75. Mirror
He's an incredibly shallow person and he has no problem admitting it, just like he has no problem admitting he is ambitious, pragmatic and manipulative.
(He would have ended up marrying a horse-faced wench granted that he got a Kingdom in exchange, he supposes, but that really would be reaching bottom because he knows he can do better than that.)
Maybe that's why, this one time he wakes up to find her sitting on her vanity, Her fingers combing through the platinum threads of her hair to braid it, her face freshly washed and without an ounce of make-up, he isn't too surprised to realize he still finds her gorgeous.
(Of course she is gorgeous. Otherwise they wouldn't be where they are now, because that's just how shallow he is)
The first thing he notices is how her eyelashes are about as thick as he's used to see them, just not as curly, and they have this dark, ashen blonde hue he has never seen in them before. Her skin is fair and white and soft-looking, but there are constellations of freckles over her nose and cheeks that normally look a lot more subtle, and he finds himself wanting to trace them with the tips of his thumb or nose. Her high cheekbones are pale without the powders she normally uses to highlight them and he catches a slight mark over her left one
(Acne scar, maybe? As much as the fact sometimes catches him by surprise, she's human and she must have had that stage of puberty where you feel like you'll have to tie your hands down to stop picking at the small swellings on your face too)
Her eyes, he thinks, are what change the most. The expansion of her eyelids is just a tad darker than the rest of her skin, but the skin there looks so incredibly soft that he kind of daydreams about resting his mouth there. The deep blue color of her eyes somehow seems warmer without the color framing of her eye-shadow and he ponders on the irony of this
(She is the ICE QUEEN, after all)
But there are also the dark circles under her eyes, and as much as he wants to believe his keeping her awake for most part of last night is to blame for them, he knows those come from a much older and deeper issue, and he knows he will never be able to erase them completely, try as he might.
(He realizes this with an unexpected pang and almost allows himself to hope that's just his ego. But he knows that's just wishful thinking)
"You look like a creep" she suddenly says, amusement in her voice as she turns to him after spotting him in the mirror.
He supposes he does, lying sideways on the bed, half of his face buried on the pillow, his only visible eye squinting, his hair a reddish mess and his body wrapped many, many quilts because as enjoyable as spending a night with her might be it also is ungodly cold.
(He doesn't know she finds his I-woke-up-one-minute-ago-look gorgeous too, even when his propping up on one elbow reveals the pillows left a mark on both his face and hair, and a damp spot that means he slept with his mouth open, which she really didn't need to confirm, since she woke to his light snoring a couple of times during the early morning)
She stifles a chuckle at his grunt-for-an-answer and turns back to the mirror to inspect her braid.
(It's impeccable. Why does she even bother inspecting it? Of course, he likes it better when her hair is lose and he gets to tangle his fingers on it and sometimes even tug softly)
Then she opens a drawer and starts taking out jars and cases and brushes and sponges and he almost –almost- tells her that she's still pretty without all that, but ends up observing in silence because she's a Queen and making herself up for it is something she's loved doing ever since she realized she could. So she powders her nose and cheeks, colors her whites, and carefully draws a rose over her full lips with a brush and ends up looking the same as the whole Kingdom's known her after her coronation day.
(Or maybe it looks to him like she painted a rose because he's looking at her through sleep-deprived eyes and the crisp, clean taste of those lips still remains fresh in his memory)
It dawns on him that he's seeing a side of the Queen no one, perhaps not even her sister, has seen before and he feels a little touched and really happy.
(Is he becoming a sentimental? Does he still dare to hope not? He almost grinces when he realizes he doesn't. Because he is shallow, ambitious , pragmatic, and manipulative but he is also in love and so incredibly, genuinely SCARED that these parts of him might hurt her)
(Again)
"Well, I normally make my bed before my breakfast" she says as she gets up to absently examine the ice gown she's accustomed to wearing now.
(He vaguely remembers how the skin of his lips kept getting stuck on its surface when he attempted to peel it off with his mouth and can only be glad his tongue didn't get stuck too, that really would have killed the mood)
"But it so turns out that someone slept in my bed and they're still there too!" she finishes playfully setting her eyes on him.
"You don't say" he retorts sitting up and stretching his back with a multitude of satisfying little cracks "Goldilocks again?"
"The last time I checked, Goldilocks was a little girl and she was blonde" she gave his form a highly appreciative look, meaning she could very well testify he was a man.
(He knows she seems to like his back and shoulders but he doesn't know how much she loves them when he's slightly hunched with sleep and they have the creases of her bed-sheets marked upon them)
"This to say now I have to make the bed as a punishment for waking up last, right?" he says, feigning not to have noticed.
"You are quite acute" she says, walking up to him.
(And he can't help but wonder if she's remembering that time when he knew just what to say to make her vulnerable after just a few hours of knowing her)
She runs a cold –oh, so deliciously cold- hand through his hair, all the way down to his nape, then under his earlobe and finally ghosts her fingers under his jawline. He's looking up at her with curiosity because she's looking at him in an unfathomable way.
(And her gaze makes him anxious because he doesn't know she's just as glad she hasn't hurt him as he is he hasn't hurt her)
(Yet, she adds, because she doesn't dare to be optimistic)
(Yet, he adds, because he knows himself)
But then she leans over him and the rose brushes the corner of his mouth with moist coolness and he tips his head just enough to touch the petals with his lips.
(And he swears he wants to repeat last night right there and then because he might be a nobody and she a Queen but she was the most marvelous way of making him feel like a SOMEBODY)
Later, when he looks at himself in the mirror, he finds the rose painted over his mouth and its corner. And while he absentmindedly licks them he makes his mind up about how he's going to get back at her.
(And that night he gets to count the freckles in her face and trace their constellations with his thumb and he falls asleep with the touch of her eyelids under his mouth)
CC (A) the author here.
This couple. This godamn couple. I tried to resist it and it suck me in like a friggin' black hole. Right now I'm in that stage of shipping where absolutely EVERYTHING reminds you of them, and believe me, ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING. I saw this post on Tumblr where they made a manip of how Elsa would look without make-up and BAM there goes my shipper heart. So yeah.
Comments and critics are always welcome