snapshot

by ambivia

A lifetime of falling, told in snapshots. (or; one hundred ways Erza loved him, and ninety-nine times he said it back.) —jerza, modern au. non-linear. for Giuliana.

7. 23: we

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23 ; we

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Jellal kisses her every morning before he leaves bed. He thinks she doesn't know.

One day she can't hide the twitching of her lips from him and his huff of exasperation brings out the smile hiding in her mouth. Kisses in the morning with Jellal are lazy and sweet, muted and comfortable and so gentle it almost hurts. He has to pull away after the fourth because she's smiling too wide.

When she opens her eyes to look at him, sees the crinkle of his hazel eyes as he grins and that ridiculous tattoo, Erza wonders why falling in love feels like flying.

He looks at her for a moment, expression unreadable, before pressing his lips to her forehead and murmuring into her skin, "Go back to sleep."

She hums in answer, enjoying his warmth while she can. Then pulls the blankets to her chin and watches him pad across the room. Tilts her head in goodbye when he turns back. "Have a good day at work."