#but Noé doesn't know that. and I have a reasoning for teacher picking early august as a fake birthday for Louis

[grassbreads]

Curious about the DomiNoé first kiss fic (though now that I think about it, that does seem highly likely).

Hello!! Thank you for the ask :D. (context)

Do y'all remember this bit from the pre-anime bonus chapter?

I remember this bit. This bit haunts me.

"DomiNoé first kiss" is my working doc title for a oneshot about Domi and Noé getting drunk together for the first time as teenagers. I want to explore exactly what Domi is referring to here and what Noé "sincerely views their relationship as platonic" Archiviste was thinking at the time. He's so weird about physical affection (at least weird compared to social norms), and I cannot turn down an opportunity to dig into that.

This fic is also my vehicle to really explore canon Noé's written pov for the first time in general. How does the relative formality/eloquence of his writing (per letters and memoir excerpts) affect the sound of his narration? How does teen Noé deal with (avoid looking at) his grief over Louis? How do you balance that constant unacknowledged grief against his genuine enthusiasm for the world around him? How does he rationalize his messy relationship with Domi and the ways he misunderstands her?

I'm rambling, but this is the fic I'm most actively working on right now, and I'm excited about it. Excerpt under the cut:

The first time Noé ever found himself drunk, really drunk, he was sixteen years old and it was a smothering August. 

Summers in Averoigne sang, the trees alive with hosts of cicadas that had slipped across the barrier at the birth of the other world, now endemic to the Altus countryside. The lush and sunbaked air held Noé like a hug when he stepped outside, its comfort rivaled only by the shifting coolness of the beckoning shadows beneath the forest’s trees. Each season was Noé’s favorite when it began, and his mourning for each season’s ending was rivaled only by his excitement for the next’s beginning, but high summer always met him with particular distinction in its bliss. 

That summer before he reached seventeen, Noé found himself spending early August in the library of his teacher’s castle, drawn to the many countless worlds hidden in its pages, rather than the sprawling woods or castle grounds. He explained as much to Domi when she arrived on August fifth for her monthly visit, eager to describe his latest book as he welcomed her back to the castle and walked with her through the cool stone halls to a sitting room. To his dismay however, she did not seem to share his interest in its story. She looked at him with that look on her face even as he got to the interesting twist in his summary—that heavy look laden with worry that made Noé long to wipe it away the moment he saw it. 

“...and when he wakes up, he finds out that it’s not 1768 anymore. He fell asleep for over six hundred years, and now it’s 2440! 2440, Domi! And… Domi?”

“Hm?” Domi blinked and slid into a smile, tucking away that look that Noé had stopped for, but he could tell at once that her eyes were still too heavy. Something was wrong. 

The reason for her upset blinked at the back of Noé’s mind, but he— 

He stopped, turning just before they reached a couch and taking Domi’s hands up in his own, running his thumbs over the tops of her fingers. 

“Domi,” he said again, placing all the sincerity and warmth he could into his voice. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

Domi’s eyes widened at Noé, just a bit, before they crumpled into something happy-sad, and her mouth crinkled before it found a smile that looked more genuine. She held his hands in return and said, “I know, Noé. I know.” 

That was all either of them could say to acknowledge the hurting. 

——

When Noé was younger, the hot embrace of the Averoigne summer meant that birthday season had arrived again to greet him. Domi’s birthday was June first, the sweet early days of summer; his own birthday was late September, the sometimes-still-hot stretch of early Autumn; and Louis’s birthday was perfectly placed right between them in that paramount summer season of August 6th. He and Domi would plan fantastic lawn parties with the staff for Louis every year, and every year Louis would reward them with a smile throughout the parties, despite his endless protests leading up to them. 

It had been the end of August when Noé and Domi fled to their secret base with an ailing Mina, just a few weeks after Louis’s sixteenth birthday. The last lingering cicadas did not cry that night in Noé’s memories, the world gone mute and choked as Louis’s windpipe was severed and ensured he would not make a sound again. 

Noé and Domi kept holding lawn parties on August sixth, and Noé did not think about why August now felt different than it used to.