November in the capital of Erriador has always been wintry, even with autumn still clinging to the air.
But inside Neva's home, comfort gathers in the kitchen, where she lingers by the induction stove, slowly stirring
a beef stew with chopped potatoes and carrots.
She muffles the stew's simmering with a lid before drifting into the living room, the soreness in her heart deepening as time stretches on,
untouched by the balm of a certain presence.
She settles beneath the kotatsu, the words in one of her favourite comfort reads, Little Women, blurring together until she finally buries her head in her arms, stealing glances toward the entrance as she waits for him to ease the heaviness in her chest.
Why… When had this happened? How had he taken root so deeply in her soul, growing with each passing moment, his hold on her strengthening, unyielding?
The doorbell chimes,
startling her, and she quickly runs her fingers through her damp curls as she pushes to her feet.
A whirlwind of emotions swirls within her as she falters mid-step.
"Oh, Father," she whispers. "What's wrong with me?"
A distinct, gentle voice within her answers what she already suspects.
Yet, unwilling to acknowledge it, she tucks the thought away
in the back of her mind and pushes the door open.
There's Rhett…
Lingering in her doorway, always so mesmerising, so consuming.
His dark hair shifts in the breeze,
his hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, his gaze straying toward something unseen in the dark.
He smiles at the sight of her. "Hey, Angel."
The dimness in his expression only sinks her deeper into a chasm of remorse and moroseness, for she knows, without a doubt, that it is because of her.
He had been unusually quiet the whole ride home, the silence between them broken only upon their arrival,
when she asked if he would come over for dinner.
Like always, he said yes.
"Come in," she whispers,
resisting the urge to ask why he is so late when he has become almost inseparable from her.
"The workshop needs me," he says before adding with a teasing smile, "And trust me, if it weren't urgent, I wouldn't miss dinner with you for anything."
Urgent work? But he had said he was done for the day. And nothing urgent seemed to have
come up in the past few days they'd spent together.
Maybe he is finally done with her.
"Okay," she replies, her heart caving in under a turmoil of anger, disappointment, hurt.
She doesn't know.
Before she reaches for the doorknob, she adds curtly, "You should've left.
You don't owe me an explanation."
Without giving him a second to reply, she starts to close the door, but just before it shuts with a thud, his hand slips through the narrowing gap, catching it.
She doesn't move. Can't.
He steps inside, her gaze locked on his, the hurt in those familiar depths unmistakable.
"Is it because I don't mean anything to you, Neva?" he asks, his voice rough at the edges.
Not a word escapes her, her throat tight and aching.
"Then why bother with dinner?" he asks, his breath warm against her face. "Why bother going to church with me? Why spend all this time with me at all?"
Her knees weaken at the sting of his words, and at the closeness of him,
the earthy scent of musk lingering between them.
"What are we, Neva?" he asks, his eyes searching hers, before drifting
over her face, lingering on her lips.
"Friends..." she whispers.
He tilts his head, his soft lips grazing her cheek. "Is it against the rules,"
he murmurs, "if a friend kisses you here?"
Barely a whisper, she replies, "No."
"And here?" He gently brushes his lips against her jaw.
"No," she breathes, her eyes slipping shut as she finds herself pressed into his warmth, the rhythm of his heartbeat quickening beneath her palms.
"And here?" he whispers, his thumb grazing her lips.
Everything fades into stillness, and she lingers in the shared rhythm of their heartbeats, her body yielding to his warmth, the ache of him clouding her thoughts.
"No," she gasps, her world spinning as his lips come down on hers.
Golden sparks burst behind her closed eyes as she loosens her hold on everything, surrendering to the heavenly sensation of melting into his sweet mouth.
The next thing she knows, she's in his arms, dazed and feverish, as he carefully settles her in the couch.
His heavy breath tangles with hers, fading as their lips meet again,
their souls blazing in a garden of love and longing.
Tides crash against wildfire as their mouths move together in a beautiful symphony,
the sensation of him overtaking, overwhelming her.
Time ceases to exist… until breath becomes a necessity,
and she half-heartedly pushes against his chest.
It is a dream. And in it, she lives and soars. And she would die a thousand gentle deaths as their lips meet again, igniting, burning, and threading them into one.
It is the first time she realises how irksome it is that a living body needs air, the weight of mortality pressing against her chest when all she wants is to remain with him,
not to part from him, no, not even for a little while.
"I didn't mean it like that," she whispers, her breath faltering. "My friend... was just being insufferable."
He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead.
"Do you even realise what you do to me?" he murmurs. "That I'm so… so in love with you?"
A small smile feathers across her lips. "Tell me."
"May I show you instead?" He brushes the strands of hair away from her neck.
Her fingers curl into the mellowness of his jumper
as he presses lingering kisses along her neck.
"I don't think I could ever live without this." His breath grazes her skin with each word. "…Without you."
"Then don't," she answers.
He raises his head to meet her eyes. "So, what are we, Angel? Am I only a friend who you let kiss you, or am I allowed to hope for something more?"
"Do you think I'd just let any friend kiss me?" she challenges teasingly.
He smiles, lifting her hand to feather a kiss across her knuckles.
"Then let's make it clear what I want from you."
"Okay," she replies, her voice quiet.
"I'm going to marry you," he says, his voice low, steady. "Are you going to marry me, Angel?"
"Yes," she says, her heart quickening.
"You'll be the mother of my children," he continues, brushing a strand of hair from her brow.
"Are you sure you want that with me, Angel?"
"Yes," she says, losing herself in his marmoris gaze as tears burn in her eyes.
A smile delights on his face as he leans in, resting his brow against hers.
A tear falls against her skin, and as she realises it is his, everything crashes over her all at once, the ache he must have borne,
climbing the barbed walls of her soul,
reaching for the blossom hidden away in her garden.
Now, acknowledging the voice of her Father at last, the answer she has long evaded, she
places the scarlet rose into his bleeding hands.
And with another whisper of love, he kisses her once more, while a favourite Bible verse drifts through her mind:
1 Corinthians 13:4–7
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Drawn from a blissful dream, she pushes him back, and a small frown pulls between his brows.
"Is something wrong?" he asks.
"The stew," she mumbles, the faint scent of burning growing stronger.
Pushing past him, she rushes toward the kitchen.
The pungent, bitter smell of the burnt food stings her nose as she turns the stove off,
and with a mitten on her hand, lifts the lid.
A sigh escapes her, her shoulders slumping at the parched meal that has promised to be a good stew.
"Burned our dinner, did you?" Rhett teases, folding his arms across
his chest as he leans against the kitchen counter.
"Whose fault was that?" Neva retorts.
He chuckles, before stepping closer and wrapping his arms around her.
"I think we should just get takeaway tonight."
"Yes," she sighs, yielding against him.
"I'm your lover," he says slowly, as if savouring every word. "And your future husband."
"Bet you are." Goosebumps rise across her skin as he gently nips at her ear.
"I love you," he murmurs.
"I love you too," she replies.
He pauses before turning her to face him. "You do?"
She rises onto her tiptoes,
her arms circling around his neck as she presses her lips to his. "Still don't believe me?"
His arms tighten around her waist ever so slightly. "Can you show me more?"
She narrows her gaze at him, while his smile only deepens.
Then, a realisation dawns on her. "Wait… weren't you urgently needed at the workshop?"
"Who cares about that?" He curls a finger beneath her chin. "I'm afraid you still feel like a dream to me."
"But I'm not," she assures.
"You're stuck with me, forever. Do you understand?"
"I do."
He kisses her once more, and she melts into him, unnaturally happy with his idea of forever, the spark between them flaring hotter, insatiable in its longing.