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It was the 6th Sun of the 6th Astral Moon: Beetle’s twenty-eighth nameday. A celebration was certainly called for, and she would have one at the Crystarium that night. The day, however, belonged to only she and Urianger.
They went a little ways away further than they usually did when they picnicked in Lakeland, desiring utmost privacy. The western woods served their purposes well.
There they sat in each other’s embrace, looking out upon the glistening waters of the Source.
Urianger was rather mischievous that day, and Beetle’s appearance was proof of it; her hat tossed to the ground, hair mussed, coat unbuttoned and neck exposed.
“Bah, I’d best have myself sorted out before we go back to the Crystarium,” she said, pulling away from his lips. He greedily pulled her back, and she laughed against him as he continued to ravish her.
“All shall be sorted, my beloved,” he said, unbuttoning her coat fully and pulling it off, “Think naught of it. Allow me to lavish thee as no other can.”
She shivered as his hand climbed up the small of her back.
“Urianger,” she mildy chastised, “I need my coat, it’s a little chilly today.”
“Mm, thou shalt not want for warmth in mine arms,” he said, his lips wandering to her neck.
Beetle gasped with delight as his teeth dug gently into the place where neck meets shoulder.
“Art thou thinking of the cold now, my beloved?” he teased, lips grazing her ear, “Or doth my touch igniteth a fire within thee?”
Beetle blushed, giggling as he gently lead her onto her back, hovering above her.
“What’s gotten into you?”
“Hush, my love,” he said, his hands deftly unbuttoning the front of her dress, nose nuzzling against hers, “Thou need not say a thing. Let me love thee.”
Beetle gasped quietly.
“Here? Now? Oh my,” she said, surprised but not at all against the idea.
He smirked, his own robe falling away from his torso.
“Fear not,” he said, “There art no patrols here. None shall witness our meeting.”
His face turned into a wicked, taunting smile.
“That is, unless… someone shouldst heareth thee call out to me,” he said, descending upon her with a ferocity that forced her to muffle a squeal of delight.
—————
Urianger basked in their afterglow, watching Beetle fix her hair and clothing.
“Oh my,” she said, clearing her throat, face still quite flushed, “That was… well. Happy nameday to me.”
Urianger smiled and reached from within the picnic basket.
“Indeed. A joyous nameday to thee, beloved.”
He held out a wrapped package in front of her, plain and small and quite decidedly book shaped.
“Oh!” Beetle said, hand to her heart, “I told you you didn’t have to–”
Urianger shook his head.
“Nonsense, my love. I eagerly desire for thee to have it,” he urged, placing it in her hands.
Beetle smiled, taking it from him.
“Aww, well, if you insist.”
She unwrapped it, placing the paper and string aisde. Her brows raised as she turned it over in her hands; a journal, leather bound and heavily used.
“Urianger,” she began, “This…”
“It is the diary I hath kept since the beginning of my days here the First,” he said, “It is… filled with musings thou hath inspired within me. Regrettably, tis not all happy… but in it are words from my heart I fain wouldst share with thee.”
Beetle’s lip trembled as she opened to a particular poem:
Drowning
My heart bursts for thee
In a way I never knew possible.
It overflows within my chest, a ewer too small -
To contain this outpour of agony and despair.
Return to me, O beloved!
Lest I be pulled under and drowned.
On another page, pressed, dried flowers, glued to the paper. A small cluster of hydrangeas, in many colors, with scribbling next to it that read:
A Bouquet For Thee
Blue for my contrition, for the sins by my hand.
White, though I’ve nothing to boast.
Purple for my desire to know and understand.
Pink for mine ardent feelings innermost.
And on another, a rather well done drawing of her face, surrounded by tiny script that read Beetle over and over, connected in a chain around her.
The further she read on, the more precious the diary seemed. She no longer held leather and paper and ink; no, in her hands, she now carried his soul.
“Oh, Urianger,” she breathed reverently, eyes filling with tears, “This… I think this may be the greatest gift I’ve ever been given.”
His eyes softened as his face drew into a warm, radiant smile, and he reached for her hand. She took it, quickly throwing herself into his arms. Urianger buried his face in her hair, breathing her in with a shuddering sigh, eyes misty, smiling widely.
“I love you. I love you so much, Urianger.”
“I love thee as well, Beetle.”