Interlude
The picture sits prominently on both of their desks, separated by the water of the Atlantic Ocean, in matching simple black frames.
She wears a midsummer-sky blue dress that turns her eyes into cornflowers, bluebells, violets; a garden that makes her entire face bloom, radiant and lit from within. Her hair is loose, wavy, spilling over her shoulders and down his chest. She's leaning with her back against his chest, her head tipped up against his shoulder in a laugh as one hand has snaked around his neck and is tugging on the tassel of his mortarboard.
His face is captured mid-laugh, smirking, about to burst into a full grin. The corners of his mouth are turning up despite his best efforts, and his eyes have come so alive that it looks like he's going to step right out of the frame. His arms are locked around her waist, the black of his graduation gown a striking backdrop for her dress, and his hands overlap each other, each one resting on her opposite hip, as though it would be impossible for him to grasp her too tightly.
Their eyes are locked together, and the photo conveys the distinct sense that, for them, for that moment, the surrounding world has ceased to exist. And although individually their eyes are sparkling, vibrant, playful, the look between them runs deeper than the bright laughter. The energy, the current between them, is almost palpable, and it almost seems like it would be possible to trace, connecting them and creating a single entity.
Beneath the smiles lies a world of emotion, and on closer inspection, the sharp blue of her eyes seems magnified by unacknowledged, unshed tears, and the space between them is filled with words that only they can hear. The grip of his arms is as much to anchor himself as it is to pull her close, and the tightness in the corners of his mouth serves to control his emotions as well as hold back a laugh. Her fingers, reaching for his tassel, reach beyond that, a hairsbreadth away from closing the distance between them and caressing his face.
And permeating it all, beyond the deep joy and the deep longing, the picture overflows with love and pride and belief and… future.
When she can't quite remember what she's holding onto, she looks at his arms around her and feels a tightening around her waist, and she holds onto that. When he can't see what his eyes are fixed on, he looks at the way her eyes capture his, and his vision clears. And when they both wake from a dream that's too good to be true and the loneliness threatens to overwhelm, they look at the grins and small smiles slip back onto both their faces to sustain them until the next phone call, the next visit, the next embrace.
It's all there, laid out in vibrant, brilliant color, the stuff that makes the dreams come to life after their eyes open.
-fin-
Author's Note: And there we go. It's been a pleasure to dig through this part of Rory and Logan's relationship, and to look at the process of healing that we didn't get a chance to see. I was so glad to get standingstill's prompt, and I hope I gave her what she was hoping for!
Prompt(two choices):
"Do not forget I have also been
Orpheus,
on my knees in the boat, asking all the devils for your
face in the trees" - "Came Tumbling After" from
Eireann Corrigan's poetry memoir You Remind Me of You
"Or
maybe
they saved you for me, forced open your eyes
and knew
that somewhere was a girl who dreamt in that exact shade of blue/and
would thank them silently and often." - "Says the Miracle's
Woman", also by Eireann Corrigan and from the same book of
poetry
One thing you would like to see in the story:
Rory and Logan dealing with the aftermath of Logan's accident or from
some separation of a sort
One thing you don't want to see in
the story: a marriage or a marriage proposal