38.25 Fic: Mika Reflection 3
Real.
She was warm, even in the rain-chilled breeze. Relaxed, soft, dozing in his arms. Head on his shoulder, sunset hair cooled by soft, eddying winds under his cheek, one arm stretched across his chest, fingers half-curled in the fabric of his shirt, warm as her steady heartbeat.
Real.
Mika’s arm was falling asleep. He didn’t care. At least some part of him could join her dreaming. Have the pleasure of waking up to find her there. Telling him to live, for a long time, by her side. To not let go of her hand. To shut up and kiss her again.
He would have stayed there until dawn. Until his entire side went numb, until the rough bark of the alder they were sitting under pressed permanent marks into his back. But she deserved better than a cramped neck and, in a few hours, cold morning dew. He nudged her shoulder. She mumbled something incoherent, curled into his side. His heart skipped.
Her voice was music, her kisses were exhilarating as lightning and sweet as a strike fire, but this – her breath tickling his collarbone, her pulse steady against his side, peaceful, dreaming.
How am I supposed to let go?
But she didn’t deserve the pain this was going to inflict on her neck. He’d fallen asleep hunched over enough half-translated tomes to know.
“Marwa,” he murmured.
She stirred, and he breathed relief. He wasn’t sure he could have directed any more effort into ending this. She blinked, looked up, drowsy confusion clearing quickly as her eyes met his. Her hand retreated to wipe at the corner of her mouth. She froze.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head to hide his smile. “You fell asleep.”
“Oh.” she smiled sheepishly as he moved back, “I guess I did.”
She was scrubbing at her face with one hand. “Gods, I must look like absolute shit”
Her tears had made dark rivulets across her cheeks that the scrubbing was doing very little to dislodge. Ribbons of midnight over a starry sky. His hand covered hers on impulse. She stopped scrubbing, looked up.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, “You’re a vision.” He was trying to search for words but it was hard to focus on anything else. If all the heavens coalesced before him they couldn’t form anything fit to compare.
“You sap,” but she was smiling. Her fingers tangled with his, and her arm tightened around his shoulders, drawing herself near. He met her halfway.
She tasted like honey and rain, the gentle promise of sparks before a storm. Warm as a lazy breeze in summer. Real. Impossibly, blessedly, Real.
He couldn’t even object to breaking away. It meant he could see her face again. Her grey eyes were shining like silver. What freedom to lose himself in their starry depths, careless what might show through his own.
Do you know how long I’ve loved you? I haven’t found the words to describe it yet. My heart has always been yours, I just didn’t know it before. How many moments have I wasted? How many breaths pointlessly spent on words that weren’t telling you that you are the thing that turns sound into music?
“We should probably get you to bed,” he managed.
She’d smirked, but whatever joke she’d been going to make, she spared him. Merciful, since just letting her stand away from his side was taking concerted effort. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to deflect an innuendo right now.
She stretched as he pulled himself up after her.
“God, I hope Saeldor and Cri aren't back at the inn worried about us. We've been gone for so long.”
The realization that they’d been out much longer than a tour around a town this size could possibly justify hit him distantly. Any place or person other than the one in front of him still felt mildly fictitious.
“You can hope for that,” he said, automatic, “Hope’s free.”
She smiled, reached for his hand, which was good since he felt liable to drift away on the next breeze without some kind of tether.
The walk back to the inn wasn’t nearly long enough to reinstate gravity’s hold on him. With their fingers interwoven, and her drifting between walking by his side and trying to rest her exhausted head on his shoulder again, wrapping her arms around his like ivy, the streets passed in a blur.
Too soon, they were approaching the Inn’s front steps, where a familiar firbolg was sending smoke rings up to join the overcast sky.
They lowered their pipe and looked up as they approached. Marwa straightened off his shoulder, glanced down at their interlocked hands.
He squeezed. Her smile lit the street.
“Glad to see you kids are doing okay,” Saeldor greeted, their moustache curled over a smile.
Of course you saw this coming, too.
But he was past caring. The only person whose opinion on this mattered had made it abundantly, inescapably, head-spinningly clear that her view was favourable. She was also nodding off again.
“You’re staying here, yeah?”
Saeldor nodded, “She and Cri are in number four.”
“Thanks.”
He took the offered key and stepped toward the door.
“Goodnight, Saeldor,” Marwa murmured as they passed. Her steps made no sound beside him, but she hadn’t let go his hand. Which by itself felt like a miracle.
He glanced down, couldn’t stop a smile. She was floating, her boots barely grazing the floorboards. Nodding off, her eyes hooded over her flushed and sparkling cheeks.
He almost walked past her room, and had to stop up short.
He unlocked the door, handed her the key. She took it but didn’t look at it. Her smile was gentle, promissory.
“Goodnight.” It was a whisper.
“Goodnight,” he murmured. A promise. She was still holding his hand. His other traced the shape of her cheek. A half step closed the space between them. As natural as breath, as easy as falling.
She was warm, even in the rain-chilled breeze. Relaxed, soft, dozing in his arms. Head on his shoulder, sunset hair cooled by soft, eddying winds under his cheek, one arm stretched across his chest, fingers half-curled in the fabric of his shirt, warm as her steady heartbeat.
Real.
Mika’s arm was falling asleep. He didn’t care. At least some part of him could join her dreaming. Have the pleasure of waking up to find her there. Telling him to live, for a long time, by her side. To not let go of her hand. To shut up and kiss her again.
He would have stayed there until dawn. Until his entire side went numb, until the rough bark of the alder they were sitting under pressed permanent marks into his back. But she deserved better than a cramped neck and, in a few hours, cold morning dew. He nudged her shoulder. She mumbled something incoherent, curled into his side. His heart skipped.
Her voice was music, her kisses were exhilarating as lightning and sweet as a strike fire, but this – her breath tickling his collarbone, her pulse steady against his side, peaceful, dreaming.
How am I supposed to let go?
But she didn’t deserve the pain this was going to inflict on her neck. He’d fallen asleep hunched over enough half-translated tomes to know.
“Marwa,” he murmured.
She stirred, and he breathed relief. He wasn’t sure he could have directed any more effort into ending this. She blinked, looked up, drowsy confusion clearing quickly as her eyes met his. Her hand retreated to wipe at the corner of her mouth. She froze.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head to hide his smile. “You fell asleep.”
“Oh.” she smiled sheepishly as he moved back, “I guess I did.”
She was scrubbing at her face with one hand. “Gods, I must look like absolute shit”
Her tears had made dark rivulets across her cheeks that the scrubbing was doing very little to dislodge. Ribbons of midnight over a starry sky. His hand covered hers on impulse. She stopped scrubbing, looked up.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, “You’re a vision.” He was trying to search for words but it was hard to focus on anything else. If all the heavens coalesced before him they couldn’t form anything fit to compare.
“You sap,” but she was smiling. Her fingers tangled with his, and her arm tightened around his shoulders, drawing herself near. He met her halfway.
She tasted like honey and rain, the gentle promise of sparks before a storm. Warm as a lazy breeze in summer. Real. Impossibly, blessedly, Real.
He couldn’t even object to breaking away. It meant he could see her face again. Her grey eyes were shining like silver. What freedom to lose himself in their starry depths, careless what might show through his own.
Do you know how long I’ve loved you? I haven’t found the words to describe it yet. My heart has always been yours, I just didn’t know it before. How many moments have I wasted? How many breaths pointlessly spent on words that weren’t telling you that you are the thing that turns sound into music?
“We should probably get you to bed,” he managed.
She’d smirked, but whatever joke she’d been going to make, she spared him. Merciful, since just letting her stand away from his side was taking concerted effort. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to deflect an innuendo right now.
She stretched as he pulled himself up after her.
“God, I hope Saeldor and Cri aren't back at the inn worried about us. We've been gone for so long.”
The realization that they’d been out much longer than a tour around a town this size could possibly justify hit him distantly. Any place or person other than the one in front of him still felt mildly fictitious.
“You can hope for that,” he said, automatic, “Hope’s free.”
She smiled, reached for his hand, which was good since he felt liable to drift away on the next breeze without some kind of tether.
The walk back to the inn wasn’t nearly long enough to reinstate gravity’s hold on him. With their fingers interwoven, and her drifting between walking by his side and trying to rest her exhausted head on his shoulder again, wrapping her arms around his like ivy, the streets passed in a blur.
Too soon, they were approaching the Inn’s front steps, where a familiar firbolg was sending smoke rings up to join the overcast sky.
They lowered their pipe and looked up as they approached. Marwa straightened off his shoulder, glanced down at their interlocked hands.
He squeezed. Her smile lit the street.
“Glad to see you kids are doing okay,” Saeldor greeted, their moustache curled over a smile.
Of course you saw this coming, too.
But he was past caring. The only person whose opinion on this mattered had made it abundantly, inescapably, head-spinningly clear that her view was favourable. She was also nodding off again.
“You’re staying here, yeah?”
Saeldor nodded, “She and Cri are in number four.”
“Thanks.”
He took the offered key and stepped toward the door.
“Goodnight, Saeldor,” Marwa murmured as they passed. Her steps made no sound beside him, but she hadn’t let go his hand. Which by itself felt like a miracle.
He glanced down, couldn’t stop a smile. She was floating, her boots barely grazing the floorboards. Nodding off, her eyes hooded over her flushed and sparkling cheeks.
He almost walked past her room, and had to stop up short.
He unlocked the door, handed her the key. She took it but didn’t look at it. Her smile was gentle, promissory.
“Goodnight.” It was a whisper.
“Goodnight,” he murmured. A promise. She was still holding his hand. His other traced the shape of her cheek. A half step closed the space between them. As natural as breath, as easy as falling.