Work Text:
The news was never announced.
No one bothered to speak it aloud; there were no letters, no grand exclamations.
There was no need.
It revealed itself, like those truths that linger in the air, unspoken yet understood by all.
It lived in the gestures: in the way Jo and Laurie began entering through the door together, their steps in quiet harmony, as if the habit of being side by side had fused into their very bodies.
It lived in the silences: those pauses no longer filled with discomfort, but with a tenderness so unmistakable it could not be ignored.
It lived in the looks: the same looks that had been friends for years, now burning with a different brightness, one that asked neither explanation nor permission.
Amy was the first to notice. From her place by the window she saw them return from an afternoon walk. They brought no flowers, no books, nothing to justify such joy, and yet they laughed too softly, as though guarding a precious secret. Jo, hair unruly from the wind, pushed a stray lock from her brow, and Laurie, so naturally, tucked it back in place. Amy arched a brow, crossed her arms, and sighed, dramatic as ever:
"Finally."
Beth, at the piano, offered not a single word. But her hands began to glide over the keys with newfound lightness, drawing out a bright, almost playful melody that seemed to say it was time. She smiled, a full, luminous smile only she could give, and every note carried something like a quiet blessing.
Meg, serene in her role as eldest, sat sewing beside Marmee. She watched the pair come in, still hand in hand, and leaned slightly toward her mother.
"At last," she murmured, sewing needles unhurried between her fingers.
Marmee needed nothing more. Her eyes shone, as though she had waited for that moment with infinite patience. She spoke no word, only nodded, warmth and relief entwined.
Even Hannah, the maid, who had seen Jo’s wildest tempers and Laurie’s most reckless visits, could not miss it. She found them in the kitchen, sharing a piece of fresh bread, heads tilted together, laughing at something no one else would ever understand. Hannah shook her head, but could not hide her smile as she walked by:
"About time."
And Jo,
Jo, who had always felt the weight of others’ expectations like a chain, who shied away from every hint or whisper about her future, did not pull back when Laurie laced his fingers through hers before them all. She did not retreat, nor invent some clumsy excuse to mask what was already clear as day.
For the first time, she felt no shame. She felt peace.
A strange, startling peace, like pieces finding their place, like standing exactly where she was meant to stand.
Laurie looked at her with devotion, devotion that once frightened her, but now wrapped around her like a winter coat. And Jo, flushed but smiling, accepted that adoration without protest.
And in that room, under those knowing gazes, beneath the light music Beth played like a celebration, everyone understood without a word being spoken.
Yes.
Finally.