"Rhett," she whispers, her lips brushing his ear. "Wake up."
But he remains unstirring, his beautiful face held in peaceful dream, breath slow and even through parted lips.
Her fingers graze his soft, morning curls, and out of nowhere, a tingling sensation sends a river of blissful secrecy through her.
Her breath hitches.
She knows not what to name this aching sensation of longing, tenderness, protectiveness, happiness washing over her in a slow, overwhelming tide.
Love?
Is this what love is?
Can it be something even more?
She has always been careful about her feelings, afraid that if she ever let the bud of heart unfurl without restraint, the world shall only bruise it, and leave it to wither.
But this heart is a treacherous, treacherous thing.
Even so, she doesn't fret, for she has long surrendered herself to the Lord.
Then comes the mystery of worship between a man and a woman.
A turbulence of serendipity, where petals drift through spring meadows, birds soar across the summer sky, withered leaves fall into autumn's embrace, and a diamond heart willingly sinks into the ocean.
As a child, she did not understand the wonder of love, or how the world seemed to revolve around romance.
She had been satisfied with her life—her Father, her aunt and uncle.
Yet the emptiness her parents left behind would always return, like an icy breeze pricking her skin in winter.
Perhaps if her parents had been there, her aunt and uncle would not have been so protective. Might have allowed her a little more freedom, instead of keeping her so often at home,
with so much of the world left to explore.
But adults know better.
And the moment she herself crossed into adulthood, she took the chance to pursue her passion for literature here in Erriador.
But this man right here… Neva gently taps his nose. He was never part of her plan.
Love, marriage, a family of her own—none of it had ever crossed her mind.
And yet, she would not wish to change a single thing about what she has with him.
He is a blessing she never knew she needed, a living home woven for her by Heaven. Now without him, where else could she ever find shelter in this world?
And she misses him—already misses him, though he lies so close—
that annoying, glazed curtain of dreaming stealing him from her.
She longs for his twinkling eyes, the teasing that stirs her insides, the kisses that leave her aching for more of life.
"Wake up, Rhett," she murmurs, fingers wandering along the handsome planes of his face, "it's snowing..."
Still, no response.
She pouts, then with exaggerated mischief, peels the duvet off him.
A gasp escapes her as his hand hooks her waist, rolling her beneath him, pinning her to the mattress, raining her face with kisses—fierce in their need, yet so impossibly gentle.
Giggles spill from her as she braces her palms against his chest, a half-hearted attempt to push him away.
His lips meet hers with a thawing sweetness, and she slides her hand to the nape of his neck, fingers tracing slow circles through his curls.
For long, weaving moments, until their quickened heartbeats mollify, they lie folded in each other's arms, his head tucked against her chest as she whispers, "It's the first fall of snow, Rhett."
He answers with a low, groggy hum, half-asleep. "You want to fight snowballs with me?"
She laughs softly, cheeks warming as she murmurs, "No—but maybe a dance wouldn't be too bad?"
He lifts his chin to meet her eyes, a flicker of surprise easing into a smile at his lips. "You want to dance with me?"
"Why not?" She brushes his tousled hair from his brow.
She frowns as he pulls away, rising from the bed—then he grins. "Then what are we waiting for?" He scoops her up in his arms.
And that is how Rhett finds himself trailing Neva, the snow yielding in a soft crunch beneath his boots, until his steps slow, then altogether still—as he takes her in—
Arms outstretched, she spins among the drifting flakes, a euphoric grin lighting her pink lips, slightly swollen from his kisses.
His eyes soften.
Like the mellowing of his heart, like the thawing of his soul—
Like a river flowing to her.
She's a miracle. An angel. A divine being.
And she's his.
The best thing to ever to happen to him.
He catches her eyes as he strides toward her, snowflakes feathering her onyx curls and long lashes, her cheeks blooming like a scarlet rose against the pale winter white.
God, she's beautiful.
So... So beautiful its agonizing.
More often than not, he has doubted God's truth. He has seen hearts defiled beyond bearing. Souls twisted and hollowed by a world bent on warping the will.
And through it all, God had seemed distant. Silent. Apathetic.
But his father, for as long as he had remained, labored to craft him an armor of faith in the God he fiercely believed in—piece by piece.
It was never finished.
He bows before her, princely and earnest. "May I have a dance with my love?"
Blushing, she lays her hand in his.
He draws her close by the waist, resting his forehead against hers, their breaths rising in pale clouds between them.
"I love you," he whispers.
"I know I don't deserve you.
But please..." he draws in a shuddering breath, "please don't ever leave me."
She meets his eyes, doe-like, glowing with warm amber light,
sweeter than chocolate, dreamlike—peeling his guard away completely.
As if he ever needs one with her.
Before her, it was all right. Lonely, perhaps—but half enough to endure.
Until he found her.
Not very long ago—and yet she feels familiar from forever, as though she has been part of him all along.
"I... I—I love you too," she says, her gaze lowered.
He cannot stop the grin that gives his heart away—gives everything away.
But then… they are made for each other.
Made from each other.
They complete each other.
"You do?" he whispers, a finger curling beneath her chin as he coaxes her eyes to his.
She purses her lips, cheeks flushed red.
He knows his Angel isn't good with words, yet he dared to hope she wanted him too—her eyes have always told him all.
"And—don't say that you don't deserve me," she says, poking a finger at his chest.
"But I could leave you…"
She meets his eyes, and suddenly he can't read them at all.
Those words ring in his ears, drowning out the world for one agonizing heartbeat—
before she adds,
"…if you don't treat me right."
A soft laugh escapes him as relief settles deep in his bones. "I'll be the best for you," he whispers, his lips finding hers.
She pulls away with a gleeful smile curling her lips. "Twirl me—" He silences her with another kiss, claiming her words and breath for himself, savoring the sweet berry warmth of her mouth as she melts against him.
He could never get enough of her kisses.
And as a song rises in the music of her laughter while he twirls her—fumbling, trying to match her grace with steps he half-remembers from films—dancing to the hush and whoosh of the winter breeze, he surrenders to her completely.
For she believes in the God his father prayed to, and he believes in the steadfast love that once burned in his father's heart.
Now that he knows the desires of her heart, he finds himself learning again, praying again—willingly returning to the faith he laid down years ago.
And he refuses to imagine a world without her—
a world where she cannot trust him, where she no longer feels safe beside him.
But a subtle ache of rue—an undercurrent of guilt holds him back from wholly embracing the euphoria.
"Let's get back inside, Angel," he says, kneeling beside Neva, her laughter stilled in the snow, angel wings lingering where her arms and legs had been.
Still catching her breath, she grins at him. ''Make angel wings like mine."
She sits up, tugging a laugh from him as he yields easily beneath the gentle insistence of her hand on his chest.
She claps her hands, eyes alight as he follows her lead, broader wings shaping the snow beside hers.
"Now both of us can fly," she giggles, sinking down next to him, satisfied.
"Let's stay a little longer," she whispers to the sky.
"You love the snow?" he asks,
his fingers lingering against her cold cheek, worry softening his voice.
"Why?" She turns toward him with a smile. "Isn't it so magical?"
"Not as magical as you," he replies, chuckling as she rolls her eyes at him.
"I used to play in the snow with my aunt and uncle all the time," she says, nostalgia softening her smile. "Dancing was one of the ways they showed love."
"Think I should start dance lessons too?" he asks playfully.
"You're fine," she laughs softly, leaning in to nuzzle his nose with hers and steal a brief kiss.
Then she stands, brushing the snow from her hair, leaving him grinning like a fool.
"Come on." She extends a hand toward him and nods to their apartment. "We can't risk catching a cold before Christmas, can we?"
He takes her hand and shoves himself up, ruffling her hair as a flimsy excuse to dust off the snow.