They're lying side by side underneath the stars, the warmth of their bodies underneath the sheets lulling their consciences into unriddled honesty and easy conversation.
"Daryl," she whispers on a breath.
A rustle of cotton. He turns his head, he looks straight at her.
"Mm?"
"What you do you want?" she swallows, regains courage, and forges brazenly ahead. "In life, I mean. What do you want from it all?"
His eyes are constellations; not even the cosmos are as light or as shining as his gray-blue irises, or as mesmerizing as his black, pooling pupils. She can feel every shift of his body as he settles deeper into the mattress. She can feel every movement echo into her own frame.
"Nothin' more than this."
She wants to smile, wants to break into an ear-to-ear grin and cover him in kisses, but she doesn't, she waits, she lets him talk. It's rare for him to talk like this so she lets him do it freely when he does.
His eyes are intent, warm, all-consuming.
"You're it for me, girl."
"It?"
"Everything."