Colours

by agrajagthetesty

He always closes his eyes as they kiss, as if afraid to see her face so close to his own, as if the reality will be lost if he does... A series of AlWin drabbles and short oneshots. Rated T just in case. All released chapters are K rated so far.

7. Tracings

Tracings

He runs one fingertip down the centre of her back, examines each tiny vertebra, the minuscule bumps, barely disturbing the smooth curve and flow of her skin, that make up her spine. He takes and holds one single hair, and turns it between his fingers, watching the play and dance of colour and shine within the lone strand, the softness in it, its suppleness and strength. He inspects her every freckle and fleck of colour, her scars and burns, traces the patterns, knows them by heart, the imperfect patches that gather the colours of her skin together into one constant palette. He wonders over the minute mesh of fine lines over her palms, the criss-crossing of the miniature web, the way they pull and crease together as she closes her fingers. He watches the shadows her eyelashes cast over the curve of her cheek, the infinitesimal tracings as she closes her eyes. He knows every movement she makes, her walk, her laugh, the sound of her breath. And he thinks of how each individual aspect of her, even when broken down, is as beautiful as the whole.