They Feel It.
In the brush of hands, the shared glances, the steady rhythm of footsteps matching their hearts. They feel it in the way he doesn't let go, and in the way she doesn't pull away.
They're falling. Hard.
But neither says it.
Because to say it would make it real.
To say it would mean letting down the last of their walls. And neither of them is quite ready for that.
So they walk by the water, hearts loud and mouths quiet.
Falling. Together.
The night is a tangle of whispered words and sweet touches. Fingers tracing skin like promises. His voice low, hers softer still. Neither in a rush. Neither needing anything more than this, this moment, this connection, this quiet undoing.
There's something healing in each kiss. In every brush of his hand over her back, in the way she runs her fingers through his hair like it's the most natural thing in the world. Something tender in the way he pulls her close, not to claim her, but to hold her.
Their bodies speak more than their words. Not out of lust, though desire lingers hot beneath the surface, but out of something softer. Something real.
She has never been touched like this before. Like she matters. Like she is known.
He has never held anyone like this before. Like they are fragile. Like he is afraid if he lets go, he will lose the only thing that ever felt like home.
And maybe that is what this is.
Two broken things finding something whole in each other.
No declarations. No names for the feeling yet.
Just warmth.
Just healing.
Just them.
Morning wrapped around them like a gentle tide, warm and slow. The light in the villa was golden, filtered through gauzy curtains that swayed just slightly with the breeze sneaking in through a cracked window. The air smelled like sun-warmed stone, distant sea salt, and the faintest traces of her shampoo on his skin.
Malvor stirred first, not because he had to, gods did not need sleep, but because she was there. Tangled against him. Warm. Breathing evenly. Her hair splayed across the pillow like spilled ink. She looked peaceful, content. And gods help him, he didn't want to wake her.
So he didn't.
He lay there, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other lazily wrapped around her waist. His thumb moved in absent circles on the small of her back, tracing the line where her skin met his. He could feel her even without touching, her emotions, her dreams. The calm that had settled over her during the night had not left yet.
He liked that. He liked this.
When she finally stirred, it wasn't with a jolt but a slow shift, her body arching slightly into his, a quiet hum escaping her lips before her eyes blinked open. She smiled, soft, unguarded.
"You were watching me," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.
"I'm allowed," he whispered. "You are mine, remember?"
She rolled her eyes at that, but didn't argue. Instead, she leaned up and kissed his collarbone, then dropped back against him with a sigh of contentment.
Minutes passed like that. Neither rushed to move. Words were not needed when their emotions pulsed and settled between them like second heartbeats.
Eventually, she pushed up on one elbow. "I should make coffee."
He caught her hand. "Stay."
"I can stay and still make coffee, Mally."
The nickname made something in his chest flutter. He huffed dramatically but let her go. She slipped out of bed, bare and beautiful, unashamed in the light. She returned minutes later with two mugs of black and strong coffee.
She kissed his forehead as she handed his over.
"Thank you," he said, his voice softer than usual. And then, with no hesitation, he pulled her back down into bed.
Their coffee went forgotten for a while as they folded into each other again, her head on his chest, his hand tracing down her spine in those same quiet, endless circles. There was no need for drama. No desire for distraction.
Not this morning.
This morning was just them.
No gods.
No games.
No chaos.
Only warmth, the sound of her breath, and the glow of something neither of them could name just yet. But they would. Eventually.
"Mal, this is the best vacation I have ever been on." She half-teases. "It is my first vacation."
"This is my best vacation ever because of you, Annie, my love." He says it with so much sincerity it hurts.
She smiles at his words, the kind that settle deep and warm in her chest. "Gods, you are such a sap."
He grins, utterly unbothered. "Only for you, Tesoro mio."
The morning stretches on around them like golden honey, slow and thick and unhurried. The sheets are tangled around their legs, warm from shared sleep and skin. The villa is quiet, except for the distant sound of birds outside and the occasional clink of ceramic as she takes a sip of her coffee.
Malvor lies back with one arm behind his head, watching her. Admiring her. Relishing the stillness. "Do mortals always look this good in the morning?" he murmurs.
She narrows her eyes. "Do gods always flirt this early?"
He turns toward her, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, his voice lower. "Only when they wake up next to the most breathtaking woman in any realm."
She rolls her eyes but cannot quite smother her smile.
They do not move much. They do not have to. They spend the morning exactly where they are, talking, teasing, touching softly. He rubs lazy circles into her back while she traces the lines of his ever-shifting tattoos with her fingers. They don't talk about the next step or the next day. They just are. Together.
And for once, that is more than enough.