A/N: This is part of my Shatterproof Countdown prompt series, which is posted on the39fics tumblr (only 3-4 will be posted here). Thank you for reading!
Day 5 and 6: (L)ove + (L)essons
Her fingers brush the wide breadth of his back, lightly tracing the uneven curvature of his spine on dark skin. She feels his muscles tense under her touch, but she knows that he knows that it's just her. It's just the two of them alone in their own world. The sun is barely rising over the tall buildings of the Boston sky, skimming the high edges of concrete roofs and brick walls. Streaks of blue and yellow splash the sky, brightening it with the advent of dawn.
Amy lays there, upper body tucked into his side. Her and his limbs are splayed out across the bed, tangled in one another, one leg flung over his thigh and her palm rests on top of his chest. It's not over his heart, though she can still feel it – beating, racing, breathing. She likes how she can still sense its rhythm even if she's not really touching it. He's with her, alive and untouched yet.
Morning is the only chance she gets to reflect. When the day starts, everything and everyone pulls them away from each other. School, work, family, life all come crashing down and so she appreciates this time of the day when the world is still asleep and she alone basks in the serenity.
One of his arms hangs over her waist, the other she holds in her grasp. She can feel every callous in the palm of his hand, her thumb rubbing over them, copying the lines of scars as if her touch could erase them. She knows they'll never leave him, but she likes to think that their new memories together can make him move on.
She doesn't believe he will ever truly forget them or forget what they mean, because that would be running away from his past. Ian Kabra has never been a runner. If anything, he's a fighter. She muses that even though he doesn't admit it, it's the Cahill in him. There are flaws sketched up and down his skin, but they represent his battles, his strength, and she secretly admires that they are the one imperfection about him that she loves.
And as much as he likes to think so, he isn't perfect. His mouth suddenly opens into a soft yawn, blowing out a puff of air onto her face. Her nose wrinkles on instinct and she shuffles her ruffled bangs away. His inky hair is disheveled, lying carelessly on his forehead and shoved between the pillow and his head. Even after months of living together, she never fails to be amused at his horror when he wakes up and wanders by a mirror.
She wonders if he does it for her benefit, because he knows that it makes her laugh. Probably, she concludes after some thought with a tilt of her lips.
Looking around the bedroom, Amy admires the sea of white. She remembers being curious as to why he chose to make the entire room white with dashes of cream and ivory. Tugging her into his arms, he had simply smiled. It was only ever going to be him and her. Coiling a red lock around a finger, he buried his face into her hair, before gesturing to his own dark head. Red and black, she had noticed their branches, before pointing them out.
But he surprised her with a laugh. You're the only color I need to see every day, he murmured then.
Wrapping a sheet around her body, she carefully pulls out of his grasp and walks over to the open window. Green eyes sweep over the cityscape, taking in the morning air and the sounds of a new day beginning. It feels like the city is waking up and she presses her forehead against the cool glass, content to stand there in silence.
A few minutes later, when his arms envelop her and she automatically leans back, she feels his lips graze the top of her bare shoulder and a smile slowly spreads across her face. He's holding her, choosing not to state the obvious until she tilts her head back and looks at him.
You left. Gold flashes with accusation.
I'm sorry. Viridian smiles.
Her shrug makes him roll his eyes, before he steals a kiss. Her nose wrinkles at their combination of morning breath and a chuckle rumbles from the back of his throat, sending shivers throughout her body. She taps him with a finger, eying him with a pointed look. She knows he did that on purpose.
Their hearts beat together now, nearly in sync as they stand there. They've been living together in an apartment for some time now - he having moved from London to be closer to her and she eventually moving in with him.
And it had all started with socks.
It was the middle of rainy season when she was on her way out to dinner with some old friends. His apartment was closer than Attleboro so she had stopped by hours earlier to see him. She was pulling on her socks and hopping around, looking for her boots when he had swept her into his embrace. Hot kisses sprinkled the column of her throat and along her jaw line until he claimed her lips, wordlessly pleading what he wanted.
Suffice to say, she didn't make it to the restaurant. The next morning, she had slipped on her boots and caught a taxi back home. Amy never did figure out how she managed to wear boots without socks.
The next thing were her various books and pieces of art. She was always spending time at his apartment in-between classes and she was always trying to catch up on her reading. His collection had somehow quadrupled in size because after she finished reading, she would constantly lend him books and he would consistently forget to read them.
She didn't like how his apartment was so empty. Natalie was halfway across the world and he was too busy to decorate beyond furniture. When they had museum dates, Amy made it a point of purchasing at least one work from every exhibit. She wanted to support art and she wanted his apartment to look nice. Two birds with one stone, she had argued.
With the maturation of their relationship, eventually half her closet ended up littering his apartment. It's the only time that he doesn't mind the mess, he told her once with a wolfish grin. One morning after a branch meeting in Paris and a grueling red eye back to Boston, Ian had sleepily pressed a silver key into her hand. A small deep red carnation keychain hung from the same loop, delicate under the soft moonlight.
The next day when she let herself in and found him asleep and curled on the sofa with Atonement in his arms, she simply smiled, placing the book on the coffee table and pulled a blanket over his body.
When he leaves her, Amy feels a draft flutter into the sheets and she bites down on her lip to suppress the subsequent tremble, ignoring the goose bumps that rise across her pale skin. She can hear some fumbling in the kitchen, the sounds of pans and pots clanging against each other, then a sizzling noise. Before long, she's back in bed until the smell of bacon beckons her awake.
The knowing smirk on his face makes her stick her tongue out when she slips into the chair beside him. Ian pours her a glass of orange juice, before settling down with a cup of coffee and skimming through his phone for messages. The peaceful atmosphere pleases her as they start the day - she enjoys her breakfast as he catches her up on Cahill business.
When he finally got his own place, Amy had to teach him how to cook the basics so that he could at least survive without dining out all day, every day. And when they start taking cooking classes together, he, of course, becomes the star pupil. She never fails to remind him that once upon a time, he nearly burned her kitchen down and that she painstakingly managed to swallow a charred piece of toast because he made it.
Their relationship isn't perfect, but together, they've seen it all.
Death, pain, heartbreak, betrayal, and everything else life has to offer. Even when her face is blotted with tears and flushed cheeks and cruelty on the tip of her tongue, he loves her. Even when his eyes are near obsidian with clenched fists and a past riddled with terrible things, she loves him.
So later when he's on bended knee in front of her and a ring is pressed onto her finger, Amy doesn't need to think. For the first time in her life, she takes the leap without looking back.