SMELL
The first time Darcy had loaned his jacket to Lizzie, her scent had lingered on it for days afterwards. Her perfume was delicate, and unique and he found himself longing for her. But the more time he spent with Lizzie, the more familiar he became with all her scents. He would be able to faintly smell her shampoo when she twirled her hair around her fingers absent-mindedly whilst talking to him, or he would smell the sweet soap that she used, when she wrapped her arms around him in a surprise hug. Her lips always smelled like Strawberries from the Chapstick she used, and the scent of her washing powder would hang in the air as she walked passed him in the kitchen. He learned that Lizzie wore only two perfumes. One, which she wore during the day that was light and delicate (and clung to his jacket perfectly) and another, which was slightly more subtle. This perfume she only wore on special evenings, when they were going out or had people over for dinner. Darcy enjoyed the way his sheets smelled like her delicate, everyday perfume and was more than content to fall asleep each night to both her arms, and her scent enveloping him. He would take a deep breath in, and feel her scent fill him with bliss.
SIGHT
No matter how many times Darcy laid his eyes on Lizzie, she took his breath away. He knew that he would never tire of waking up next to her every morning, with her auburn hair falling over her shoulders; her eyelashes, dark crescents against her pale skin. And when she opened her eyes upon finally waking, the deep jade that stared back into his own pale blue eyes would rob him of the air in his lungs in only the best way possible.
Darcy enjoyed seeing evidence of Lizzie in his life – the piles of books that would suddenly appear in random locations, her cardigan thrown over the back of a chair, and her various lotions and makeup commandeering the space around the sink in the bathroom. But then there was the way she moved, which was something that Darcy loved seeing most of all. She was graceful when she did the simplest of things, like tying back her hair, or making a cup of tea. Darcy took pleasure in seeing her curled up on the couch in the living room, with her head propped up by her hand as her eyes focused on the book in front of her. She would notice him watching her after a few long moments, and he would be rewarded with a breathtaking smile that would break out across her face.
She was the epitome of beauty in Darcy's eyes, and she enchanted everyone she came into contact with. Every day, Darcy would watch her, and every day without fail, he would find a new way to fall in love with her.
SOUND
By nature, Lizzie was a mix of both static and silence. Darcy had grown used to the sound of her footsteps echoing in the hallway as she wandered around his house, and the sound of her laughter reverberating off the walls when something entertained her. Sometimes, the only thing he could hear of Lizzie was the occasional sound of pages turning, accompanied by a satisfied sigh as she lost herself in another fictional world. Other times, it was the polar opposite – she would get so caught up debating something trivial with Darcy that her cheeks would flush, and he couldn't get a word in edgeways. He loved how Lizzie's voice was like warm butter to his ears, and hearing her voice melt over him calmed him down in ways that he couldn't explain. He would often call her when he was out of town on business just to simply hear her voice. Admittedly, it wasn't the same coming through a tinny cellphone speaker, but it was enough to tie him over until he was home again, and hearing her murmur "I love you," against his lips, as he stole as many kisses as he could from her.
TASTE
But one kiss was simply never enough. Every time that Darcy had gently pressed his lips against Lizzie's, he lost himself in the depths of their passion. Lizzie's lips were always sweet – sometimes, he could faintly taste the tea she had been drinking, or the peppermint chocolate she seemed to demolish in one sitting. Then there was a different kind of sweetness he could taste on her lips – one that couldn't be linked to a physical object. He could taste hope, and happiness, along with the words on her lips that she wasn't always able to say. Once Darcy could taste her upon his lips, he was intoxicated with such a love that he never thought possible. One kiss from Lizzie Bennet was simply never enough – Darcy was addicted to the way she tasted against his lips, and he knew a lifetime would not be enough to sate his need for her.
TOUCH
The warmth and softness of Lizzie's skin against his own ignited every other one of Darcy's senses. Her hair was like liquid silk and slipped through his fingers effortlessly as he would brush the hair out of her eyes, or tangle his hands in it as he kissed her. Lizzie's skin was like velvet. With a delicate touch, Darcy would trace his fingertips over the planes of her skin, feeling the angle of her jawbone, or the soft curve of her spine. Sometimes, when he was making himself a coffee, Lizzie would come up behind him, wrap her arms around his waist and lean her head against his back. It was such a simple show of affection, but to Darcy it meant more than what he could put into words. But his favourite thing to do was to simply entwine his fingers with hers; an act that had now become second nature to him. Whether it was sitting next to her on the couch while watching a movie, or walking slowly around San Francisco together, his hand would automatically reach for hers, and he would feel complete. He would feel the cool band on metal that sat comfortably on her fourth finger, and he knew that he was home. There was something comforting about the way that Lizzie broke through all the walls that he had single handedly built over the years. With a gentle squeeze of his hand, and a kiss on his cheek, Lizzie knew had she had his heart in her hands. And somehow, he'd never felt safer.