He had fought to even get out of bed this morning, as he always does this day of the year more than any other. Too many memories flood his mind, reminding him his heart is as tender, weak, as ever. Every birthday flashes at him in lightning succession, ending with the very first one, holding Bae in his arms for the first time, unable to look away from the unfocused but determined eyes taking everything in. He'd vowed to give the boy his best chance.
He makes no deals, does not leave the grounds, spends the day in silent contemplation. One would think he would be working even harder on the curse today, but he can't. He can't due to the fact that on this day, this day of the year more than any other, he wonders if he is searching for someone who doesn't want to be found.
It will drive him mad, more so, he sighs, longing for any distraction within arm's length. Nothing. So he prowls the corridors, his mind feeling the way a bone might when one removes the splint.
She's dusting the tops of the picture frames, so he stops dead in his tracks. Just ask. Better yet, just order. It's well within your right to do so. And yet, ordering it sounds more absurd than requesting.
Sensing someone near, she looks over at him.
"Would you, do you know how to play chess?"
She's smarter than most would assume, he thinks, in spite of the fact he has won the two previous games. The first one lasted only about twenty minutes, but the second one, two hours. She rests her cheek on her knuckles and stares at the board, into it, really, as if the pieces will give her a coded hint. There is a crease in the middle of her forehead when she is deep in thought, and her lips nearly pout. Her rook dances from side to side as she toys with taking her fingers off of it, making the move official. He's not impatient. Gods, he's nothing if he's not willing to wait for something he wants. It bothers him not at all the time she takes. The corners of her mouth turn up first. He just knew she would be fun to watch. It's too wholesome to be a smirk, just something unique to her. With great confidence, she leaves her rook in its new position. Her lips tighten and seal into a more neutral expression, banishing the emotion from her face.
"If you think you can intimidate me by staring at me, I don't think it's going to work," she says.
Blinking, he glances back down at the board. Distraction indeed.
"You don't find playing with me boring, do you?"
Why should she care, he considers, but decides on cordiality.
"No."
"You could just tell me what's wrong. No one would know but me."
"What makes you think something's wrong?" She shrugs. No more beating around the bush, he decides. He takes his knight and captures her rook.
She gives him that look again, this time right at him, and he suddenly feels like all hell is breaking loose inside. For a moment, he can no longer predict her, can no longer hear her voice before it utters a word, and yet he wants to know what she'll do next. His answer comes all too quickly, however, as she glides her bishop down the board and takes his knight in her small hand.
"If nothing was wrong, you would have seen that coming," she says. This time her mouth scrunches just a tad, a shyer, sweeter version of that look before. Her mouth moves to speak, reminding him of several stories in which the hero ends the lady's jabbering with a kiss. Tempting.
"It's your move. Unless you forfeit," she adds with a laugh.
Very tempting.