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Like most things in Adam’s life, it all started with a blissful morning waking up to bird chirping, and tunnelled downhill from there.
Their makeshift bed was crawling with ants again, even though they had just dusted off the straw and changed the leaves. Their residual bites irritated his legs as he walked through the fields, which were - to no help- ripe with earthworms and beetles at the roots of barely grown crops. Eve had tried to prepare what was left of last night’s fish given their apples had gone bad earlier than expected, and he had sourly ate without complaint, having long since given up the disappointment of this realm’s offerings in comparison to the heaven they were cast out of.
Gone were the soft, lush fields of Eden, with its enchanting forests and endlessly rich fruits. Now, he was lucky if they managed to scavenge berries that didn’t make their throat itch, hunt an animal without its predator fighting for it first, or harvest the bare minimum of grain to till through and cook. Even between their divided schedules, there was never enough time to attain or create everything they needed. Every day their fears of a new turmoil grew - tomorrow could mean less food to eat, less wood for fire, less suitable weather. And yet, every day they somehow managed to survive, escape threat or battle it head on, plan smarter and move quicker.
If he wasn’t just shaken by the recent realisation that snakes could inject their prey with venom, he would definitely be proud of Eve and himself for making it this far.
Then a fucking sabertooth - it was the only name he could think of, kinder and more convenient than what he had screamed at it - decided it was the perfect day to prowl around their hideout and paw from the cracks between the rocks he and Eve had hastily placed at the entrance, claws extended as it growled hungrily. The ‘bitch-cat’ was probably angry Adam killed the last remaining gazelle a week ago.
A part of Adam feels resentful that Eve cannot and does not work alongside him. Sure, she worked too, but her chores were relatively tame - gardening, harvesting, gathering, cleaning. Another part of him clings to the pride and feeling of superiority - she relied on him and his skills, which made him important, didn’t it? Much too important for her to leave. If anything, it meant he was clearly more intelligent, more strong - he hunted, fought off the predators, built new additions to their shelter (or sometimes explored for new caves). Initially, Eve had wanted to explore too, even despite the sorrow that accompanied their banishment - newly awakened with that carefree, slightly rebellious spirit ever since eating from the fruit, she had wanted to take as much opportunity of their banishment as possible, see and do as much the world had to offer.
In a guilty moment of self-indulgence and endearment, Adam had once dared to rejoice with her. He had pretended like they could recreate the happiness and wonder that had safely cocooned them in the Garden of Eden. They had tried to replicate the feeling of utter bliss and freedom that was quietly walking together on the beach with the soft sand pillowing beneath their soaked feet, gazing in awe at the dazzling arrays of stars bejeweling the night sky above and the new sunrise glimmering over a fresh stream of water at the horizon.
But no amount of happiness or wonder seemed to last long or deep enough before another trivial yet disconcerting matter had to take their attention. Another night short on food and some days with no success on the land he was supposed to toil. The weather becoming steadily colder but no animal in sight from whom to take wool or fur to clothe them. A splinter in his toe. It never ends.
Now, Adam doesn’t allow himself the self-indulgence. It is better and less disappointing, he finds, if they just stick to their tasks and make it out each day (barely) alive. They’re stuck here, and they have to make the most of it. He begins to rebuke Eve’s offers to walk down forests or beaches, stiffly telling her to make him whatever they have left of their food or help him with his injuries. He rarely engages in conversation over dinner nowadays, a far cry from the times they would stay up late laughing together and telling stories or creating names for things they saw.
Eve is dutiful, most of the time. She is smarter than Adam sometimes lets himself believe, keen to spot an injury or insect bite and having learned some salves and techniques for healing. She organises schedules and plans around things flexibly, rarely leaving a task neglected. She learns the ways of the fields too, even though Adam tells her it’s not technically her job.
Adam would be lying if he said he didn’t miss feeling that connection to Eve, having those moments of intimate and profound happiness shared just between the two of them. He dearly misses it. But pondering and dreaming and laughing were for the soft grasses of Eden, the times before mistakes were made and before turmoil plagued the earth. The times when he would turn in his bed and feel an uncontrollable rush of happiness upon seeing the most perfect creature in the universe as his soulmate. The times when their intertwined hands were soft and uncalloused from work, when their skins were pale and clean from dirt and sun. The times when just nestling against Eve’s smooth cheek and listening to her breathing echo in tandem to his own gave him some odd sense of peace, quenching that age-old yearning for companionship constantly running deep through the cracks of his conscience ever since Lilith left.
They rarely fought, from Eden to even in their first few weeks on Earth. Eve was mostly agreeable and careful about pushing boundaries, whereas Adam was generally desperate not to upset her. This coupled into an evening full of stiff unspoken grudges that were quickly forgotten come next morning.
Eve calls for him, not looking up from where she was sorting through her basket. The haunt of their hunger lurks in her bloodshot eyes and thin-framed face. “Do we now have some fur I can use for the clothing? I reckon if I start now and work around the time I finish with the gardens and the gathering, I should have the winter clothes ready in time.”
“I couldn’t find any.” Adam mumbles, picking out what was left of his basket and frowning at the small berries.
Eve pauses, a faint twitch in her lips. “What do you mean you ‘couldn’t find any’?”
Irritated, Adam emphasises. “I mean, I was out hunting all day and there was no animal of the sort with any fur or wool we could use. We’re going to have to wait.”
Eve heaves a sign, something that picks at the man’s nerves. Why was she acting disappointed in him? He couldn’t control these things. “Adam, if we wait any longer, we might die before the winter actually starts. It was already so cold yesterday, and we’re not eating enough to store fat that might be useful for insulation. And why are we ‘waiting’ for suitable animals? This isn’t Eden, where things will magically appear if we pray and wait for them. We can make do with some simple gazelle skin too.”
“If you know so much, why don’t you go and find us some useful animals? Maybe bring us food other than these shitty berries and fish?” Adam snaps shortly, drawing up Eve’s eyebrows in echoed annoyance.
“I don’t mean to make it sound like you don’t know, I just meant to say we really need-”
“Relax. The heavens intend for us to stay here a while, remember? Toil the soil, populate, all that? They’re not letting you go so easily in 1 month with an ice float.”
He smirks dryly at his own comment, not finding any mirth in it. Luckily, when he lifts his head, Eve has her hands on her hips in that irritating way Lilith used to, as though she had some charge over how he was supposed to act or say what he thought.
“That’s not funny.”
“You and Lilith just don’t have a sense of humour.”
Eve stiffens at her mention. “At least I didn’t ditch you like they did!”
The very memory makes Adam clutch the basket tightly before taking a deep breath. “At least Lilith took the shame herself! She left with Lucifer, she didn’t eat the damn fruit because of a stupid snake! She didn’t doom me to a life of turmoil and pain on this - this hellish planet!”
“This isn’t even about Lilith. I have nothing against her.” Eve’s small voice slithers out, soft as usual but laced with the unexpected accusation that sets his blood to boil. “You ate the fruit too, Adam.”
Adam seethes through grit teeth. “Shut up.” He’s totally in control of his breathing, he doesn’t shake or stiffen as he carries the rest of the firewood to the space near the hearth. Is he fantastic or what?
“You did.” Eve continues as though determined to poke at his control, hands clenched into fists at her sides. “You can’t just blame me for all of this mess. You ate the fruit too. You sinned against heaven as well. The blame is on you as much as it is on me!”
An unbearable, insatiable heat subsumes the stiffness in Adam’s limbs, unclenching his knuckles long enough for the wood to abruptly drop as he whips around to face her entirely. Uncontrolled rage curls at his chest, letting loose a stream of unkempt thoughts and words he can barely register through the haze of exhaustion.
The sudden movement causes Eve to startle and shrink away slightly in fright, but without thinking, Adam finds his hand quickly enclosed around her wrist in an iron-tight grip. A primal fear and frustration resurfaces to fuel his anger - he doesn’t want her to leave, he can’t have her turning away when he has something important to say. Everyone always left or turned away when he tried to explain himself, be they Lilith or the angels.
Adam wants to be heard, and if Eve was asking for an earful she was damn well getting it. He doesn’t care if she suddenly goes stiff with shock or if her wide eyes latch onto his own in horror. He doesn’t care if she tries to pull away at first before giving up, hand trembling with pain.
“I ate the fruit because I was idiotic enough to trust you, to care about you and not want you to bear the consequences by yourself!” Adam properly yells for the first time since he stepped foot on the planet. It’s almost refreshing, being able to raise his voice in that care-free way he used to when he and Lilith would go singing in Eden. At the same time, it’s more aggravating - the silence of the earth around them coupled with the echo of the cave only makes his voice sound uncharacteristically shrill, even demonic. “But I didn’t have to! I could have stayed in Eden and been gifted a new wife, instead of being stuck with a disrespectful, ugly hag like you for God knows how long!”
Almost instantly, the strange effect of Adam’s words seep into Eve’s face, flickering the bright glimmer in her eyes and sinking their jaws into her dropped brows, thinned lips. Some unspoken tension unravels the crinkles of anger left at his wife’s eyes and mouth, loosening her face into that more familiar, demure look she would have when she thought she displeased him. A myriad of emotions clash across her eyes - guilt, anguish, fear, grief.
Which - Adam can’t help but think even while he is stunned by her reaction - she technically had.
And yet, he feels none of the vindication nor satisfaction he had been hoping for in having the last word or eliciting that extent of guilt. Each eager second waiting for something to make sense, watching her crestfallen expression, waiting for her to respond so he can shut her down or feel justified in staying angry… it all begins to chip and cave at the familiar anger, now withering into bare fumes like the embers of a dying fire, leaving only the staunch smell and cold silence in its wake.
That, and the faint sound of his breaths now returning to his ears, stilted and paced as though he had just ran a thousand miles.
Reality comes crashing down all too suddenly, almost as suddenly as his anger fades. Adam lets go.
He notices three things. One, that Eve is quivering, and she staggers back like a puppet undone from its strings as soon as he lets go of her wrist. She cradles it instantly, breaths quickened in panic and shuttering unevenly as she still stares back at him with those wide, rueful eyes. Two, that the floor of the cave is a fucking mess, because apparently he had been kicking what he dropped like a child (or…what children were supposed to act like, according to an angel he spoke to once. He didn’t know fuck all about kids). And three, there is a new, deep purple spot blooming on his wife’s pale skin.
The instinctive panic and paranoia that has now frequented his days on Earth kicks in again, wiping out his earlier exhaustion. “What’s wrong with your hand?”
He reaches out, but Eve flinches away in fear and inch further away from him. Adam’s heart drops in his chest at the sight, unsettled by the image of his usually happy, hopeful wife so shaken and afraid like a deer he was approaching to hunt, a bug he had captured under his foot. The likening of the two images felt so deeply wrong despite his anger just moments ago, enough to nauseate him and coil his hand away in caution. Almost pleadingly, he tries to meet her eyes. “Eve, let me see your hand.”
She cradles and hides the wrist with the growing purple spot from his sight, turned half away as though she’s worried he’s going to bite her whole arm off. “It’s nothing.” She finally speaks in a hoarse rasp, her voice a meek tremble as though on the verge of tears.
“It’s not nothing, fuck, it looks bad. Is it an insect bite?” He hated those little fuckers.
“It’s…a bruise.” She frowns, as though not knowing he doesn’t know.
Eager to help in the hopes she would be less afraid, Adam perks up. “I can get the salve for that-”
“You’ve done enough.” Eve quickly cuts off, guilt still lingering in her cautious expression as she stares down and rubs at the ‘bruise’ thoughtfully. “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”
“...I did that?” Adam asks dumbfoundedly instead, almost stupidly now that he registers he had been grasping the same wrist in an iron-tight clasp just minutes before. At the realisation, a shattering ripples through his core. Right, they could be harmed in this realm. Of course their weak, mortal bodies would bear the brunt of every physical thing this earth had to offer. But Eve hadn’t been hurt by some measly insect or predator. She had been hurt by him .
She had been wounded, physically and emotionally, by the one person she had on this planet. By the person created to be her husband, her perfect match, her friend, her protector.
“I can fix it.” Adam says, as surely as if Eve had offered him a broken basket.
“It’s not meant to be fixed, it heals on its own.” Eve rebukes his efforts again, arm still cautiously turned away from him.
“How would you know?” Adam snaps, irritated still even though he realises it doesn’t help his cause.
Eve’s eyes sharpen into a glare then. Containing her anger, she averts them. “The angels gave to me knowledge of the common injuries and ailments we sustain, remember? If only they could have told me how to cure the ailment I’ve cursed upon our existence.”
Mouth dry and throat tight, unable to form words, Adam shakes his head adamantly. “No, Eve-” he weakly attempts, but he’s unable to continue as she speaks.
“I am so sorry you had to be stuck for the rest of your days with someone like me as your wife.” The whisper is solemn, sincere and coated with a sullen admission that tightens that odd coil of dread and sorrow in his stomach again. She grabs the meagre shawl she used to clothe herself and turns to walk away.
No. No, no, no, this is all going wrong. Adam’s mind pulses with a thousand words, none congruous enough to articulate out loud into an apology or even an explanation. He doesn’t think he has actually apologised in his life.
But is that not what he had wanted? For her to submit? For her to admit fault and take his anger in stride? Why now was he realising the bitter taste of unfairness he had demanded of her, the cruelty in how he had treated her?
What had possessed him to even bring up Lilith, when she and Lucifer had been the ones to conspire against him and Eve? Sweet, innocent Eve - of course she would have been tempted.
“You were not created to be an angel.” Sera, the head of the Seraphim, had once spoken to him before his fall. “You were created to be a man. You will make mistakes and either grow from them or fall deeper in them. So long as you do not cause irreparable damage, there is always hope.”
He had shrugged off the warning, internally scoffing - I won’t make mistakes, I never have .
But hadn’t what he had said to Eve - had yelled while hurting her - been wrong? It had wounded her, frightened her and distanced her from his trust - and it certainly hadn’t helped him. And worse, it left a lasting mark - a mark of pain, deep purple as though he had strangled it. She trusted him - with her life, her body, her work. Despite it all - despite how he treated her, she would continue to trust him. That realisation begins to eb away the insecurity he had felt at the idea of her leaving, blustered full-force with gnawing guilt that rakes at every fibre of his being.
Adam knows he has a tendency to see his own glory and, as such, his own suffering first. He was created first, after all. His first words, first sounds were praise of the miracle that was his creation, even if some were of his own imagining or exaggeration. The ‘perfect’ first man, the height of heaven’s creativity and vitality, the smartest and strongest of humanity that would ever be. When Lilith had appeared next to him mere moments later, he had been struck with the sudden uncertainty that he wasn’t the centre of everyone’s utmost adoration, tugging and tussling for control. With Eve’s more submissive nature, he had cherished that feeling of being ‘special’ for as long as they were in Eden - only to find Earth bringing out new, uglier sides to both of them than he could have fathomed. He was becoming imperfect - unclean, uncomposed, less and less in control with every trial they faced. And Eve only followed suit like she always did - becoming more questioning, more upset, less enchanted by everything he did.
Was this the inevitable way of the world? For everything, even the smallest hopes and joys, to age as yellow and plain as the few dying crops in his usually near-barren fields? To lose wonder in everything, even your own soulmate?
It was odd, Adam wonders, that whether on Earth or Eden, his loneliness and the fear of its return would never fade.
Which is how he finds himself uncharacteristically awkward at the ‘window’ area of the cave, where Eve sometimes perched to think to herself or cut up some vegetables. The woman was currently curled up, small occasional shivers wracking her frame.
“Eve?”
She hums in response to acknowledge she heard him.
“I know I’m not nearly as good at this as you are, but uhm…Are you alright?” He speaks clearly, voice confident and strong, but it seems to tremble slightly as well, as though it genuinely upsets him that he upset her. Did he upset her? Perhaps it’s a stupid question - he would certainly be upset if someone gave him an ugly purple spot on the wrist.
Eve only lifts her head to face him, forgetting how unkempt she must seem with her hair undone and tears quietly streaking her face. She is supposed to be the strong one, the one who didn’t cry over what could have been and what she wanted most in the world. She is supposed to be the rock he leans on, and she feels the crushing weight of failure when it reflects shock and sorrow on his face, softening the curl of his frown and the tense silence of the room. “Oh, love-”
He drops whatever confidence and pride he has left, rushing forward without a second thought before hesitating as he stops before her. His fingers curl on themselves, not knowing what to do with himself once he’s reached. Eve sees the mortified way he regards her tears, and Adam is unsure whether she finds it funny or heartbreaking that he simply does not know how to comfort her.
He has never had to before.
She opens her mouth - to laugh, perhaps, or to assure him. But all that escapes it is that traitorous, harrowed sob. It terrifies her as much as him that she cannot speak, that this sad small vulnerable side of her is being forced bare in front of her beloved husband against her will. Everytime she tries to suffocate it, it dares to squirm and scream.
Adam’s face falls further at that, a stark contrast from his usually smug confident expression. His forehead wrinkles, bright eyes dropping in sadness and worry, mouth clenched in a wince as though her sorrow physically wounds him. Perhaps it does. He doesn’t think that could be possible - but maybe it could be, if purple spots made women really upset. “Eve. Eve, stop it, please -” He whispers almost in question, slowly reaching out a hand. It’s the first time he has seen her cry, he realises. Every other time, she had managed to keep things quiet and under control so as to not anger or upset him. The closest she came to crying was once in Eden, when he had asked her if she was going to leave him.
Eve sucks in a desperate breath, mortified by her own lack of control, and quickly clasps a hand over her mouth to stifle the next sob, the figure of her husband blurring before her as a fresh new wave of tears rip through her, as though she really was as delicate as paper - easy to tear down, regard a blank slate, emptily floating and forgotten as it raked across the floor. The idea rustles Adam to no end.
Finally having had it, the man lurches forward and cocoons her in his arms. Eve freezes at the sudden warmth surrounding her, tears still streaming down her face, trembling ever so slightly as she struggles to comprehend what was happening. Adam’s strong, muscular arms wind around her, tucking in her elbows and wrapping her securely against his chest as her head falls under his chin, the mess of her tangled hair caught between his hands as he splays a palm against her back. It is a desperate, rushed hug - sloppy yet protective, fierce and emotional as he is when panicked, unspeaking and yet pouring into the embrace of a thousand words he knows he would be unable to say. He doesn’t understand why he does it - he had never initiated hugs with anyone, only ever received them from Eve back in Eden.
He remembers even then thinking of how small Eve was, how delicate and fragile she seemed compared to Lilith or himself. How easily her beautiful hand fit in his own palm, how dainty the skin of her hands felt against his lips.
Against his chest, Adam can feel the hammering thrum of her heart, panicked and upset by what it had seen. A harsh breath escapes her as she catches her breath from the tears, and his arms only tighten around her, as though if he loosens his hold she’ll fall apart and away for eternity. It’s unfamiliar more than it is endearing and yet, it’s comforting more than it is upsetting.
Somehow, they guide their steps around eachother and sit down facing one another. Reluctantly, Adam breaks away, disheartened to still find tears glimmering in Eve’s eyes. Gently as though silently asking for permission, he holds out his hand, and she wordlessly inches the bruised arm forward. He finds some relief in how she doesn’t seem scared he’s going to tear it off or something.
Grazing his thumb lightly around the edges, Adam morosely meets her eyes. “I’m - I’m really sorry, Eve. That wasn’t supposed to happen. I never meant to hurt you. Heck, it was a stupid thing to be angry about in the first place. I’m sorry.” He repeats, feeling upset that his apology was so awkward and clumsy. When Eve attempts a shrivelled, empty smile, he leans forward, dips his head and presses his lips reverently against the spot. She jolts in response, wincing from the pain as he jerks back just as suddenly. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to make it hurt more! That was stupid in hindsight. I’m sorry - ugh, I’m just making it more difficult for both of us, aren’t I?”
He tries shooting his ‘charming’ smile her way, trying to coax and reassure that it was fine, really, it could all just be played off as a fun inside joke and they’d probably laugh about it together. Anything so that Eve would smile again and stop looking at him like he was going to hurt her again.
Never again, he swears. If he wants to grab something, he’ll go grab a blade or a log of wood or even a rock. He would never lay a hand on Eve again.
Adam finds his hands moving without guidance or thought, only steadfast in their aim to cradle the sides of Eve’s face delicately in a familiar yet long-forgotten gesture of tenderness. He hadn’t been so careful in Eden. He hadn’t been so pensive or grateful. He hadn’t realised the woman he took for granted could be hurt by the same hand he held her with.
The faintest of lights gleam in Eve’s sullen eyes, and she blinks before raising them to meet his own. They are the same, beautiful gold that had entranced him the moment he had laid eyes on her. Wide crystal-like orbs encased in almond-shaped cages, bursting with love and warmth, tears reflecting only himself as he stares in a rare bind of remorse and rapture.
“I always knew…people thought that. The angels in the heavens above. I didn’t think you would.”
“That I wouldn’t think what?” He urges.
“That I was some cheap spare replacement for Lilith. That I'm a failure compared to you. That I'd be a horrible mother.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? All you did was eat a nice thing. Don’t compare yourself to us!” Adam instinctively says, raising his voice slightly before lowering it when he sees her flinch. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up Lilith and Eden and all that - stuff. You didn’t ‘land’ me in trouble, we both chose trouble. Seriously, there was no need. I do miss Eden and I do regret both of us eating the fruit, but I don’t regret choosing to stay with you, Eve. Not one bit.” Tightening his grip, he leans forward to emphasise. “You’re the only thing in this shitty world that makes my life worth living. You taught me to care about someone other than myself, something that no one in the heavens probably thought was possible.”
A small snort escapes the woman, despite the new wave of tears bursting through her eyes. That odd feeling in the centre of Adam’s heart and stomach tugs, coils, trembles again. Guided by its whims, he swallows thickly and allows his thumbs to gently brush against her cheeks, dabbing away the forthcoming tears trickling down before stroking his fingers back to caress her thinning locks of hair. He must look as vulnerable as he feels, sensing Eve’s surprise yet slow acceptance of his affections. Her hands find his own, clutching onto them as he holds her.
There is comfort, Adam thinks, in how the warmth of Eve’s cheeks radiate into his coarse palms as he cups them, like water from a mellow stream. Eve has always been warm, even when he had first met her in heaven - a steady, assuring warmth curled at his side pulsating with life and infused with love. At least, he hoped that was love. He was taught by angels that love was supposed to be profound, instinctive, comforting, divine - and there was no one but Eve who he had ever shared such an experience with. He didn’t care about his anger or what he didn’t know - he wanted to vow that his love for Eve, his fascination with her, his devotion to her would never cease. Perhaps it sounded ‘cheesy’ - it certainly would have coaxed a laugh out of him mere hours ago during the fight.
To Adam’s surprise, the memory of the fight brings tears to his eyes. Was this what weakness felt like?
There he had been, mocking and degrading his soulmate, constantly blaming her for something she didn’t truly deserve to be blamed for. The woman who had stood by his side since the beginning, who took on the turmoil of the world as he did in stride, who took his anger and disdain and frustrations quietly, who offered new ideas and solutions and advice and comfort in every way she possibly could. The woman whose only true crime was being caught between the ugly mess that was his relationship with Lilith and Lucifer.
Yes, he was stuck on this earth. They had chosen to be stuck on this earth together, after all. Could he really complain about being stuck with the most perfect person he could have asked to be stuck with? A woman literally created for him.
They weren’t just meant to survive together. They were meant to live and fight together. Explore and build and populate the earth together. They were going to contribute to something bigger than themselves. Oh Lord, they were going to have children together.
Already, he can envision it, a rare hope bursting as clearly as the sun’s rays even though he has only heard stories of what to expect from the angels. A child, another human like them, perhaps a boy like him or a girl like Eve. Adorned with their eyes that would only ever look up to them in adoration, inheriting their quick wit and good aim, eager to learn what they had to offer and blaze a new trail into the world with their parents’ pride weighing comfortingly on their souls. Somehow, humanity would continue for generations, and they’d be revered as the proud starters, the all-knowing and strong leaders, the giving parents. They would carry his and Eve’s love far after it seemed to lose meaning.
Yes, they’d be plagued with illness, sin and death, but in a world already near-barren and a life soon to be cut short, Adam hopes they would find the Eves amongst them who made it bearable, hopeful, even enjoyable. He no longer cares about his past with Lilith and Lucifer, about the strict rules or disdain of the heaven and hell above. All he knows is the woman in his arms, surrounding him and gripping him with equal despair. She was entirely his - his to love, his to protect, his to promise and comfort. And he was entirely hers - the idea of submitting himself no longer seems degrading or sappy. He would be whatever she needed him to be, ‘king’ of creation be damned.
New warmth ushers into Adam’s heart as readily as a flood, new and overwhelming as it infuses his being with renewed purpose. He feels it in his very bones, in Eve’s breaths and the way their hands tightly intertwine. He pulls away slightly only to press his lips prolongedly once more against her forehead, speaking into skin.
“You know, Eve? An eternity in Eden without you would be insufferable. I’d much rather live here on Earth with you for as long as the heavens and our mortal lives will allow.”
Doubt leaks into her eyes despite her wide smile. “You lived without me before. You can live without me again.”
“I can never live the same without you, now that I’ve known you.” Adam says firmly with conviction, beaming back.
A blush creeps its way over her cheeks and nose, and she shyly rubs a hand over the back of her neck, face now partially hidden by hair. “I would say the same but…I don’t think I’ve known a world without you, so I suppose that isn’t nearly as romantic.”
He doesn’t dare think of the implications of that. Instead, he collects her in his arms and breathes affectionate assurances between small, tender kisses against her lips and cheeks, revelling in her squeals of surprise.
It doesn’t matter that they would be pulling apart their makeshift ant-infested bed tonight and sleeping on the stone floor, it doesn’t matter that he’ll have to trek down the sabre tooth that he is now competing with for the next meat, it doesn’t even matter that they were now way behind schedule for ‘weaving winter cloth’.
For once in his time on Earth, he has experienced the closest thing he had to the bliss of the heavens he left behind. For once, he no longer feels so depressed and afraid of the future. For once, he feels fulfilled just being there, alone on this strange wondrous planet with no one but his best friend, his soulmate, his wife to keep his hope alive.