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She was asleep in the afternoon shade of a tree, and he didn't recall ever feeling so peaceful.
Blades of grass dug into his skin, bees disturbed the air, the rough bark clawed at his back through his shirt, but Amadeus cared for none of that.
Nature had never been kind to him. Petunia, though..? Her hair haloed her head like ivy starved for touch, and he brushed the top of his finger against it, nudging bangs away from her eyes— softly enough that he hoped it wouldn't wake her.
Perhaps she hadn't been quite asleep.
A curious gaze sprouted between her eyelids, and she lazily rose a hand to his cheek.
Guided it lower, closer.
The green of her eyes disappeared again when they touched. The grass and the bees and the bark were gone altogether. His lips were chapped, hers smoother.
He wondered why she even wanted to kiss him; so he pulled away, overtaken by a wave of fondness, to look at her.
He searched for an answer in her cheekbones, on her freckle-speckled nose, the curve of her lip; he found one in the nails digging into his scalp when she nudged him down to kiss her again.
A second hand joined, burrowed in his hair. His own cupped her cheek, and her parted lips breathed out love that filled him to the marrow of his bones.