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Joan looks tired.
She’s been tired a lot lately. Between moving in and wedding planning, things have been hectic lately. But despite the exhaustion apparent in her features even in the faint light of night, she smiles softly at him.
There are boxes lying unpacked around them, but still an encouraging amount already emptied or taken into other rooms and music is playing from his phone on the counter.
He leans back on the countertop, watching her move to toss another empty box towards the pile of them in the corner of the kitchen. He stretches an arm out, letting a yawn escape his chest, his eyes close briefly before opening and settling once again on Joan. She’s not the only one who’s tired.
The song playing from his phone on the counter fades out and there’s a brief, comfortable silence before another starts up. Their eyes are meeting across the room, and the worn-out calm on her face is making him melt, if only because it serves as a reminder that they’re in this together.
The song’s first notes make him smile almost as much as the sight of her and so, without thinking, he tiredly beckons her towards him, already taking a step to meet her halfway. They end up together in the center of the kitchen, and he reaches for her hands instinctively. She smiles at him curiously as, after smiling down at her for a few seconds, he releases one of her hands and wraps his free arm around her waist. Following his lead, she raises their intertwined hands and lets her other hand rest comfortably on his shoulder.
He leads in the gentle swaying movements they start off with before beginning to move his feet. They don’t quite glide across the hardwood floor, but their footsteps are light and their pace isn’t terribly slow. Joan was always a better dancer than him. Joan is a good dancer, period.
Owen on the other hand, has always had two left feet. Still, she lets him lead. It’s less an act of indulgence and more a show of trust. She carefully leans her head into his chest and trusts that he’s interrupting the last of their packing, even though they’re both exhausted, for a good reason. Trusts that he needs this. This opportunity to be close to her. She lets him lead, trusting that they’ll be done when he’s ready and that in the meantime, he’ll know what he’s doing.
“I love you,” she hums.
“I love you too,” he responds softly, letting his head lean against hers for just a second.
The idea of Joan trusting him-- with anything, really-- never fails to make his heart swell. He’s worked so hard to gain her trust again. And now that it’s being freely given, in their everyday lives and for just the smallest of things, he counts his blessings every time. He’s not going to take that trust for granted, not again.
I spent four lonely days in a brown LA haze, and I just want you back by my side.
They have a house together. It’s big, and unfurnished, and unfamiliar, and intimidating, but it’s theirs, and he wouldn’t trade that fact for the world.
He reaches down, placing his hand under her chin and gently tilting her head upwards as he leans down to kiss her. The hand she’d had resting on his shoulder travels upwards, reaching the back of his head. She brushes her fingers over the shaven part on the back of his neck, running them back and forth over the hair there. He loves that feeling.
“You need a haircut,” she breaks the kiss to tell him. Her voice sounds weighed down, almost-groggy. Her exhaustion is showing.
“I think the rest of the unpacking can wait until tomorrow.”
“No-- No,” she releases his hand, using her own to muffle her yawn. “We made a schedule to keep, we…”
“We’ll get up early,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead before calmly beginning to whisper along with the music still playing in the background. “I hope you’re enjoying the scenery,” he smiles. He holds his hand up near her face, caressing her cheek softly with his thumb. “I know that it’s pretty up there.” Her eyes meet his and he can see the resignation set in.
“Okay,” she nods, leaning her head in the direction of his hand, seeking out more of his touch. “Let’s go to bed.”
“Mm, after this song,” he hums.
She lets out a half-hearted chuckle. Her eyes close and a faint smile creeps across her face.
She’s beautiful.
No matter how many times she lists out the reasons she loves him, explains to him why she made the choice to forgive him, or kisses him in a way that makes him feel loved-- makes him feel important-- he’s never going to be able to fathom how he got to be so lucky.
“I spent four lonely days in a brown LA haze, and I just want you back by my side.”