Work Text:
I.
This isn’t new.
Sitting across from each other, a plate of sweets between them, nursing elegantly fragile teacups in their hands, the scented wisps of steam rising to tickle their nose, though Hapi herself opts for a nice cup of coffee rather than face her indifference towards tea. Dimitri always orders chamomile.
It’s summer and Hapi doesn’t miss the cold chill that blows through the trees and encompasses the kingdom: she longs for the warmth of her village, though she hasn’t been there in what feels like a whole other lifetime. That life left behind, existing only in memories stirred by a particular breeze, an out of place flower, or the touch of an angry sun on her neck. Faerghus cold is her new home, but she reminds herself that it isn’t all bad.
Dimitri is across from her, his intimidating frame ridiculous compared to the petite, iron tea chair he sits in. But the minute his mouth opens, one cannot help but laugh at the notion that this man could be anything except ridiculous. His speech is overly polite, cautious, and he speaks about the most mundane thing as if it holds a special meaning, which, she cannot help but be enraptured with. Hapi, too, wishes others could talk about their day with such enthusiasm, even if it appears as if nothing has happened. Small talk may generally not be her thing, but she enjoys hearing about the little happenings of what goes on behind castle walls.
Sometimes at night, when I am especially restless, I find myself practicing my old dance moves. It still puts me in awe that I somehow bumbled my way to winning the Heron Cup all those years ago.
Those flowers you sent me bloomed quite beautifully, I had someone arrange them in a bouquet. Would you like me to send it to you?
I tried identifying those constellations you taught me last time. I’m afraid I don’t have an eye for such things…
Did you hear? Marianne is with child! Her letter sounded most joyous, though she’s worried Leonie won’t allow her to do anything or go anywhere without constant supervision.
Dedue so thoughtfully sent a package of different Duscur spices, though I had to send word for another shipment as, ahem, when I opened the package, the mix of smells caused me to sneeze, breaking the bottles.
Hapi usually lets him talk most of the time, content to hear also about the occasional story of a foreign ambassador, the enjoyable anecdotes of ridiculous requests of citizens.
He doesn’t urge her to speak and she herself says nothing but watches every time he brings the cup to his lips and takes a sip. He has a habit of wetting his lips before drinking and she finds it perplexing, but oddly adorable and vulnerable.
Again, today, they continue their ritual.
Hapi is watching his lips speak, her fingers lazily swimming around the edge of her teacup, uninterested in the beverage. Full attention to his story. Though, that is a lie. While usually such is the case, his words begin to morph into nebulous concepts of sounds while her eyes find themselves wandering, unclouded.
Hapi catches a glimpse of a dimple here and there, a warmth that emanates from his smile. What about now is making her notice these details? Why is she suddenly interested in the way his mouth forms words and not the actual words themselves? Why does she care? Hapi shoves a pastry in her mouth to let the taste distract her from these intrusive thoughts.
Dimitri’s been telling her what he must think an exceptionally funny joke Alois told him yesterday, and his laugh catches her off guard. It’s too loud. Boisterous. And so him. If people weren’t already looking at their king, he surely kept their attention now. She smirks, sighing, though, immediately cups a hand over her lips. She holds her breath for a second, still unaccustomed to the fact that she no longer summons giant, murderous beasts. A second or two passes.
“I like your sigh.”
Whatever that weird feeling was Hapi had felt earlier completely dissipated.
“What’s so good about a sigh?” she snaps, a scowl scrawled on her face, a little irritated at his attempt at flattery. “What idiot compliments people on their sighs?”
Dimitri scratches at his nose, his eye widening in embarrassment, eyebrows rising into his mess of bangs. “I apologize, that was rather thoughtless. What I meant was, I like how you express yourself. It’s yours. You’re not afraid to show me that you’re exasperated. Your sigh has character.”
Hapi nearly chokes on the tea she wasn’t drinking. She attempts a stiff smile, but the crinkle of her nose gives her away. She’s amused. Dimitri has a way of making everything awkward, yet, can suavely change the atmosphere with a boyish-like innocence.
“Haaa? Wha? You’re useless, Didi. But I like that about you.” Hapi kicks his leg under the table.
A blush spreads across his cheeks as he tips the lip of his teacup for another drink. Not before running his tongue across his lips. She watches him with renewed interest, that peculiar feeling returning.
II.
There’s letters. A flurry of them, so many her desk top is a snowy day, a sheet of snow-white envelopes littering the surface. Although they saw each other quite often, during times where either one was too busy to see the other, they would send each other correspondence of their days.
Dimitri’s letters usually were short and meticulously written, which made Hapi imagine Dimitri sitting at a desk, slight frown on his face as he tried to think of how and what to say, what might be interesting enough to put onto paper. Hapi usually just wrote of food she ate and going-ons at the School of Sorcery ever since Annette and Hanneman had begged her to help with some classes occasionally. Nevertheless, letters kept coming and going, so much so that Hapi rarely bothered to clean her desk of them. Plus, it was nice to see mementos of their friendship.
Sluggishly stretching her arms above her head, she flops onto the mattress of her bed, arms spread eagle, letting her body sink into the downy cloth. In her hand is Dimitri’s most recent letter, which she opens with no care as for the state of the seal and envelope. Promptly it jaggedly tears open. Her eyes narrow as she drinks in the letters that blend into curly, intricate words:
Hapi,
The weather is turning colder. It is a most welcome change, as you know, I do not take the heat very well. Though, it is not as if Fhirdiad is ever particularly plagued with hot weather. However, be sure to remember your coat! I still remember the previous time you came to visit. Shivering like a cat straight from the bath! I apologize for laughing, though, I suppose you cannot hear me.
(Hapi sneers. Of course he’d choose to write that.)
I am awash with new feelings lately. I cannot utterly describe them, and it might be burdensome to try, but my mind has been restless and I feel a stirring in my heart. It comes in waves sometimes, this warmth...Again, I have no words to truly express these happenings.
I hope I do not come off awkwardly, but, I often imagine you here with me, even though you visit often enough. Your presence is always duly welcome. I feel I can relax around you, and I hope you can feel the same with me. Hopefully my talks of politics do not run you off. I’d rather you sigh than be without my teatime partner. I miss your rare smiles.
Here in the castle it can be quite lonely. I await another of your visits. I think of you often.
Dimitri goes on to write more about some political talks he has had with former Empire houses, but Hapi’s mind keeps reeling, rewinding. I think of you often.
I think of you often.
I think of you often.
I.
Think.
Of.
You. You. You.
Normally after reading one of his messages, she throws it onto the snowpile on her desk, but instead she tucks it beneath her pillow covering. After some deliberation, Hapi moves from the bed to rifle through a drawer to procure some loose papers and a glass inkwell scratched with neglect, barely a puddle of ink inside. She doesn’t have much to waste. Determined, she dips a pen into the bottle and hovers above one of the sheets.
The page winds up blank.
Her mind is too full of the things she wants to say, the words eluding her fingertips. Five, 20 minutes pass, then a sigh of annoyance blows the page back accompanied by the sound of a chair scuffing against the floor. Hapi needs air to clear her head.
Later that night, she returns to the empty paper and quickly scribbles a sentence before smudging the ink into an angry streak so no one, not even her, could see what had been written.
I think too much of you.
III.
It’s a change of pace. A wedding. Too loud. Too many people.
Hapi finds herself pressed against the wall, observing quietly from the sidelines, trying to lay low though her brown skin is vivid against bright yellow-painted stones. The banquet table is nearby and she often inches towards it to swipe a pastry or two or three or four. Brushing away deviant crumbs, her eyes focus on the festivities: throngs of people dancing, groups of gossiping nobles standing near the edges of the dance floor with roving disapproving eyes, people like Hapi content to frequent the tables littered with plates of rare delicacies and local artisan desserts.
In the middle of the madness are Sylvain and Dedue, the newlyweds. They’re sappily in love, always at the other’s lips and hands clasped so tightly together their arms must have fused together. She hasn’t seen them break away from each other once, always side-by-side, always smiling. The ceremony was long overdue (everyone knew they’d be married as soon as they both emerged from the war alive) and probably would not have come as quickly if there hadn’t been a domino effect starting with the marriage of Byleth and Seteth. It seemed all their comrades had been getting hitched.
There was Annette and Hilda, who had made their way over to the newlyweds to congratulate them, probably laughing about the hardships of married life. Ashe, who had retired to a guest bedroom with a very drunk Caspar, though Hapi suspected they were doing more than just lying in bed. She even sees Lorenz occasionally skirt through the crowd, weaving his way over to the back wall to speak to Ignatz, sometimes with a drink in hand, and sometimes to just kiss the top of the artist’s head as he painted a picture of the merriment.
Hapi rarely gave marriage a thought, the idea ludicrous in the face of a “rare” condition and a predisposition to alienate anyone who would want to get close. She was dangerous. But that was before the war. Marriage still wasn’t top priority on her Things Hapi Wants to Do list, but she can accept the noticeable twinge of longing in her heart.
Her eyes, raking through the crowd, finally spot a tuft of blonde hair, a ponytail tied with a royal blue ribbon. He is courteously dancing with several female guests, a fixed smile on his face that probably belies his exhaustion. It seems he’s being spun around the room, dancing, being asked to dance, taking turns with everyone, bouncing around from hand to hand. Everyone wants a chance to dance with their handsome king. Hapi sees the noble woman he’s currently dancing with try imperceptibly to slide her hands down to brush the base of his spine, though he’s probably well aware judging from the slight twitch of his lips. She snorts. The shit he has to put up with.
"You've been staring at Dimitri for an awfully long time."
Hapi gasps in surprise, the sudden intrusion of Linhardt’s voice making her jump. Linhardt probably didn’t mean to frighten her, but his greeting had violently shaken her out of her trance. Hapi shoots him a dirty look though he doesn’t seem as if he cares.
His eyes brush over her face. "You're blushing."
"You can't possibly tell."
“You could have just said you weren’t.”
“I’m not. Happy?”
He shrugged, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He knows something, or, Hapi suspects, thinks he knows something.
“It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s pretty obvious you have a crush on Dimitri.” Hapi doesn’t say anything for the moment, her lips pursed, eyes scanning the wall above the heads of guests, upset when they come to find that familiar flash of blonde again.
“It’s not like that,” she whispers, stuffing an overly plump creme puff into her mouth to keep herself from revealing anything. She’s not entirely sure what “like that” means. The creme drips down her chin. Linhardt raises an eyebrow waiting for an answer, but yawns when it becomes clear she won’t elaborate. He wasn’t too interested in the first place anyway. His eyes flick sideways.
“While I’d love to talk and catch up, it seems the object of our discussion is headed our way.”
Linhardt blinks his goodbyes before slinking off somewhere, deserting Hapi as Dimitri strides over, his shoulders strong against the sea of dancers, parting the waves. He is wearing a navy blue gambeson, several brown belts wrapped around the coat hugging his torso causing the muscles in his chest to strain against the cloth viciously. It was probably the first thing that caught everyone’s eye. A single, white pauldron adorns his left shoulder and a lighter blue capelet blanketed his back. Tonight, his golden strands are tied in a high ponytail allowing for the loose strands of his hair to stray away from his eye. Though he would never admit it, the flush on Dimitri’s cheeks makes it apparent that he is tipsy, if not drunk.
“Hapi! I’m glad I finally have time to greet you. Have you been enjoying yourself?” His azure eye washes down her face, soaking it in. A hand slips into a pocket to pull out a silk handkerchief, but Hapi wipes the dessert mess from her face before he can offer it to her. Pocketing the cloth, he holds his hand out again, this time, empty.
“Would you care for a dance?”
Hapi would rather prefer to appreciate the orchestra from the sidelines rather than fumble through dancing on the off-beats. Or was it the on-beats?
“I’m, um, not the best dancer. I’d actually prefer it if I didn’t.”
Dimitri laughs a little and tugs at his collar. One of his nervous habits.
“I can teach you, it’s not too difficult.”
“Haven’t you done enough dancing for one night?”
“Not with you.”
Damn. Hapi cannot tell if he realizes how smooth he sounds when he speaks, how flirtatious he can be without trying. A result of his primness, his aptitude for unintentionally seducing someone was a force to reckon with, much less forced than Sylvains’ but much more powerful. His sincerity is like music, it makes her blush, hesitate, and sigh.
“It wouldn’t hurt to try,” she murmurs. “But this is a one time exception.”
Dimitri’s ears perk up, the grin on his face stretching his features. If he had a tail, it’d surely be wagging she thinks when Dimitri gently grabs her wrists to pull her to the center of the dance floor. She curses her luck, embarrassed to be caught in the middle of everything when she lets out an air of surprise as she feels Dimitri’s right hand touch her mid-back, sensitive and vulnerable.
He smiles apologetically and gestures for her to grab his shoulder. Hesitantly, she places her left hand on his shoulder and the Faerghus king shepherds her stray right hand to his, larger hands engulfing her smaller ones.
“Follow my lead,” he whispers, the gusts of air tickling at her ear and sending a chill down her spine. Fluidly as if skating on air, Dimitri steps forward and segues into a right step.
There has to be some broken toes with the amount of times Hapi accidentally digs her heel into the toes of Dimitri’s boots, or when she clumsily crashes into him when she misses a step. However, she eventually gets the hang of waltzing, her feet cooperating with her as if they know she doesn’t want to make a complete fool of herself in front of this blonde puppy.
“You’re doing great.” Dimitri grins down at her, the light of the overhanging chandelier catching his eye, sparkling with an ethereal gleam. Hapi looks away quickly.
“Shut up, you’re just saying that.”
“No! I mean it, you’re a natural. I was much worse when I first learned.”
“Say that to me later after the healers have healed your broken foot.” Hapi smiles wryly. Again, he’s too earnest and liberal with his praises. It could give somebody the wrong idea.
“It’s a rare treat to see you smile, Hapi.”
“It’s a grimace, not a smile. Totally different.”
“Either way, you’re somewhat enjoying dancing.”
“I guess it’s not too bad.”
“Maybe by the time you get married, you'll be a professional.”
Hapi snickers. “Fat chance.”
Dimitri smiles as if he knows something she doesn’t. In due time, the music begins to slow pace and the last legato notes of the orchestra resonate in the chamber before break. After the song dies, the pair separate, Hapi mirroring Dimitri in doing a traditional bow. Before she can escape back to the safety of the sidelines, Dimitri takes her hand, bows, and presses a kiss to her hand.
“Thank you for this dance.”
She watches him step back to disappear back among the other nobles, the ghost of his lips lingering on her hand. When she’s sure he’s out of sight, she brings the hand to her cheek to see if it’s still warm.
IV.
She’s inexperienced with these feelings. She can’t exactly pinpoint the change, the shift in the air between them. Or maybe just the shift in how she sees Dimitri. She always thought him the typical Faerghian, pale with long features. But whereas before Hapi regarded Dimitri passively, now she focuses more and more on the landscape of his body.
The way his eyes always catch the light, sparkling like the surface of the sea, changing colors with the tide. Dark when deep in thought, vibrant when talking spiritedly about a subject, a soft baby blue when quiet and reflective.
How though his lips weren’t particularly thick- in fact they were quite thin- Hapi still squirmed whenever Dimitri pursed them in thought, licked them in passing, twisted them into a dazzling smile.
Dimitri’s chest was massive, broad and supple, and in the rare instances she saw him out of his armor, appeared as if on the verge of bursting. A chest, Linhardt had whispered, that could rival Manuela’s. Hapi can’t count the amount of times she’s imagined lying against him, how warm it would be to cuddle against him, his chest a nice pillow for napping.
The deep ‘V’ of his hips was tantalizing in how dramatic it seemed compared to the other shapes and angles of his body. Feminine and framed by a muscular torso, powerful thighs. A shapely hourglass. She often wondered how her fingers would feel clutching those hips, her arms wrapping those hips, her legs straddling those hips.
These days Hapi finds herself distracted by daydreams of her and Dimitri at their usual table, drinking tea. He begins to talk about politics, but sees the annoyance written on her face, and dons a devious smile. He stands, and without breaking eye contact, begins to shed out of his armor. Hapi is glued to her seat, unable to move, unable to speak as the man in front of her strips to his small clothes. Stepping closer he takes one of her hands and guides it to his chest, a half-lidded eye inviting her to help him finish. Hapi swallows dryly and -
And that is when she is usually jostled back to reality, quizzical glances given her way, questions on the tips of tongues.
He plagues her every dream. It’s annoying. She’s saddled with unnecessary feelings, or, at least, she thinks so. They distract her, take the breath from her lungs, cause her fitful sleep, and have affected her relationship with Dimitri. Does she want to be more than friends with him? Does she love him? How does he feel? Would he ever feel the same way? Does he dream of her the same way? Will this thing pass? Hapi’s sure it’ll pass.
She’s sure. It’s just Dimitri.
V.
Hapi finds herself at ease and calm atop a saddle, the gentle sway of her horse lulling her into a daze. Dimitri is a bit in front of her as his horse trots, leading the way to somewhere or another. He’s kept their destination a secret, the only thing he has said about it being ‘I thought we could enjoy a picnic’.
Their days were becoming numbered before the landscape would be completely littered with snow. Even now, small flurries of snow would fall during the morning or evening, sticking to every possible surface until it would melt in the slightly warmer sun of the afternoon. A picnic was a nice idea, and it’d be great to be away from under the judgeful eyes of others
Dimitri steers his horse through a small trail between a grove of trees, carefully maneuvering around several fallen logs and thick vines, until he reaches a patch of arching trees, their leaves kissing to create an entrance to a tranquil meadow. Hapi’s eyes take a minute to readjust to sunlight not streaming through treetops and gasps at the sight: a round, pastel green painted landscape surrounds them with groups of two, three trees scattered around for decoration. Tall grass with fuschia pompons bend over smaller flowers of varying shades of yellow and blue, a contrasting rainbow against the fortress of trees around them. A large pond glistens down a slope a few yards from where they stood, fallen leaves bobbing atop the surface like debris. Up ahead, Dimitri turns to grin at her, almost like he’s bragging about knowing this place existed.
They allow the horses to roam around grazing while they set up, stretching out a soft, red blanket on a shorter patch of grass and placing their wooden basket off to the edge to weigh it down in case of strong wind. Dimitri pulls out two bottles of wine - one filled with a dark red, almost purple liquid, the other a misty white- from his rucksack, accompanied by two wooden cups, a nice lattice pattern etched along the rims.
Hapi smiles. “That doesn’t look like tea.” She takes a bottle to sniff at. The wine bottles are bulbous with a dark, opaque green tinge. A curly insignia is painted onto the glass, a name of some famous winery no doubt. She sniffs again, enticed by the different fragrances mixing with that of the regular grape smell. From the first bottle she can discern blueberries and blackberries, peaches from the second.
Dimitiri hums, pouring the liquid into the cups being careful to contain any loose drops from raining down onto the blanket. “I know this does not live up to the standards of our usual choice of drinks, but I hope this will suffice. It’s a traditional wine of Faerghus.”
A first sip makes Hapi gag, and a second makes her tingly. It has a strong sweetness to it that is both nauseating and addictive. She pours herself three more glasses, snapping back each with the precision of a seasoned bar drunk.
“Hapi, please pace yourself. This wine is strong, I wouldn’t want you to pass out.” He’s still on his first serving, taking gulps between bites of venison and cheese. Hapi kicks at his foot, a playful tongue poking out from between blushed lips. He kicks back, though much softer for fear he’ll go overboard and hurt her.
“Fine, I’ll eat.” Hapi picks up a sandwich filled with venison, taking a huge bite. Dimitri finally finishes his wine, pouring a second. His body visibly relaxes, shoulders slumping into his chest, head drooping slightly.
“To tell the truth, I don’t feel up to talking today. I’m rather fine just sitting here with you.”
“Good. We can watch the clouds.”
So, lying on the ground, the two watch as the sun begins to droop below the clouds, hiding behind the tops of the trees, the sky blazing orange and pink. It’s that delicate time between evening and night, when the world appears to stand still, noises disappear, and time is frozen. The clouds, however, still move like pegasi across the sky.
“I wish we could do this more,” Dimitri murmurs, shifting closer to his right, closer to Hapi.
“We could have a picnic on your roof and stargaze some night,” Hapi yawns. She’s suddenly sleepy, perhaps the alcohol finally taking effect.
“You know they don’t let anyone into the castle past midnight.” Hapi hums in response, closing her eyes, letting his voice envelop her like a warm, comfortable quilt.
“I’ll sneak in through your bedroom window.” She can feel herself falling asleep, the hands of sleep dragging her away from the meadow.
“You sound like Sylvain,” he teases, an amused glint in his eye.
“No way, I’m much classier.” Her words are slower and she can barely focus.
“And prettier.”
Or, that’s what she thinks she hears, the heavy waves of exhaustion crashing against her. She’s blinking in and out, unsure of how reliable her senses are. Is Dimitri speaking to her? She thinks she hears her name. Or is it a dream? She’s so tired.
An arm pulls her closer to a body. It’s warm. He’s warm, she somehow recognizes. She lets him entangle his legs with hers, his frame enveloping her. They’re just friends repeats as a mantra in her head as she slips into unconsciousness, even when she’s vaguely aware of the hand stroking her head.
She’s shaken awake by Dimitri. He says it’s time to go. They return to the capital in silence. It’s painfully uneventful.
VI.
This isn’t new.
Hapi is sitting across from Dimitri in one of the castle’s many parlors, a tray piled with sweets between them. Dimitri is drinking chamomile. Hapi is nursing a mug of coffee. The autumn winds were picking up, blowing through the curtains of the open windows, a cold chill in the air. Hapi shivers, pulling her cloak closer around her shoulders, the air much colder than a sea breeze. Though, she isn’t completely sure that her goosebumps have everything to do with the northern weather.
Dimitri has not so much as opened his mouth to blabber on about this Duke, or this Count, or these trade agreements, or whatever political topics he was busy with. Instead, between silent sips of tea, Hapi catches him looking at her with a strange expression on his face, until he quickly averts his gaze and looks out a window, caught in the act.
“Didi. Look at me.” A chill runs between them again. She watches Dimitri walk over to a window and close it, careful not to slam it shut. “Why invite me over for tea if you’re not going to say anything. I could’ve stayed home.”
“Hapi, you’re right. I apologize for my rudeness,” he sighs, his eyes still refraining from looking at her for too long. He’s scanning the room frantically. He’s biting his lip.
“And why do you keep staring at me and looking away? It’s weird.”
“Yes, I apologize.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“Sorr-”
“Stop. I don’t need apologies. I need answers.”
Dimitri returns to the table, moves as if to sit down, but grasps the back of his chair as if needing the support. A tongue peeks out of his mouth to swipe at his lips. Making his way over to the other side of the table, he tenderly grabs Hapi’s hands and pulls her up from her chair.
“Hapi, I can’t stop thinking about you. About us. Are we...friends?”
“Uh, duh.” She catches him flinching a bit, so she swiftly amends, “
“Sometimes, I am aware we’re friends, I can see that but...I sometimes, too, wonder if we’re...not?”
“Are you saying our friendship is a lie?” Hapi clenches her fist, eyebrows knitting together ready for a full on scowl.
“This is coming out all wrong.” Dimitri forces out a laugh that sounds more like a choked sob. “We most definitely are friends. But, it, I don’t know, feels more than that. I cannot stop thinking about you. I miss you when you’re away and even if we spend all day together, I curse the Goddess that there aren’t more hours in a day. Yet, I can find comfort in your absence just knowing you’re a part of my life.”
There’s a familiar feeling, a boiling in her heart. Her body is overheating and she cannot stop the drumming of her heart. It speeds up when Dimitri inches closer, minimizing the distance between them.
“You’re beautiful, you know about the stars, you’re not afraid to say what you mean, there’s this confidence you have that weakens me, I honestly cannot believe you’d be friends with me, let alone enjoy sharing my company because you’re just so-”
“You’re rambling,” Hapi mumbles.
“W-what I mean is...I...Hapi…”
“Spit it out, Didi.” She's growing impatient, the pounding in her chest getting louder,the heat becoming unbearable. She feels smoke rise in her throat, burning, smoldering.
“Hapi.” He’s a breath away, but she’s completely breathless. The pounding won’t stop. She needs him to say it.
"Just-”
“I am completely enamored with you.”
Hapi can hear the blood pulsing in her ears. “D-Didi, wha….”
“I love you.”
The fire in her chest explodes, its flames wrapping around her rapidly beating heart. Her chest hurts, and the coolness from Dimitri's breath, his lips just a lurch away, is creating a mixed reaction. Being near him is too much, the flames growing larger, yet, the burning of his sea blue eye quell the emotions wrestling inside her all the same, dousing the wreckage inside her. Hapi wants him to come closer, to wash away the ashes. She realizes. She realizes. She realizes.
She’s in love with him too.
For a moment, she says nothing, just lets their breath mingle unabated to allow her feelings to catch up to the rhythm of her heart. See wants to say nothing, wants to say too much, wants to say everything. Her mouth has gone arid, a desert of words.
“Dimitri.”
Slowly, tentatively, Dimitri’s hands come to rest on her wrists. Delicate. Nervous.
“Can I….I mean...may I...May I have the pleasure in kissing you?”
Hapi was glad that her blush was faint, that he couldn’t see all the ways her body was betraying her. She feels the weight of his fingers as he presses them into her palm, sliding them up between the spaces of her fingers to entwine them. She lets him bring their hands between their chests. Though it’s chilly and there’s wind blowing the cold around, beads of sweat streak down the side of his throat. His eye is glistening like he wants to cry, they’re so shiny. He’s nervous. Shy. Overwhelmed.
First, lips meet the knuckles of their interlocked hands, then he closes the distance between them, lips meeting lips, the softness with which he presses against her an expression of his feelings for her. Hapi can feel the locks of his hair brush against her cheek, her ears, the tops of her eyes. There’s too much armor between them, she wants to be closer, to feel every scar, ridge,curve of his body. She wants more. He wants more. So, tentatively, Dimitri opens his mouth and Hapi returns the sentiment.
But they’re clumsy, all teeth, not enough coordination, and in their confusion, Dimitri’s knocks against the table, a cup topping over, splattering tea onto the tablecloth and dripping down to the carpet. Dimitri begins to laugh, fresh, bright notes of happiness lacing his voice, and Hapi sighs, wanting to feel him against her again, a new sensation she wants to experience over and over.
Dimitri leans down once more, as if to kiss her, but he wavers, cheeks rosy, and instead opts to kiss her knuckles. They had just had their first kiss and now he’s embarrassed. His timid smile is met with a curl of Hapi’s lips.
“You’re useless, Didi.”