolled around, Byakko had to force the mutt to enjoy it. It was like he was allergic to happiness. Or fun. Or friends. Unfortunately for Slug, Byakko was determined to make his kinda-sorta-friend have a good time, one way or another. “Now quit complaining. Make a new marshmallow, and for the love of god, don’t burn it this time.” He stuck out his own roasting stick as an offering to the shorter.

“Fine. But only because you won’t shut up if I don’t, and I don’t want to hear your incessant yapping if I’m going to be stuck here.” Slug grumbled, snatching the stick out of out Byakko’s paw. “Give me a marshmallow. If I burn this one, I’m throwing it at your face.”

Byakko rolled his eyes, but handed Slug a marshmallow anyway. “There won’t be anything left to throw at the rate you’re charring them.” He muttered, rummaging around in his basket to pull out a few fluffs of sylk. “Speaking of burning things, did you bring any sylk this year?” His voice was bright with curiosity. To Byakko, the sentiment of letting go was his favorite part of the festival. He embraced the tradition of burning sylk; accepting change, a new beginning, a new chapter of his life. Sacrificing a bit of his sylk was a way of moving forward. To Slug, however, the tradition was nothing more than softhearted horseshit. He had yet to participate in that aspect of the festival despite Byakko’s insistence over the years.

“Maybe.” Slug’s voice was gruff. Neither a confirmation nor a denial. It caught Byakko’s attention right away, and the taller let out a sound that was a mixture of disbelief and pure, utter, excitement. “No way!” He grinned, the moon lanterns on his blanket bouncing softly as the tiger leaned closer. “You actually brought some this year?”

Slug merely scowled and threw a handful of snow at the other, his marshmallow dipping dangerously close to being lit on fire for the third time in a row. “Shut it, Tiger. It’s not that big of a deal. I just thought I’d bring some so you could quit nagging me about it time after time.” So the older had brought some of his own sylk.

“Uh, it is so a big deal!” Byakko immediately corrected. “C’mon, shortie. What’s the occasion? We both know you don’t care about my nagging. Now or ever.” The tiger hummed, clutching his own sylk puffs to his chest with an expectant look. Analyzing him, studying him, with the curiosity of a child who was trying to understand a foreign concept. Slug bristled at the prodding nickname with a low growl, his paws tightening on the roasting stick. Damn brat. The short jokes were getting old.

“There ain’t any special reason for it in particular, ight? I just thought that maybe I’d make an effort for once, since you seemed so damn insistent.” Besides, it’s just sylk. It’s not like I’m giving up an arm or a leg for this holiday bullshit.” He muttered, narrowly avoiding setting his marshmallow ablaze. Where had he learned to toast them? More importantly, how could a single Snugzi be so damn bad at roasting them?

Byakko pouted, but the faintest ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He knew Slug almost as well as anyone. Almost. His half-baked excuse was an obvious coverup for the fact that maybe, just maybe, Slug had actually wanted to participate in the festival this year, doing more than just showing up. The Dark Festival was a time to let go of past worries and a portion of your past self, making room for growth. For a new year, a new chapter, a new you. Maybe Slug had finally found the inner peace, or strength, to do such a thing. It was a comforting thought. He deserved a bit of peace after everything he’d been through. “Okay, okay. At least my incessant nagging has finally paid off.” Byakko murmured, tossing a puff of sylk into the fire to watch it spiral upward in bright flecks of ash.

“Oh, and by the way- your marshmallow is on fire.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
word count: 836
featured characters: white reaper (byakko) & slug