Chapter Text
He laughed.
It’s a low sound, unsurprised yet just as ticklish, judging by his giggles to her onslaught. She stood on the tips of her toes, and he had the courtesy to lean down as her hands cradled his face. He tousled her hair in the initial embrace, and she squawked then before bursting into laughter. Still stubborn in her refusal to let it grow past her chin, as her red hair curled around her ears when he tucked them back, and her earring shone in the light. Now that she commanded his attention, he could only appreciate his put-together girlfriend even more. She never let it grow longer or cut it shorter— just an effortless, low-maintenance style for a girl without the time. It was her staple since high school— because, as she said once in a determined tone, “I look efficient and stylish,” and considering who she was, a very expected reason for her to have.
She was, after all, the ever-present, reliable Angie.
She pulled away. Her eyes sparkled with mirth as she studied Cove for a moment. Then she leaned up again, pressing another kiss to his cheek, one after another as if one peck could not satisfy, and each small kiss spurs another. Her body easily fits against his, arms wrapping around her as he continues to bend towards her. Here, in the airport, the world fades away. Here, in this reunion, the world is made of only two.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice light and his face flushed. Her laugh chimes sweetly as she turns her head away for a moment and rummages in her shoulder purse, pulling out a makeup wipe; it feels nostalgic, like a ritual now. “I shouldn’t have worn lipstick, but—”
He shook his head and accidentally caused her to smear the lipstick stain she tried to remove from his face. “—but you like seeing me this way, don’t you?” The tease was lighthearted, and he grinned, watching her glance away, though her avoidance was certainly an answer. Then, finally, she whispered, her full lips twisting in a small smile while purple eyes focused on him. Her makeup was impeccable, smoothing the imperfections he never truly saw, and now he held her face. “Burgundy looks good on you,” she mused, her eyes flickered to his lips, then back up, “I had to schedule the meeting this morning, before my flight— so no chance to change. Hence the full face… and, um.” She shifted in place, her heeled shoes giving the few extra inches that made the difference between them a little less, pencil skirt, buttoned blazer, and deep maroon shirt.
He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips and pulled away with his lips stained. “I think it is,” he said before adding a laugh while his cheeks warmed, “the color on me. Also, on you. It looks very good. And very, um… smart?”
This time she snickers while her hands go to smooth down her front. But it was a subtle flirt; with how she dragged her hands along her body, her well-fit outfit hid an underneath he knew well. The suggestion ended with a knowing gaze and a wider smirk that made him avert his eyes. “Unfair,” he murmured while she shimmied in place.
“Did you bring me what I asked? Flying dressed like this… would not recommend. I can’t drive back all the way like this. I might suffocate in formality.” She grinned, and he chuckled, both at her dramatics and the happy noise she made as he handed her a bag. She reached into her purse and pulled out the makeup wipes, pressing them into his hand. “You might want to clean up a bit.”
“But I thought burgundy was my color—” he snorted when she rolled her eyes. She waved dismissively at him, heading into the nearby woman’s bathroom. He dragged her things to a nearby wall, and he leaned against it as he tugged out a wipe; he carefully wiped his face and hopefully rid of her fervent kiss-greeting.
As far as they both knew, this was the last conference for the summer she could make it to; she was not free, per se, this summer, but she was here, with him. Her hugs, her kisses, they had the magical ability to imbue him with some sort of second wind. Terry would joke about how pouty he got when the days of her absence, and though he made progress on his clinginess, he genuinely missed her. Nights would end with himself and Clementine, their scrappy orange stray Angie adopted and tamed, curling in the too-big bed. He waited for her goodnight text, if not call. He glanced at the dates of her return flight, eager when the day grew closer and closer.
“Honey,” her voice broke through, making him jump as he paused in mid-cheek-wipe. Angie, dressed in her favorite faded t-shirt and baggy sweats underneath, the crocs she wore squeaked against the airport’s floor. “Cove,” she teased, winking, ”I’m glad I could contact you from orbit. Are you ready? It seems you got most of it.”
He nodded, nodding, but she leveled a bemused expression his way. Then she stooped down, grinning as she said, “…like I said, most of it.” Her voice dropped, quiet as she pressed close and gave another kiss, drawn-out with affection and accompanied by a pleased hum. “I missed you… let’s go home, Cove.”