A/N: Romance, Angst, Tragedy

Encantober Day 16: Kiss

Their first kiss is on the cheek. It's light, sweet, and modest. Her head is thrown back in laughter and he leans in and pecks her cheek, so far back it's almost near her ear, so she won't mistakenly think he's going in for that sort of kiss, not yet, he's not that forward. He stares at her, wide-eyed and earnest afterward, as if he can barely believe he'd done it, himself – but he means it.

Everything he does is always meaningful, always intentional. And his kisses are no different.

She blinks in surprise, and her lips curl up into a small smile before she leans forward and presses a kiss – their second kiss - against his cheek, smack dab in the middle of it, loud and obvious. His skin is slightly rough with five o'clock shadow and when she draws away, something in his expression changes. His eyes grow softer and darker and there's something stronger and more intense in them than there was there a moment ago, but there's also something gentler and more careful. He cups her face in his palm, his thumb brushing against the soft skin of her cheek.

His eyes dart from her eyes down to her lips and back up again, and her breath catches. She leans forward, inviting him closer, and tilts her head just so. It takes him a moment, and he moves in slowly, giving her time to pull away in case she changes her mind.

Their third kiss is a lot more passionate and a lot less modest.

She's stopped counting kisses by the time the priest pronounces them man and wife. She's stopped counting them, but she hasn't stopped treasuring them.

The kisses to her forehead in the morning before he gets out of bed.

The kisses to her cheeks and nose when her brow is furrowed in irritation at something or someone.

The kisses to her lips, sweet and mild in public, and anything but in the privacy of their own home.

She never gets to the point where their kisses become mundane; a habitual exchange, just another part of their routine.

His last kiss is to her lips, and she never forgets it.

She never forgets the way he kissed their babies first, pressing his lips to their downy hair; the mental fog from her labor and delivery and their flight preventing her from understanding, at first, what he intended to do.

She never forgets the way his fingers felt on her skin, sliding gently, desperately up her jawline to cradle her face, his eyes full of apology and determination. She never forgets the way he brushes his thumb along her cheek, just like he did the first time he kissed her. She never forgets the taste of salt on his lips and she never forgets all the things he tried to tell her in that one last gesture of love and affection.

She touches her mouth a lot in the days and weeks and months afterward, trying to preserve the memory of his kisses. She presses her fingers, her locket, her pillow to her lips, and she prays that Pedro will give her the strength to get through another day without his presence.

Without his kiss.