Harper
Their combined laughter drowns out anything else hoping to compete from their surroundings. Harper could be on the moon in that moment, and he wouldn't even notice. With Phoebe in his arms and her ringing assurances in his ears, nothing else in the entire universe could hope to steal his attention. There is no embarrassment or shame to be found in him - unlike Phoebe he was an entertainer at birth, and any frog-faced grumps amidst those wishing them well matter absolutely nothing to him.
Even the supernatural weirdness of her skin doesn't register as her hands rise to wipe away his tears. Grinning cheeks swell beneath her thumbs, and Harper presses his forehead to hers and embraces her fully, palms running restlessly over her spine. "And you're going to be an amazing mother," he whispers. Of that he has no doubts. Wanting a child doesn't make one a natural mother, but the first day he'd ever met Phoebe he'd seen how she interacted with her nephews, and even then he'd known how perfectly she suited the role. Lifting her up into a bridal carry, Harper strides out of the bar without a backwards glance, abandoning his still-full drink; the fisherman will surely enjoy it on his behalf.
Out into the still-crisp spring air he carries his wife, and settles her into one of the outdoor seats where it's far more private and less noisy. Kneeling at her side in imitation of when he'd asked her to start a family in the first place, Harper gently lifts one scarred hand to lay over her stomach. There's nothing there, and he knows this logically, but he can't help but stare in wonder where his fingers lay splayed over her navel. "We're going to have a baby," he utters, completely awed. Looking up at her, he blinks wet eyes at her and grins anew. "A baby. Gods, Phoebe." And then realization hits belatedly, and his free hand comes up to run through his dark hair, embarrassed enough that his cheeks and ears bleed pink. "It was when we blessed the sheets for Frey, wasn't it?" Idiot man, he thinks at himself fondly.
Even the supernatural weirdness of her skin doesn't register as her hands rise to wipe away his tears. Grinning cheeks swell beneath her thumbs, and Harper presses his forehead to hers and embraces her fully, palms running restlessly over her spine. "And you're going to be an amazing mother," he whispers. Of that he has no doubts. Wanting a child doesn't make one a natural mother, but the first day he'd ever met Phoebe he'd seen how she interacted with her nephews, and even then he'd known how perfectly she suited the role. Lifting her up into a bridal carry, Harper strides out of the bar without a backwards glance, abandoning his still-full drink; the fisherman will surely enjoy it on his behalf.
Out into the still-crisp spring air he carries his wife, and settles her into one of the outdoor seats where it's far more private and less noisy. Kneeling at her side in imitation of when he'd asked her to start a family in the first place, Harper gently lifts one scarred hand to lay over her stomach. There's nothing there, and he knows this logically, but he can't help but stare in wonder where his fingers lay splayed over her navel. "We're going to have a baby," he utters, completely awed. Looking up at her, he blinks wet eyes at her and grins anew. "A baby. Gods, Phoebe." And then realization hits belatedly, and his free hand comes up to run through his dark hair, embarrassed enough that his cheeks and ears bleed pink. "It was when we blessed the sheets for Frey, wasn't it?" Idiot man, he thinks at himself fondly.
can we go back to the world we had?
with a love so sweet it makes me sad
with a love so sweet it makes me sad
