Tangled In Strings

Chapter 11: Curses & Cuddles

The moonlight seeped through the broken windows of Snatcher’s half-rotten mansion like spilled milk.

Snatcher and Moonjumper lay tangled together on the chaise lounge—one half-shadow creature, one moonlit remnant of royalty. The room smelled like moss, dust, and something faintly sweet: marsh violets blooming outside the window.

Snatcher shifted, head on Moonjumper’s shoulder, cloak flickering lazily like sleepy fire.

“I hope you know you’re responsible for this,” he muttered.

“For what?”

“This... cuddling. The... closeness. The feelings. It’s all your fault, Moonpie.”

Moonjumper chuckled softly. “I accept full responsibility for my crimes.”

Snatcher hummed. “You should be arrested for excessive softness.”

“You’re the one purring.”

“That’s ghost static, don’t make it weird.”

---

✦ Talking About the Past (Sort Of) ✦

There was a long beat of silence.

Then Moonjumper asked, “So. Were you always like this?”

Snatcher raised an invisible eyebrow. “What, charming and emotionally repressed? Yes. But before that, I was a tragic scholar type. Wore glasses. Read ancient texts. Had hopes.”

Moonjumper tilted his head. “Hopes?”

Snatcher made a dramatic wheezing noise. “Ugh, yes. I wanted to, I don’t know, study magical trees, write bad poetry, avoid human interaction. You know—loser stuff. Then I got cursed. Died. Became a spirit of vengeance. Typical Tuesday.”

“What about the poetry?”

“Buried with my dignity. Somewhere in the swamp.”

Moonjumper tried not to laugh—and failed. “You’re the most dramatic creature I’ve ever known.”

Snatcher puffed up like a smug cat. “Thank you.”

---

“What about you, oh mysterious moon ghost?” Snatcher asked, poking his chest lightly. “You always floating around with dramatic capes and vague sorrow, or did that come later?”

Moonjumper sighed with faux theatrics. “I was born under a lunar eclipse. That’s what my cult said, anyway.”

Snatcher sat up slightly. “You had a cult?!”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“No, absolutely make it weird! Were there robes? Chanting? Did you get sacrificed??”

“Technically I volunteered.”

Snatcher stared. “That is the most on-brand thing I’ve ever heard.”

Moonjumper smirked. “At least I didn’t die because I got dumped.”

Snatcher gasped so loud his cloak frizzed.

“I was CURSED, thank you very much! She turned me into a spite pancake!”

“Still sounds like rejection trauma.”

“Moonpie, I swear on my ectoplasm—”

---

✦ Cuddles Continue ✦

Snatcher groaned and flopped back onto Moonjumper’s chest. “Ugh. I hate how warm you are.”

“I’m barely corporeal.”

“And yet somehow still cozier than my entire crypt.”

Moonjumper stroked the edge of Snatcher’s cloak gently, tracing one of the embroidered constellations. “You’re surprisingly good at making people feel safe.”

Snatcher blinked.

Then: “I am literally the opposite of safe.”

“You’re not. Not to me.”

Snatcher stared at him a moment too long.

“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you,” he whispered.

“Say what?”

“The thing. The gross, romantic, heart-melting, ridiculous thing.”

Moonjumper raised a brow. “You can say it.”

Snatcher buried his face in Moonjumper’s chest and muttered, muffled:

“I might be in love with you and I hate it.”

“Was that so hard?”

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

---

Moonjumper pulled the scarf Snatcher made tighter around both of them. “Well... I’m falling in love with you too.”

Snatcher made a noise like a dying bat.

“Stop being so casual about it. You’re going to emotionally unalive me.”

“Good.”

“I KNEW YOU WERE EVIL.”

They both laughed, tangled in moonlight and shadow and soft banter, the room around them humming with old magic and new warmth.

---

✦ End Scene ✦

That night, nothing chased them.

No curses, no broken moons, no hidden fears.

Just two very tired, very haunted idiots curled around each other, wrapped in stolen softness, daring to believe—if only for one night—that they could have this.