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It's so silly, Cleo thinks, that she spent so long convincing herself she didn't like Martyn.
He's rambling about one of those shows he loves as they fish, and even though Cleo could care less about whatever the show is, it's simply nice seeing her soulmate happy about something.
It's been a rare sight for her eyes. The entire time they were soul-bound Cleo barely saw anything other than abject misery in Martyn's demeanor.
This is much better than that, Cleo's decided.
A fish bites on Cleo's rod, but they ignore it in favour of keeping their eyes on Martyn. The sun's close to setting, so they'll have to hide inside soon, but for now the dying light casts Martyn in warm hues.
They've seen Martyn in some of his worst states; crying on her couch, or blood-stained and desperate for time on his clock. Now, Martyn's all soft and warm, something Cleo can associate with home.
She wants to give the world to make sure this man stays happy. He's so sweet around her, trying to make her laugh with every word he says (and it isn't a hard task, Martyn's a funny man.)
“You've missed a few fish.” Martyn comments, mirroring Cleo's stare with a smug grin on his face. It's endearing, whereas a few years ago it would've made Cleo want to punch him in the jaw.
They can no longer feel the heat on the sun on their skin. “I— Yeah,” Cleo takes in a deep breath, pulling her gaze off of Martyn. “Reckon it's time we head in, darling.” She pats her thighs, standing up and offering a hand out to him.
He takes it (his hands are far warmer than hers), and she pulls him up beside her. They won't be able to get a good rest tonight, but Martyn will keep her spirits high just by being there and being himself. That's enough for Cleo.