Summary: Jotted down randomly during a car ride home. Wanted something to do, and needed to get the idea out of my head.
Petrification
He splayed his hand across her stomach, counting each rise, each fall: one, two.
"I think I love you," he spoke.
"I think," her eyes opened, tired yet fierce, and she circled his wrist with her hand to feel his pulse; three, four, five, "that's your worst idea yet."
His eyes flickered towards her face, but they did not meet her gaze. He knew all he would find there was a mist—the veil she put up even at this ungodly hour just to shield herself from the world, from him.
"Regardless," he moved his hand up to rest over her heart, ignoring the jerk of his own, counting to six, seven, eight, "...it's true."
"You know nothing is true, not for us." Nine.
"Except this," and on ten their lips collided, but they didn't bother to count. They already knew it would last them forever.
The End