The summer air was warm and the evening was coming, splashing color on the western sky. They had grown together and something that had began as lust had bloomed into genuine love. He had learned so much about her in a matter of months, little things like her favorite flower and what makes her laugh.
Her ebony-black hair ran down her back and her eyes were closed. She rested against his chest and his hand lay on her back. She shifted a little and made a sound of mild annoyance. "Fae? What's wrong?"
She quickly denied it. "Nothing." She quietly fell back against him.
He touched her hair and pressed his lips to her forehead. When she didn't respond as warmly as he wanted, he sighed. "What is it?"
"I'm fine, Yero. Just fine."
"You're lying."
"No I'm not."
He gave her a hard look. "Yes you are. The little vein in your forehead pops when you lie. So really, what's bugging you?"
"Nothing." But she sat up huffily.
He pulled a piece of his straw out of her hair. "Would this be it?"
"It's just the straw, nothing you did, but..."
"Fae."
"But it kept poking me." She laughed lightly.
He scowled at her and thought of the downsides of being the Scarecrow.