I'm falling
In all the good times I find myself longing
For change
And in the bad times I fear myself
The air is crisp, blowing through the rough palms and vining flowers of the jungle. I hike the collar of my jacket up and duck my chin into the warm leather, my breath puffing like little clouds in front of my face. The last dredges of winter still cling to the early morning breeze, even in this warmer climate. The sun has yet to crest the horizon as I stalk through the brush, my footsteps silent on the lush, black soil and dense, green foliage covering the ground. I'm not the only hunter in this jungle and I need to be careful. Cautious. Quiet.
I follow my instinct and the quiet voice of my father echoing in my head reminding me of all the things he taught me in the woods in District Twelve. Adjusting the quiver strap and bow across my chest, I climb the gnarled, twisted branches of a tree I had never seen before I stepped foot on this island. I crouch on a particularly sturdy limb and I wait. The soft noise of the wilderness below and the canopy of trees above fill the silence. I concentrate on the noise, thankful for the distraction occupying my mind because otherwise…I would think about him. And I am doing too much of that already.
I had snuck out of his hut before the sun came up.
He had fallen asleep through his tears, his chest heaving and shuddering until finally, the breaths evened out. I waited until his soft snores filled the hut before I let myself cry, clinging to his shirt and listening to his steady heartbeat with my ear pressed against his back. At some point, I had fallen asleep too and awoken with my cheek against his chest and his arm wrapped around my middle. There had been no dreams, no nightmares. Just deep, restful, peaceful sleep. It was the best sleep I had gotten in months.
I didn't think Prim would make it back. I didn't think he would make it back. I thought Annie was living a pipedream and I went along with it for her sake. And maybe for the sake of my own sanity. But I never thought I would see either of them again. When their boat appeared in the waves I couldn't think of anything beyond Prim, beyond the desperate part of me that still clung to the smallest shred of hope. I don't even know what I said to her in that moment. The entire memory is jumbled with emotions and blurred in my mind.
When I stepped into his doorway I had only come to see him, to thank him, to try and explain just how grateful I was to have a piece of my family back. But he was sobbing. Broken and alone. I couldn't leave. My chest constricted and the need to touch him, to hold him was so great that I did something I didn't think I would do: I climbed into this bed and I held him. Not Prim who had just returned to me, who had been through so much in the last months, who was young and vulnerable and scared. I hadn't stayed with her. I, instead, had chosen to hold him. I needed to hold him. Over the past several weeks since they arrived on the island I haven't been able to forgive myself for that. No matter how much I want to or how badly I feel that urgent need to, I haven't gone back to his hut. To his bed. In fact, we've barely spoken.
Something slithers across the ground at the base of my tree and in the distance, I hear the telltale crunch of an animal approaching. I nock my arrow, curl my fingers around the bowstring – imagining my missing finger is curled into my palm with the rest – pulling it taut and wait. It took nearly two months to get Paylor to agree to allow me to hunt. She had gently, but firmly, told me to take time for myself, acclimate myself to the island and their community, and heal. She didn't understand that I needed this to heal. I needed the trees, the solitude, the stillness, the vastness of the jungle, and the feel of the bow in my hands. I needed it to feel like I hadn't lost them – my family. I needed it to feel like I hadn't lost myself.
To remember who you are.
My father's voice whispers in my mind. I crouch motionless on the branch, clamping my lips shut and taking quiet, short breaths through my nose. The snuffle and grunt of a snout pass under the tree. A boar. The short hairs on the animal's dark skin glistening with early morning dew, its tusks jutting out around its long snout. I hold my breath as it passes by until it moves away from me unaware of my hidden position high above. My arm begins to tremble, the muscles not quite yet used to the tension of the bow. Once the boar is in position, I let the arrow fly. It strikes the animal perfectly hitting the lungs and heart. The boar startles and begins to run, only making it a short distance before collapsing on the dark jungle floor.
I hop down from the branch and approach the animal. Its eyes have glazed, and its chest no longer struggles for a breath. Blood trickles in a steady stream from the wound – my arrow still buried there – and pools on the ground creeping like a dark, red monster toward the toes of my boots. Like the way my mother's blood moved across the floor of that room and covered my bare toes. My breath stalls in my throat, my lungs tightening, my heart hammering. The muscles in my legs give out. My knees sinking into the damp earth, the blood. I crawl away, towards the tree and vomit, choking on my gasping sobs as my dinner from the night before stains the tree's roots.
Fingertips brush my shoulder. I flinch, scrambling away from the touch, and nock another arrow in my bow, pointing the weapon at the source of the touch.
"Easy," he says, his bronze hair mussed from sleep. His green eyes lined with worry.
Finnick looks from me to the mess on the ground and then to the hog. He breaths deeply and reaches into the pocket of his jacket to hand me a small canteen of water. I pour the water into my mouth thankful for the opportunity to wash away the foul taste, but embarrassment stains my cheeks as well as my words.
"What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be with Annie?"
My voice clipped and far harsher than it should be. I owe Finnick nearly as much as I owe Peeta and I should be nicer to them both for that reason alone. Maybe it's that reason that keeps me from showing either of them how I really feel. How utterly grateful I am. Prim chastises me about it nearly every day. She loves them, and she doesn't understand why I'm not the person she knows I can be, the person I truly am, around them. Especially with Peeta. I don't understand either.
It reminds me of how I used to feel when I watched the people of the Capitol and saw their ignorance of the atrocities taking place outside the beauty of their city. I would look at them and be so envious of that, of the not knowing. I feel that same sort of envy when I watch Prim together with Peeta or Finnick. There's an easiness in their communication and fluidity in the way they move, talk and tease each other that only comes with really knowing a person. Prim and I have lost some of that in the months we've been apart and with the things we've had to endure. I miss it. I missed the relaxed way we used to be. I want it back. I want easiness and laughter with her. And as I watch them I realize, I want it with Peeta too. I want to be someone he laughs with and smiles at and teases.
There's guilt too. So much guilt that I can barely stand it. It ties me to my pallet some mornings making the act of getting out of bed seem like the most difficult thing I've ever had to do. Envy and guilt. That's all I have to offer anyone anymore.
Finnick slants his head studying me for a moment. A flash of something like amusement mixed with understanding sparks in his eyes. The corners of his lips turning upwards into a charming smile full of shining, white teeth.
"Annie," he says, reaching to retrieve his canteen, "is the one who told me to go for a walk at this despicable and, frankly, really fucking cold hour." He put the canteen back into his jacket pocket, stuffing his hands in behind it and hunching his shoulders against the chill. "She says it's good for me to get up and do something in the morning. She remembers when I used to get up this early to fish. I haven't done that in years." He shrugs, the smile on his face widening into a grin. "Apparently, I also snore, and she likes a couple of hours in the morning to sleep without all of my noise." He looks to the boar again. "I don't typically come out this far into the trees, but I'm glad I decided to today. Looks like you'll need a hand getting that back. And I can't tell you how long I've been dreaming about bacon."
He extends his hand to help me to my feet. I hesitate a second before grasping it. His hand is warm despite the chill. The smile on his face still shining brightly. But behind the genuine sparkle in his eyes, I could see the remnants of all the years of pain.
"How do you do it?" I ask.
He slants his head in question, the smile wavering just a bit.
I continue, "The happiness. You look happy. Truly happy. After everything. How do you do it?"
His lips pull down into something resembling a sad smirk and his eyes skate over my face before he drops my hand. He breaths deeply and lifts his eyes to the canopy of leaves above our heads. "I think – I think I am happy. Really truly happy for the first time in years. This is the happily ever after I've always wanted. It isn't perfect, and I have many regrets, but…I get to be with her. We get to live in peace amongst the waves like we've always dreamed about. As for the rest of it…it's better not to give in to it. It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart."
Five weeks after Prim had returned to me on that rickety, broken boat, the courtyard in our tiny village sparkles with colorful sea glass and iridescent shells strung together with thin vines and woven through the trees. Tall torches burn along the walkways, their light reflecting off the surface of the shells and glass. People move about from one hut to the next, their faces bright with excitement. Some of them have been here for over half a year and this is their first chance to celebrate. Tonight, Finnick and Annie will be married.
Annie was breathless when she told me. They had never thought this day would be possible and now that they were together and free they didn't want to wait any longer. Prim cried and embraced Annie then pulled her towards the hut of a woman from Eight named Poplin that had brought fabrics, needles and threads to the island with her and was known to mend and create clothing. Prim beamed with happiness as she linked arms with Annie and they talked about a wedding dress. I hadn't seen her like that in months. Has it only been months? It feels like a completely other life.
The courtyard is alive with activity. I brace my back against a tree and try to stay out of the way. Paylor had explained to me when Annie and I arrived that this island was a secret of the rebels that lived in Four. They spent years smuggling supplies here when they would leave the district on long fishing trips. There had been Peacekeepers that were lenient and sympathetic to the cause who turned a blind eye to the mysterious cargo aboard the ships and the small amount of fish on board when the ships returned. As the years passed, buildings were constructed, and a cache of supplies and weapons was stored. Everything was in order and the rebels sat back and waited. Then, Peeta Mellark was reaped and everything changed.
I look across the courtyard, past the arch of palm fronds being created, to the building that houses the village butcher and kitchen. The village is still small enough, less than one hundred people, that we all dine from a communal kitchen. Every crop that is harvested, every animal that is hunted or slaughtered from the village's small farm, and every fish that is caught is given to the kitchen to feed the people. It's where I bring all of my kills. It's where Peeta asked to be assigned for work and where he leans against the doorframe now, arms crossed over his chest and dusted in flour.
His blue eyes are dazzling in the firelight even with the exhaustion clearly evident on his face. The dark smudges under his eyes. When was the last time he slept? Before the reaping? His smile is muted but sincere to the people that pass. He leans his head against the wood of the door and watches the palm arch being created. His eyes have a distant look to them like he's seeing the world in a way that the rest of us don't…or can't. Maybe that's the artist in him. Maybe it's a product of everything he's been through. Maybe my eyes look the same to others.
I swallow. Looking at him makes my chest hurt in a way that I don't understand, like a desperate part of me is trying to claw its way out from under my skin and make its way to his side. His eyes flit to mine, the dazzling light dimming just a fraction before he dips his chin ever so slightly at me and walks back inside the kitchen.
The ceremony is lovely. Poplin is able to create a gown for Annie from the scraps of fabric she had that make Annie glow like an ethereal goddess in the sea breeze and torchlight. Tears roll down Finnick's cheeks when he sees her. They speak words of love and passion, patience and forgiveness, resilience and strength. Even though their words are meant for each other, the eyes of nearly everyone that gather to witness their union are misty with understanding as well. I blink as my own tears fall, the moisture gathering on my eyelashes, and look at the ground as their words ring out over the courtyard. I can't help but think of my own parents, their bond, their love. I can't help but miss them deeply. I can't help the empty feeling, like a gaping wound that settles in my chest waiting to be filled with something I haven't quite allowed myself to imagine.
A feast is spread out on a long table. Meats, fish, roasted vegetables, fruits, and bread. In the middle of everything sits a cake. It's not as intricate as the ones I had glimpsed through the bakery window as a child, but it is still beautifully done. The colors of the ocean and the sunset swirl along the edges in a delicate pattern. My eyes dart to Peeta, to his hands as he clasps Finnick's shoulders. The both of them throwing their heads back, laughing. I don't know how he did it. How he made something so beautiful out of the barest of supplies.
I remember the cake I had stumbled into as I stood between him and his mother taking a blow across the face that she aimed toward her son. She had been furious that he crossed through the fence, but her wrath had increased tenfold when she learned he had carried me, an insignificant Seam brat, home. I had come to the bakery as soon as my ankle had healed with dried meat, goat cheese, and herbs as a show of gratitude for Peeta's bravery and help. I had been young, naïve, and unaware of the type of childhood Peeta and his brothers had. The type of mother they lived with.
The cake I had fallen into had been three layers arranged like a small tower, lilies, daisies, and pansies snaked around the edges climbing to the top. The flowers had seemed so lifelike and I had assumed the baker had created it. But looking at Annie and Finnick's wedding cake, the coloring, the artistic touch, I knew that cake from the bakery had been Peeta's. My jaw drops at the thought of a ten-year-old Peeta being able to create such beauty. Where did that come from?
Some fiddles and guitars appear in the hands of a few of the villagers. They must have carried them to the island with them. Music rings out over the courtyard and people move to the center to dance and talk and eat. Prim spins and dances and laughs. She lets the music carry her. She smiles freely. Finnick takes her into his arms and spins her around during a particularly upbeat tune. She squeals with delight, throwing her arms around his neck as he laughs with her. For a moment, the haunted look that lives behind her eyes is gone. She looks so much like the girl I used to know. The girl who would pad down the hall and pounce on my bed, her curls bouncing on her shoulders. I can't help the grin that crosses my face. Maybe she will never be that girl again, but tonight I can see the possibility of the girl she could be.
She pulls me into dance too and we laugh into the air as we forgo the steps, interlocking hands and spinning so fast the twinkling shells above our heads become a blur. I haven't smile or laughed like this in so long. It's like a weight being lifted from my shoulders. It's freeing. And I feel happy. Truly happy. For the first time in years. Prim must notice the shift in me too because she lifts up on her toes and plants a kiss on my cheek, her eyes shining with joy. I hug her close to me and sway to the slower melody drifting from the group of guitar players.
Prim moves in my arms. A sound like a breathy sigh escaping her lips. She pulls away from me, brushing the stray hair across my forehead and tucking it behind my ear. She glances over my shoulder, blushing, a smile pulling the corners of her mouth upwards even as she turns to fight it. She looks at me, her eyes shining with excitement, and excuses herself to get something to drink. I turn and he's there, blue eyes bright and shy.
"Will you dance with me, Katniss?" he asks, hand extended.
I wordlessly step into his arms, my hands braced on his broad shoulders. He's gained back some of the weight he lost during his time in the Quell and his journey across Panem, but he's still too thin and the dark circles under his eyes are even more prominent up close. I wonder if he can see the same exhaustion on my face?
He smells like the sea: balmy citrus, coconut, and salt. But underneath that, there is a hint of something familiar, something that makes me think of home and the boy I knew. Cinnamon. My chest tightens again. I can feel the slight shake in his hands as they settle on my waist, the wobble in his uneven gait. He chuckles, color flooding his cheeks.
"You would think," he begins, his lips moving against my cheek, "that with all the experience I have, merely dancing with a beautiful woman wouldn't make me nervous."
I pull back ready to scowl at him for making light of the things he's been through, the things he's been made to do, but his face is earnest. His skin glows softly in the firelight, the complexion darker than normal from working in the sun. And I realize that while he might be making a joke about his past to break the tension, he's also being honest. His throat pumps as he swallows. His eyes dance across the planes of my face.
I settle back into his arms, resting my cheek against his, my pounding heart drowning out the lilting guitar. And as I sway with him under the sea glass and shells, my own trembling hands traveling from his shoulders to his neck, fingers curling in the soft hair at the nap, I think that perhaps he feels this way – even with all of his experience – because this is real.
I can't sleep.
Prim breathes deeply and evenly beside me and I fight the urge to toss under the blanket covering us both. The spring air has become sticky and humid, even at night, and it's doing nothing to help me escape my thoughts. I keep thinking about cinnamon and the way Peeta's tongue felt gliding against mine in the steamy air of that fifth-floor bathroom. The feel of the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.
Who had cut his hair? It had been so much longer when he arrived on the island.
I had kept myself from dancing too close to him even though every part of me begged to pull him near. To smooth my hands down his back. To feel his chest pressed against mine. I remember the way his bare chest had looked the first night we spent together in that room. I wonder what it would feel like to press my naked chest against his. To feel the heat of his skin mixed with mine.
I clench my thighs together and cast a sidelong glance at Prim's sleeping form. There's no way I'm going to sleep tonight. My whole body feels like a live wire: tingling and untamed. I ease out from beneath the blanket, my bare feet moving silently across the wooden floor of our hut. I just need air and quiet and the roar of the waves to drown out all the thoughts crowding my head. I move across the courtyard and past the other occupied huts surrounding the small village. Soft snores and whispered voices float along with the breeze through the open doorways and windows. I pass by Annie's hut – the hut we shared when we first arrived together – my steps faltering at the sounds drifting out into the night.
Low, quiet moans. Heavy sighs. Bodies moving together.
I pick my feet up and hurry down the path, through a line of waving palms and waist-high, exotic, colorful, flowering plants to the wide expanse of flat beach. Wrapping my arms around myself, I kick at some of the washed-up shells scattered in the sand and let the spray from the waves cool my flushed skin. There's no privacy on this damn island. And the people here, while content, loved to gossip and meddle. Only weeks after Annie and I arrived, I had been introduced to no less than three eligible bachelors. Their mothers were well-intentioned, but I had politely declined, keeping to myself ever since.
I didn't know how to explain to anyone the way I felt. How seeing Prim step onto that train, being in that palace cell, watching my mother cower, give up information that could save Prim in order to spare me pain and die, changed me. I'll never feel whole again. I'll never feel clean. I'll never get rid of the memory of her blood coating my skin. Besides, I never wanted to marry or partner with anyone. I couldn't imagine having children that could possibly be reaped or live a life as part of the rebellion just simply because they had been born. It's a different world now, but who's to say that won't someday change?
I sink to the sand, hugging my knees tightly to my chest, my nightgown brushing my toes, and let myself get lost in the rhythm of the waves brushing across the sand. I'm so focused on water that I don't hear him approach, even with his telltale, heavy steps. Prim had told me what had happened, how his leg had never gotten the chance to properly heal, how he would forever bear that scar. I look down at my hand. The jagged, puckered, pink flesh where my finger used to be. Every time I look at it I see my mother's face and the gleam of that saw. I wonder what Peeta sees when he looks at his leg?
He grunts softly as he lowers himself down beside me. His cheeks are flushed, and I can't tell if it's from the effort of walking down to the beach or if he heard the noises coming from Finnick and Annie's hut too. I raise my brow at him in question and the ghost of a smile lifts the corners of his lips. He clears his throat.
"My hut is next to Finnick's and…I don't think I'll be able to go to bed for a while." His cheeks turn almost scarlet in the moonlight.
I can't help the laugh of surprise that leaves me. "I don't think I've ever seen you flustered. I would've thought with all your experience," I say using his own words to tease an even darker blush out of him, "that a little noise from the hut next door wouldn't bother you."
He shrugs, scratching the back of his neck before digging his palms into the sand behind him and leaning his weight into them. "It doesn't bother me, exactly. I've seen and heard worse. Hell, I've done…" He stops himself, shaking his head and focusing his attention on the waves. "Everything in my experience has never been about more than lust, power, and instant gratification. That," he says, jerking his chin in the direction of Annie's hut, "isn't any of those things. It's love. It's intimate. It's private. So, it doesn't bother me. But it doesn't feel right to lay awake and listen."
I exhale and turn back toward the ocean. I can't disagree with him. It didn't really bother me either. It made me feel things I didn't know what to do with, but I'm happy for Annie. And Finnick. I'm happy that they get to love each other freely. Openly. It must be an amazing feeling to get to do that. I look back at Peeta. His eyes are closed, his chin tipped back, the night air blowing locks of his hair across his forehead. His lips part as he breathes deeply, seemingly completely relaxed when I feel anything but. I dig my fingers deep into the sand, trying to tear my eyes away from his mouth and the memory of the way it felt. I still hear his whispered words when he told me that the kiss was his first real kiss too. It had confused me at the time because I knew he must have kissed and been kissed by many lips. But as I think about what he said about Finnick and Annie, about how nervous he had been to dance with me, and about how I felt in response to that dance; I start to understand.
No one had ever wanted who he truly is. They had lusted over his body and his title as a victor. They had gotten excited over the power they held over him, the way they could manipulate and use him to their will. But they had never really wanted him. He was a plaything, a toy. They didn't need him. My breath catches as I think of the time we spent apart, as children and recently. I had worried about him, shed tears at the thought of his pain, longed to be near him, hear his voice, feel his touch and kiss his lips again. Those people in the Capitol hadn't needed him, but maybe, I did.
Before hesitance or fear has a chance to change my mind, I push up off of the sand to my feet and reach my hand out to Peeta.
"Do you want to see my secret?" I ask.
His eyes pop open and the smile he gives as an answer makes my stomach flip.
I had stumbled across this cove during my first week on the island. My head and heart had been raging, screaming at me to get on one of the available boats, sail back to Panem and find my sister. Annie had warned me against it, as did Paylor. I didn't know how to sail. Winter was coming. The sea was unpredictable and rough. The country was in ruins. People were desperate. And desperation leads to unexpected behavior. It was too dangerous.
I didn't care. I didn't want to listen. I was broken. Shattered. And the only thing I could focus on was the need to find the one part of my life that may still be there. Someone who understood me, knew me, loved me. Prim. So, I took a bow and quiver from the cache of hunting weapons, packed the few things I had, and decided to get the hell away from the village of people who refused to help me find her. I decided to wait until no one was looking and steal a boat. If it meant risking my life, then so be it. My life didn't feel worth much at that time anyway.
After I took the weapon, I ran. I ran as far and as fast as I could until my still-healing body forced me to stop. I ended up on the other side of the island – the side mainly used for hunting – and hid in the trees. My height in the treetops had allowed me to see it, which may have been why it had been – and still was – overlooked by hunters on foot. Peeking out behind a craggy group of boulders was a tiny slice of glittering, white sand. A small cove hidden from the world. It became my place to cry, to unleash my wrath, to mourn. It became my secret. I had never shared it with anyone until now.
Peeta is silent as we make our way across the island. He doesn't complain about the distance or the landscape even though I know it must bother his leg. He doesn't make a sound until we are finally standing in the cove's soft sand. The moon is high in the night sky and reflects off the planes and angles of his face highlighting a small scar on his chin. I fist my hands at my side to keep myself from reaching out to touch it. His eyes sweep across the water, the boulders, and the sand until they land on me. His fingers flex before he wraps his arms around himself.
"This is…" He stops, taking a halting breath. "Thank you, Katniss."
His voice is barely above a whisper and my fingers clench even harder into my palms, the fingernails digging into my skin. He opens his mouth to say something more but stops himself. A muscle in his jaw ticks and he turns his gaze back to the moonlight on the water. He heaves a heavy breath as if deciding against something, then speaks again.
"I've thought of you every day since we left that room. I've thought of you nearly every day before that if I'm being honest. Losing you the first time was hard, but I was a child. I didn't know. I didn't really understand. But losing you the second time…walking away from you after you asked to kiss me, after I had felt what it was like to hold you, to taste you. That was a pain I wasn't prepared for. So, I thought of you every day and I told myself that no matter how hard it was, I was going to get Prim back to you and see you again. And I did."
My pulse races through my veins, the night breeze whipping my nightgown against my body. I can barely breathe. My eyes burn. I think I might start crying and I didn't bring him here to watch me cry.
"But that doesn't mean you owe me anything," he continues. "Please don't dance with me or show me this place because you think you have some debt that needs to be paid. There's no debt. I did what I did because I wanted to, Katniss." He sighs and looks at his feet, his bare toes sinking into the soft sand. "And I know I've been distant and moody, especially after our first night here." His eyes find mine again and he uncrosses his arms flexing his hands again at his sides. "I'm sorry about that. I've been trying to figure everything out…and this has been really overwhelming and I know I put too much pressure on you and I never wanted to pressure you and – "
" – Stop," I say, closing the distance between us and unfurling my hands. I'm not sure what else to say. None of the thoughts tumbling through my mind seem right or good enough. But I had to stop him because he's rambling and he's nervous and he looks so beautiful standing in the middle of my secret and my body hasn't stopped thrumming since he asked for that dance in the courtyard.
So, I do the one thing that feels right. The one thing my body has been shouting at me to do for weeks now, ever since I left him alone in his bed. I press a palm into his chest and lean into his solidness, his warmth. My face is so close that his breath ghosts across my lips. His eyes alight with a mixture of emotions.
"Katniss," he murmurs, the word breaking at the end.
I don't move. I breathe in the scent of him, the familiarity that makes me think of happier times, of home. His heartbeat drums under my fingers, galloping like my own heart.
"Can - Can I kiss you?" He asks against my lips, our heavy breaths mingling together in the cool, salty air.
My hands skim his shoulders, winding around his neck, pulling his mouth down to mine in answer. The feel and taste of him, the way his hands grip me tight and hold me close, the groan that rumbles in his chest when my teeth graze his bottom lip, bring every emotion, every sensation I felt the first time I kissed him in that hidden bathroom slamming back into me. Except this time there was no clock ticking away the minutes, no recording devices monitoring every sound, and no feeling that I might not get this chance with him again. There isn't the bashful hesitancy of the first kiss either. This kiss is frantic and hungry. We grab at each other like two drowning souls hanging on to the one thing that will keep them from sinking. We kiss until I'm breathless and burning, my body shaking either from the night air or from some other desire I haven't given myself the chance to imagine yet. But as we walk away from the cove and back to the village, he slides his palm against mine, weaving our fingers together, the shadow of a smile playing on his lips. And I don't let go.
A/N: I'm sorry about the wait! Life has been insane. I also apologize for any typos. I edited this with small children screaming at me in the background lol