Work Text:
They’re out on the porch, shoulder to shoulder on the bench as the sun begins to set, the autumn air chill enough to keep their coats on and buttoned. He can feel her warmth at his side as she pores over her manuscript, like a blazing fire he’s standing far too close to. How she does not notice the way his breath comes out short and heavy, more and more obvious as the seconds crawl by, or how his face is flushed pink, he does not know. But thank god himself that she is too absorbed in explaining to him the outline of her newest story. The moment will last. Long enough for the feeling of her pressed against him to sear itself through wool and cotton, branding itself onto the skin that he longs for her to properly touch.
It is perverse, almost, how desperate he has become for these small moments. Want has made him greedy. Grasping like a starving man at any attention she gives him, at the slightest touch of their bodies no matter how thick the layers are between them. But he does not dare try to force more contact, no matter how easy it would be to circle his arm around her and pull her in tight, or lean his head against hers the way he sees lovers so often do.
She had told him once, quiet and shaky as she fought back tears, that she never wanted to grow up. He would never understand why, she continued, because boys want to become men from the moment they utter their first words. Silence was the only answer he had given her, because he knew that she was right, and he did not have it in him to lie to her so brazenly. Adulthood would be a relief. He knew that with age, she would come to learn that love is not something a woman should flee from. It is a blessing. A miracle to be run towards with open arms. Very French of you, she would say if she heard such a thing from him. French and ridiculous.
The wind blows, rustling the red-orange trees and attempting to turn the page before she allows it. She huffs in annoyance, pinning the paper underneath her thumb.
“Nature is telling you this is far too long for a first draft,” he says playfully, nudging her boot with his.
She snorts, trying to hold back a snicker. “As if I care.”
How glad he is that she does not. They will be able to stay together, just the two of them, until dusk.