Mister sneaks away from the campfire, guitar in hand, and Lady follows. He sits down on a fallen log and begins to strum, smiling his blinding smile and being extremely secretive. She loves it.
They're running through the forest during a game of capture the flag. She's on the blue team, and he the red, but neither care about anything except the other. Though they pause every few hundred yards to sneak in a kiss or two or six, they make it to the wide open clearing in the dead centre of the forest. Flowers of every colour – crimson and marigold and cerulean – litter the green, green grass and she tackles him to the ground, creating an eighteen-year-old-boy shaped indent. They kiss some more, but eventually just lie intertwined in every possible way. (Legs twisted and hands clasped and no gap between their chests – whatsoever).
If her body is the universe, then her freckles are the constellations, he thinks. He traces patterns with the pad of his finger, gentle so as not to scatter the stars. She's half asleep and self-conscious and attempting to swat him away, but failing. Her eyelashes flutter and he kisses every little spot on her face before moving down to her shoulders and chest.
It's their first night out on their own – in the real world where celestial bronze and a dead language can't protect them from anything and everything. She walks through the door, dropping a cardboard box with a loud – bang – and a sigh of relief. Coming up behind him, she wraps her arms around his torso and snuggles into the space between his shoulder blades. (She never could stretch her neck to reach his own).
Together they shuffle over to the lone mattress in the middle of the studio apartment and collapse in a heap of limbs. They spend the rest of the evening drinking tea out of paper Dixie cups and speaking only in song lyrics.
A decade and three dead babies later, she's weepy and he's exhausted but he loves her just the same. He wraps himself around her, protecting her from the world and its hardships. Little whispers make their way to her ears and into her skull, echoing around the space until a sliver of light returns to her eyes.
He leaves sticky notes all over the place – on the vacuum, in the breadbox, folded in the pocket of her favourite winter jacket. Toddlers get paid a quarter to compliment her, despite the windblown hair and stained sweatpants.
Slowly but surely, she leaves the cocoon and spreads her wings once more.
Mister and Lady become MisterandLady and it really couldn't be any other way.
I'm in love with you
A/N: I am extremely emotionally unstable right now and it's all because of a ballad
Disclaimer: Characters belong to RSquared
Note: I have absolutely no idea what this is but it came out somewhat nicely so here you go