It takes a leap of faith

Amalia

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stop thinking so much

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Never one to brag or boast, she flushes beneath his playful smirk, her own audacity rising as he deigns to respond in kind. It is fun to play, if only for a moment: to expose the pride so often stifled, to be appreciated, if only in jest. Truthfully the young baker is, at times, proud; proud of her skills, proud of her persistence, proud of her ability to persist and resist, always trying, always pushing, until perhaps she is good enough. Usually that pride is swallowed and slandered by blistering anxiety, dwarfed by the dreaded weight of despair.

Here, though, with him, in the warmth of his regard, in the safety of his embrace, in the haven of his love- here, perhaps, she can, for a moment, allow herself to rest and thrive, to see a sliver of the woman he thinks that she can be.

His obvious displeasure as she steals back the basket is only met with laughter, lilting, teasing, unforgiving as she sets herself to work. Plates are secured from one of the cupboards, napkins found somewhere in a drawer, and cutlery pulled out of a bin, knives and forks and spoons. By the time she scrounges up a tablecloth he has sliced and segmented up the pie, two warm pieces steaming appealingly on the counter-top, the aroma rich and wonderful. Amalia eases eagerly into one of the chairs: when is the last time she sat like this, eating dinner with her loved ones in the comfort of a home?

Too long, and yet how easy it is to fall back into that routine, when her partner in crime is him?

Amalia watches with glittering gaze as Deimos spins away, her head on her hands, an expression of adoration lighting up her angular face. The question passes over her like a cloud before the sun: "Mmm?" she wonders, utterly and brazenly distracted by the way his hips move beneath the towel, the rippling musculature of his back. "Anything."

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you're breaking your own heart

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