When enemies are at your door, I'll carry you way from war
"What?" he nearly whispers, the answer immediate, curiosity tangled around the quiet wonder of existing with her, one dust mote in the world beside another, helplessly in love with each other. As she explains, his whole body seems to rise to meet the idea, joy spreading through him in a fresh, buoyant way. Not the dazzling rush from before, but something steadier, something that knows how to last. The thought of this becoming a small tally mark among countless others fills him with a happiness so calm it feels sacred.
“I’m so glad you’ve decided to grow old with me then,” he hums, the tease threaded gently through something sincere, eyes bright as they search hers. “Since last time you said you were here for a good time, not a long time.” His fingers flex against hers, trading touch with as much effortless necessity as blinking and breathing. “I’m rather hoping we can have both.” A quiet laugh huffs out between them, warm and unguarded, but beneath it he knows exactly what she means. He can already picture some distant version of them, softer around the edges, tracing the shape of this memory like it’s a well-worn stone kept in a pocket. One of many, he's certain.
The moment he catches her and she freezes, he does too. It's a standoff, just for a moment, but as she folds further into him, he rises higher. Propping himself up on one arm, he follows, chasing her with a grin and the promise of a kiss pressed to the curve of her neck. She sinks into him, and he curls around her without hesitation, a living knot of limbs and laughter and warmth, as if this is what tying the knot was always meant to look like. "Mm, I remember," he says with the distant fondness of recollecting something welcome. He's been blissfully thumbing through each one of their best moments, and that night, the kissening, is one he loves to wander down. He'll never forget that feeling of tipping over into her at long last after so much restraint, the press of her lips a welcome he could no longer pretend to resist, no matter how anxious or scared or cautious he'd been.
His smile deepens as hers flickers, eyes crinkling at the edges as the press of it demands more room. “I still don’t,” he admits, “know another way.” He can't believe he ever thought he could. Trying to ignore the true depth of his feelings for her, especially after letting them run wild that night, is surely the most foolish thing he's done, and that's saying something. His hand rises to her cheek, thumb skimming there with unthinking tenderness as their noses brush, holding her steady and sure against him.
After a moment, he pulls back just enough to see her fully, the reluctance in the movement softened by the way his touch finds a new anchor along her arm. “We need to think about the next part of our story,” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “A secret honeymoon. Somewhere fantastic.” A smile curves, boyish and bright with possibility. “Then we can lie around and be married there too,” he adds softly, as if that’s the most natural continuation in the world. Not leaving this moment behind, but carrying it forward, letting it spill into new places, new days, new memories waiting patiently to be lived.
“I’m so glad you’ve decided to grow old with me then,” he hums, the tease threaded gently through something sincere, eyes bright as they search hers. “Since last time you said you were here for a good time, not a long time.” His fingers flex against hers, trading touch with as much effortless necessity as blinking and breathing. “I’m rather hoping we can have both.” A quiet laugh huffs out between them, warm and unguarded, but beneath it he knows exactly what she means. He can already picture some distant version of them, softer around the edges, tracing the shape of this memory like it’s a well-worn stone kept in a pocket. One of many, he's certain.
The moment he catches her and she freezes, he does too. It's a standoff, just for a moment, but as she folds further into him, he rises higher. Propping himself up on one arm, he follows, chasing her with a grin and the promise of a kiss pressed to the curve of her neck. She sinks into him, and he curls around her without hesitation, a living knot of limbs and laughter and warmth, as if this is what tying the knot was always meant to look like. "Mm, I remember," he says with the distant fondness of recollecting something welcome. He's been blissfully thumbing through each one of their best moments, and that night, the kissening, is one he loves to wander down. He'll never forget that feeling of tipping over into her at long last after so much restraint, the press of her lips a welcome he could no longer pretend to resist, no matter how anxious or scared or cautious he'd been.
His smile deepens as hers flickers, eyes crinkling at the edges as the press of it demands more room. “I still don’t,” he admits, “know another way.” He can't believe he ever thought he could. Trying to ignore the true depth of his feelings for her, especially after letting them run wild that night, is surely the most foolish thing he's done, and that's saying something. His hand rises to her cheek, thumb skimming there with unthinking tenderness as their noses brush, holding her steady and sure against him.
After a moment, he pulls back just enough to see her fully, the reluctance in the movement softened by the way his touch finds a new anchor along her arm. “We need to think about the next part of our story,” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “A secret honeymoon. Somewhere fantastic.” A smile curves, boyish and bright with possibility. “Then we can lie around and be married there too,” he adds softly, as if that’s the most natural continuation in the world. Not leaving this moment behind, but carrying it forward, letting it spill into new places, new days, new memories waiting patiently to be lived.
Kaisel
If you need help, I'll shut down the city lights
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
