Frank and Gilda actually decided on a proper dinner date. They'd picked a special spot in Griffonstone, specifically, within the castle ruins. She'd set a table for them, salvaging one from the wreckage of an old fart and his useless dining hall. No one in Griffonstone gave a shit about the old king, whatever his name was. She placed some griffon scones down on their plates and some blood pudding with fish fingers.

Filthy Frank scrunched his face in raw, uninhibited shock. The olaeginous texture of his forehead said 'I'm not fucking comfortable.' So his dinner date wiped his brow with a random sock lying about. Why a sock?

Because why the fuck would Griffonstone have napkins and towelettes. Griffons didn't need to use cups and shit. The most tablemanners they had were not eating a zebra ass-first, because nobody wanted that kind of chocolate.

"Did you just wipe my forehead with a sock. Where the fuck did you get a sock? Is that a human sock?"

"Yeah, but that's not important. Cause we don't need towels here. We don't sweat. And we don't use water outside of drinking fountains. So, what's wrong? Why you all sweaty like that?"

A pensive grimace crept over his lips. It wasn't unhappiness. Frank was plenty happy, he reasoned with her. It was all the suddenness, all the gravity of their situation. At first, he'd loved the rampant sex and multiple orgasms. But, sitting down and eating her scones, which really tasted like her pussy, he identified the problem.

"Hey, real talk, Gilda. Real talk... I'm nervous, okay. This is... this is my first real relationship since Derpy, alright. I'm older. I'm more jaded and cynical- and holy shit I don't know how to feel."

He barely had air to breathe. The end of his ranting explanation knocked the wind out of him. Frank had stammered all his life. But Gilda... Gilda and his late Derpy, they made it easier to talk. His words were jumbling beneath the precipice of speech. To his surprise, Gilda flicked her head feathers and glanced away.

"So...?" She scoffed, furrowing her brow in that cutesy, gruff manner he always loved.

"'So?' Whaddyou mean 'so?' Gilda, this is a huge problem. I mean, what is the state of our relationship. I barely know you okay, this isn't some dumb visual novel where we talk once and we fuck happily ever after. You're still a person to me, you know...? This is some scary shit. What if you don't even want me outside of sex? What if I'm... too much of a jerk for you?"

His furtive compassion had finally revealed itself. It broke her grimace and sculpted a smile, a smile not for her, or him... but them.

"What kind of jerk thinks like that? Cause I haven't seen a jerk like that before, Frank... You might be a spastic faggot. And you might be rude. Or anxious. But, here's the truth, ya dweeb..."

Gilda cleared the table and splayed herself all over it. She held her hindlegs open and batted her eyelashes.

"So am I."

They locked eyes. Gilda was a deep pinot noir. And though he fumbled with undoing his zipper, she did it with her hindlegs, graceful and timid beneath her bully exterior. Before he could say a word, before he could tremble an apology or words of love, she took a talon to his lips and pulled him down...

They stayed together and soon, held hands.

"Frank... who cares if we aren't perfect for each other. Nobody's perfect for each other. Everyone fights. Everyone has their doubts. Love isn't about tellin' who feels what and why that is.

It's about bein' together and caring for each other. The first time we met, I thought you were a jackass. I thought you were self-centered. But... Frank, look at how scared you sound. Look at how... hard it is to talk about leaving..."

He closed his eyes and listened to Gilda, his most recent and last betrothed.

"Now quit talkin'. Just love me as much as you can. Kiss me, want me... and never look back."

That night, they were hailed by all the stars in the sky. And all the stars, from red dwarf, to supernova, to shooting stars, wept in awe of their promise. Frank held her talons between his fingers and begged her 'don't ever let me go.' Till the day she died, Gilda had never looked back. For the rest of his life, he said goodbye to the pain of loneliness and kept a picture of Her in his locket. Pictured within was someone special... his very own, very beloved Gilda Gruff. The years were kind to him, Frank reminisced, pulling a chair up to sit there one last time. It happened to be the table their first date took place. A rigid acid ate away at his heart and he knew it was time. Filthy Frank set his head down and held hands with the image of Her, the love of his life.

He sat alone on his deathbed slipping away, lost in phantom lullabies of griffon kisses.

Author's Note

The End.