Tremble

Her hands shook, but she inched her fingertips up his arm. One hand held the table to calm her trembling form, and the other clung to him.

"Mist," he murmured. His face was downcast. The memory probably stirring in his mind.

She sniffled in response.

Mere minutes ago they had been engaged in one of their more bitter fights. It ended regretfully when they uttered words they knew would hurt deeply.

"Sorry."

He reached his hand out towards her and winced at her delayed acceptance.

She still trembling, held her hands in his, and he molded his hands over hers.

A weak smile was on her face, but things would be okay.

A truce was met until the next (less hurtful) fight.