Chapter Text
She’s sleeping on the settee, the little one in her foyer.
He came to ask her for a fencing match, but the moment he sees her in repose, he’s loath to disturb her peace.
Instead, he stops to watch her for a while: the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each breath, the ghost of a smile as it passes her dreaming mouth, the restless curling of her legs beneath her, a slight turn of her head, a whispering sigh as the wind blows her curtains back and the afternoon sun splashes across her face, turning her hair a molten gold.
The sight makes him smile, but he can’t help the feeling that washes over him: something is missing—something big. It’s probably not important, he tells himself, and takes a folded blanket from a nearby chair, draping it over her.
She settles, fingertips curling into the soft material, contentment in her expression.
Like any human being, she seeks warmth.
And she is warm. His fingers skim over her cheek and he gets lost in the sensation, lets them trail down to her neck where her skin is soft. Her pulse beats beneath his fingertips, a strong and steady alléluia.
Most people misunderstand her stiff posture and clipped orders. They believe the whole of her is as frigid as an arctic wind. But André, who has seen the raging fires of her heart, knows better. Oscar is the sun: light and heat, a certain summer stubbornness, a welcome winter sight.
He kneels beside her, touches his nose to hers, feels her breath fan across his face. He’s never been so close; less than an inch separates them. It would be so easy to close the distance, to steal a kiss from her warm mouth.
But he finds his lips are trembling, and then his hands, and suddenly the whole of him feels as if he is being torn asunder. Tears work their way down his face, a physical manifestation of guilt and confused, overwhelming love. It all feels like too much to him: too much to consider, too much to bear.
That inch may as well be a mile.
So he pulls away, his fingers brushing her hair back from her face, one last little touch to comfort himself, and he leaves her there to sleep on the settee, the little one in her foyer.