Del laughs, delighted by Cyran's blush and his hidden face as her compliment takes full effect. Seeing the way his lighter skin flushed with rosy hues as he mumbled his appreciation through his fluster was always an absolute joy. Cyran was usuaully so composed and unwavering; being the one to get him to melt, even a little, was always a treat, as was feeling the reverberation of the compliment through thier connection. It was absolutely tickling.

Oh, but then he went and turned the tables back on her.

The words certainly catch her off guard. At first, she gives him a puzzled look, wondering why he was asking heif she was a witch in such slow and coy tones, looking up at her lovingly. She even leans forward to hear him better over the popping of embers within the fire place. Only to have the sly, teasing compliment delivered eye to eye. "I--!" Del sputters before dissolving into a pile of fresh, gold leaf petals and giggles. A hand lifts to cover her face as she fights for composure. "You! With-- with words! You made my cheeks all warm, see?" She steals his hand to press against her feverish skin, still bubbling with little giggles.

With his hand loosely toying with her curls, she settles back in, allowing the pleasant sensation to wash over her. Nervous as she was about meeting Cyran's parents, she was far, far more worried about keeping him safe. They had not been kind to him, and her instinct was to defend him first and foremost... but she also did not wish to drive a further wedge between them, if it meant that Cyran would be able to see his beloved daughter again. She had never met Marlow, but if she took after her father even by an ounce, she knew that Marlow was a good sort. She couldn't wait to meet her.

And headbutt Loremundel if she had her way with it. Hearing Cyran laugh about that brought another smile to her face-- they both knew she wasn't joking, but it was funny to think about. "I suppose we will have to see who between the two of us has the thicker skull. My money's on me." She chuckles again, and nods along. Make sure dinner wasn't poisoned, be cordial, she could do that, surely. She would only need to introduce the crown of her head to the bridge of Cyran's father's nose if it was absolutely necessary. As he asserts they would do this together, Del gives Cyran a warm, tired smile. "That we will."

Her eyes close for a half-second too long as he gently kisses her forehead, and invites her to sleep. She sighs gently through her nose, mock-relenting to the request-- she was tired, and sleep would be good. "If you insist," She lifts her head just enough to plant a light, careful kiss on his lips, slow and careful, before settling in again to his shoulder, imparting to him a grateful smile. "Goodnight, love."

Oh, how the tides have turned, Delaela Asiliari.

The thought came with no small measure of fondness for the woman whose face turned a pleasant shade of red, hair erupting in another burst of golden petals. They scattered across the dusty floor, only serving to make her smile the more lovely as she attempted to smother it, caught off guard at the sudden rebuttal. “You started it!” He protested, though he, too, was fighting a smile. He didn’t protest her grabbing his hand to feel the warmth of her skin, though he did give her cheek a half-hearted, playful pinch. “I was merely returning the favor. As they say, all’s fair in love and war.”

Oh, what a silly little game. He’d missed this airy feeling the way the moon missed the sun.

Even the darker subject matter could not erase his good mood completely. Not with Del speaking of handling his father in such a frank manner; that someone would want to brave his father at all for him was something he’d not expected to find at all in this life, yet here they were. He continued playing with her curls, a thoughtful hum escaping his throat.

“Goodness… first Rowan, now my father… you really know how to make a man swoon.” The words were spoken in jest, lightening the deep river of affection that threatened a torrential downpour in the back of his eyes. He didn’t need to cry - not now. Not when today was the first day he’d felt so unburdened since their abrupt departure from all they called home. Not when he knew she was as serious as the grave, even with a smile on her face and laughter on her lips. For him, she’d headbutt as many ghosts of his past as she needed to, and that prospect made him feel small in the best of ways. Like a young man who once sat at a window, watching the birds flutter about the branches, and wondered when things might get better.

Now. Now was when it got better.

“Thank you.” Cyran murmured. In the lull of their silence, in the vulnerability of being so close to another, in the weariness of the age lines cast in the shadows of his face from the campfire, there were no other words he could muster. None except for thank you, and, “Gods, I love you.”

He’d dealt with his family alone for so long. Knowing that someone would be at his side, with love and unwavering and gentle as the earth, made the impending thought less scary.

“I do insist.” He chuckled, leaning over to seal the bargain with a small, chaste kiss.

Once the storm settled, they would be back on the road. Back on their trek to eclipse city, where little good awaited them. But that did not matter for now. Darker nights brought about brighter hearths; one they’d found even so far away from home. Who would have ever thought it could feel so comfortable? Though he promised to stay awake, even Cyran could find solace in the moment. His eyes, too, slipped closed, eager for even a moment’s rest. They would be safe. He felt safe, right here next to her.

“Goodnight, dearest.”