The sky is the color of his eyes today, his lover says. He laughs, because his love was never meant to be the sort of romantic who should say that. A faint frown crosses a pale brow, before a gentle kiss smooths it away. The wind stirs in the leaves above them, and a few rain down in red and gold. He giggles as one catches in his lover's dark hair, reaching up to pull it out, running his fingers through the spiky mess. The pale boy gives him a rare smile, almost shy, and is rewarded by a gamine grin. Most of the world wouldn't know this grin from his usual smile, but the dark-haired boy can see the real joy, like pure water from a hidden spring, that flows from the blond. The wind toys with both their hair before ghosting down along the hill, returning once to bat at their hair before rushing across the sky. If you could see it, the wind would almost be smiling as the blond boy kisses his dark-eyed lover; if you could hear it, it would almost be singing, a love song far older than both boys put together.