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Wind slid through the window, rapping on the hem of her shirt. It was mid-day after all, the sun’s rays brandishing over the places, saving only the breezes that were coming by to fan her.
A sigh broke out from her lips, her ire joining the infernal warmth oozing from the room.
On the sturdy wall, the clock’s ticking was reverberating in rhythm with her left foot padding back and forth, and in such a way it was enough to distract her, diverging her thoughts about anything except heightening the blood simmering her veins. The scorching heat streamed on the wide window was neither helping nor mitigating it, serving only to charge her with more frustration. While Pieck loathed being riled up, she couldn’t temper it, a few imbalances in her hormones had done a splendid job fuelling it.
The door creaked, and she, hands between her chest, reared her eyes at him, watching him scurry his steps inside the living room. Delight in his face as his hands raised a box with red ribbons.
And that caught her guard off…
“Did I miss something?” Pieck slouched on the couch, her brows twitching while.
His steps faltered, warily eyeing her. Jean’s face contorted, lips pouted, and his eyes crinkled. Shimmying his head, he sat next to her, resting the box on the coffee table, and swiftly reached for her hip, cupping her face, thumb kneading her lower lip; his laborious breath swarmed her cheeks. “Don’t tell me you forgot what day today is?”
‘Did she?’
Pieck lifted her brow, puzzlement etched in her visage. “Is there something I should know of?”
As far as Pieck knew of, she was quite upset, been upset for the last hour she was here. While it was irrational to let the fury be seated in her, her emotional side had taken a predilection of manoeuvring her because it all stemmed from one decision.
While it wasn’t a bad thing to request a time off, he should have gone to her at first, consulting her opinion over the matter-- not him preparing plans and demanding her time off for no reason without prior knowledge about it. Imagine her shock when she had been dismissed for a day as she had arrived at the headquarters. Connie had been nice to inform her that Jean, her beloved husband, switched her roster for the week, making her off aligned with his straight four days, including the weekends. She felt being manhandled for no reason.
He glowered, and Pieck was still blank where this conversation was heading. He stood up, fingers raking his hair and a hand on his waist. Breathing harshly as he gave her a scathing gaze. He vexed, “It’s our anniversary today.”
“What? No--“
“Yes!” He insisted, thus her nerves jolted.
“I fully remember what date we got married. Don’t insult me.” Pieck terse tone resounded, though carefully controlled. It wasn’t best to exacerbate knowing full well that… she clamped her thoughts and exhaled audibly.
“Oh yeah, how about we got official?” He challenged.
“Official?” she echoed.
Her nose crinkled, genuinely had no idea. She tried to recall, stitching his words if she missed a tiny detail, but lord she made an effort however nothing came to light her ignorance. And she was on a dead end.
“Pieck, I love you but right now,” said he, sitting beside her again and swiftly planting his hands on her hips, and she momentarily ceased rummaging her memories and methodically spared him a look, “I’m slighted that you don’t remember the day I asked you out on the beach. Remember you were wearing that long orange dress when you visited our town?”
“What?”
He reclined, pulling back to look at her. “You don’t, do you?”
“I.. “ she stammered, and shot him an incredulous look-- a gasp ripped from her throat. “That hideous color that had an orchid print--You?” she ceased, scrunching her nose, disbelief swept her visage. “You remember that?”
“How could I not?” replied he, confused, as though she spouted an insult.
“I was--“
He hummed, raising his brows. “You were what?”
“Horrendous,” she deadpanned as the memories resurfaced. The dress was so obnoxiously bright under the summer’s light that she’d been a sore eye in the crowd of people who’d been dominantly wearing a monotonous color; the humiliation being under scrutiny was forever embedded in her mind that resulted in silently vowing to never wear that thing.
“You’re just being unnecessarily harsh to yourself.” He kissed the corner of her mouth, nose nuzzling her cheek. “On the contrary, you were lovely and had everyone’s eyes. It might be too much.”
“I had everyone’s eyes because it was too much,” she remarked wittingly.
“Yeah but you were glowing,” his lips hovered over hers as he scooted, his warm soft exhalation breezed, “You were so beautiful that day that they hardly care about the dress-- in all honesty, it added to the charm. The way the light hits your face,” his fingers clipped a strand on her ear as he whispered, planting a kiss on her forehead, “and the way you smiled at me, it was hard to resist not asking you out.”
A grin curled her lips, her brow lifted, face glowing by his statement. It was safe to say that it was romantic. So romantic that her stomach churned by how butterflies exploded inside her and withered all overbearing nerves that had been eagerly wanting to jump on him.
She held his jaws, thinning her lips to stifle another smile that illuminated her face. “You really have a way with your words.”
“I do?”
For no words felt so appropriate to the elation that flooded in her. She answered him by pulling him down, capturing his lips, her fingers combed through his ash brown mane. And the surrounding dissolved, too lost when he kissed back, and as always equally fervent as hers. Before it even could go further, suddenly he pulled away, heaving.
She looked at him, confused.
“You should open it,” said he glazing his eyes at the table where a small box was located.
Nodding, she gingerly shifted, grabbing the box and slowly untying the red ribbon. Once she tore the velvet paper and opened the box, her body hardened, and eyes flitted at him.
“How?” Gravel in her voice as though an enormous boulder struck her chest. Her eyes veered off on the box where a silver barret shined, the same replica of once she owned but went unfound during the invasion of Eldian.
It had been a gift to her by her father before he left the threshold of their home, only to come back with his name on the paper honoring his service as a marleyan soldier, a thin paper that was now dust in a box for it held no meaning. There was no body, nothing to present to them so they could mourn and bury him properly. He wasn’t even a soldier in the first place, merely a plain man and a pawn to pick up and sacrifice-- one of the ugly truths she had to live by. And yet, the only thing to remind his existence had been gone, she managed to lose it, the same manner she lost him.
She couldn’t… Her heart thrummed so loud and duly, making her eyes stung and mouth hung quivering.
“Connie knows a smith in Ragako, so I took a chance and presented a picture of you. I hope you don’t mind me borrowing it.”
“No, no… “ Gingerly, she wound her arms, nose on his nape, hiding her face as she trembled from crying, mouth clamped, hoping to abate it but it was heavily excessive, severely repressed by a long time that once she began outpouring, a cathartic sensation enveloped her.
It was so pleasant, long overdue, that a part of her was set free.
There was silence except for her gentle hiccups. His hand smoothly rubbed her back in comfort. “If I only knew this would--“
Before he could even finish, she pulled away. “No, this..” her hand covered his, “this is perfect. I’m sorry for being silly,” muttered she while sniffing.
“Certainly, you aren’t.”
“Yes, I am! I was so mad and now I messed up your shirt.”
Patches of wet marks were visible on his shoulder and remorse in her gut beginning to emerge.
“It’s alright. Don’t worry about that. And yeah, I thought earlier you were gonna shoot me.” He chuckled and so was she, her laugh reverberated the entire room and intensified when snot came back and he mimicked to tease her.
“You know that I wouldn’t do that.”
“I know.” He said in a low undertone, scraping tiny hairs, before descending, and placing a peck on her tear-stained cheeks, “Are you alright, now?”
“I’m better. I was just…”
“I’ve told you it was fi--“
“No, it was something else.”
He ceased moving. Confusion splattered his face. “What is it?” concerned rang in his tone.
Her heart rammed into her chest, as though it was about to set in combustion while she gleaned confidence. It had only been two months since she found out, and weeks she was keeping this to herself, unsure when to break the news to him. The days kept passing by until it turned into a months.
And now it felt so right.
“Jean, I need you to tell you something…” she whispered, grabbing their entwined hands and lodging it on her belly.
Her silent gesture was the loudest declaration.
He shot her a look. “You don’t mean--“
She nodded, chewing her cheek inside. “Yes,” she spoke softly, “I guess that we have to add a room.”
He remained still, mouth agape. Without even giving her warning, she was pulled, face buried in his chest, his tantalising scent assaulted her. His fingers sifted through her long tresses. Sweet kisses lathered her forehead, and his hug was the warmest, warmer than the sun’s heat. But among all, his smile, perhaps she may be seeing the same image he’d seen from her years ago, was ethereal, glowing indescribably.
The clock was ticking once again, but the rush beating of his heart accompanied this time. For all the words that needed to be spoken were written in the language of his body’s rhythm and vibration.
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