It's the little things she does.
The way she squints in concentration.
The way she hums while cooking.
The way she snorts when she laughs too hard.
Occasionally, she does all three of these things while busy in the kitchen, creating red-velvet cupcakes (his favorite dessert). It drives him crazy, enough to where he whisks her away to the living room to cuddle on the couch.
He can't help but admire how her silky, baby blonde hair outlines her figure when it's down, or how her cerulean orbs light up after an accomplishment. He certainly can't help but admire her strong, yet caring personality. She can see through his tough exterior no matter how much he puts up a front. Nobody knows his heart like her, and nobody knows that he's secretly a hopeless romantic like she does. Through all of the teasing and jokes, she still sees the lovable man others don't.
Then, there's her scent. So unique and distinct, something he can't help but enjoy. The scent of minty honey instantly became his favorite the day he met her. It's the smell of her shampoo and soap. Heck, he even bought a candle with a similar smell to help him cope when she's away on long missions.
He loves the way her eyes crinkle around the corners when she grins, or her childish sense of humor. He loves the way her face and neck stains a dark shade of pink when he teases her. He loves the way her small, petite hand fits perfectly in his large palm.
Most importantly, he can't help but love her.
"I could hold you for hours, Fionna," the pale figure whispers into her ear.
Moonlight seeps through the cracked window into the dark room, partially illuminating the bed.
The small figure wrapped in his arms snuggles her chin into the crook of his neck. He pulls the covers over their torsos.
"I love you, Marshall Lee."
"I love you, too."