| |
Neutral
|
Adelaide sat still for a moment, staring at the spot Beaudan had just occupied. His previously charming demeanor was gone, replaced by frustration that was palpable as his brothers made jabs at him. Truthfully, she felt a pang of upset herself. They had been getting somewhere - perhaps not the direction she had planned on, but it wasn't a negative development in the slightest. After he slammed the door, she met the eyes of Callum and Dallas, her own narrowed into a glare. "I understand," she began, voice biting, "that you coming out here was entirely unplanned and may have thrown Beaudan off a bit. And I understand that what you saw may have been... suggestive. I don't even know him, and I felt the shift in his mood. Can you really tell me that you're so oblivious that you didn't feel it? Did you need to make it worse?" She didn't give them time to react before she was up and out of the hot tub, grabbing her towel and robe as she went. Dallas called her name, but she ignored him, drying her legs off before storming into the house. They had finally been getting somewhere. Not even just getting along, though that's what she had wanted to begin with. There was something between her and Beaudan, and it hadn't just been in her own mind. She replayed the way he had looked at her, the catches in his breath, the way his body seemed to follow her own. And her own reactions - the pull to him, the desire to be closer, to push him just that little bit further. He infuriated her, sure, but it was because he matched her in every way. Her teasing jabs were met with the same, his sarcasm nearly outwitted her own. They played each other effortlessly, and they had been so close to harmony before the bubble was popped. She huffed, grabbing the handle to her door with a bit too much aggression, but was stopped by the sound of glass shattering in Beaudan's room. She listened for a moment as things were thrown, upended, and she could only imagine the ruin his room was now in. With a sigh, she pressed her forehead to her door, waiting for the sounds to quiet. After a brief moment of peace, she hung her towel on her door, tied her robe around herself, and carefully padded to his door. "Beaudan?" Her voice was soft, careful as she twisted the handle. When she wasn't met with an immediate rejection, she pushed the door a bit further, strugglnig against something behind it. She managed to open it wide enough to slip inside, and the sight before her startled her into stillness. Clothes were thrown everywhere, the bedding was scattered haphazardly across the room, and what she assumed was once a beautiful lamp was now shattered on the floor. In the center of it all stood Beaudan, chest heaving as he took in the scene. Carefully, as if approaching a wild animal, she toed closer to him. She went to put a hand on his arm, but thought better of it at the last second. She didn't know him, didn't know what he needed, and whatever had conspired between them previously was currently out of sight. With a sigh, she skirted past him and dropped to her knees. There were quite a few small pieces of glass spread across the room, but she was focused on the larger shards for now. She picked them up delicately, holding the flats in an effort to not cut herself. Slowly, she set the pieces on the nightstand, piling them up as she cleared the floor. She hadn't said a word to Beaudan, hadn't heard a sound from him since she started cleaning, but when she was finished picking up what she could, she stood, turning to face him. She took a few timid steps towards him, stopping when she was right in front of him. Her head was level with his shoulders, and she had to crane her neck back to get a look at his face. The emotions she saw warring in his eyes caused her to tsk lightly, finally bringing her hand to cup his face. "You know this isn't a healthy coping mechanism, darling. What if you'd cut yourself on a piece of glass? Then you'd be hurt and upset, and you know Dallas and Callum wouldn't let you off easy." Adelaide brushed her thumb under the hollow of his eye before dropping her hand, letting it slide down his neck and chest before it fell to her side. "I'm going to see what we've got for dinner. Once you've cleaned up, you can join me if you'd like." - Adelaide stood in the kitchen, staring at the pantry as she decided what to make. Callum had bought a bounty at the store, and the shelves were nearly overflowing, but she hadn't a clue where to start. Hands on her hips, Adelaide frowned at the food, willing it to tell her what to make. Callum and Dallas had yet to come back inside, and she was grateful for it. They had irritated her, sure, and they had certainly upset Beaudan, but she didn't have the right to snap at them like she did in their own home. When Beaudan had left in a frenzy, though, she felt as though he needed someone to defend him. Damn her and her incessant need to fix those around her. She had been making progress, and she was sure all of it was undone by her outburst. With a sigh, she finally grabbed a box of pasta, tossing it onto the counter behind her as she rummaged for sauce. Footsteps shuffled past her, and she turned to see a meek Dallas skirting his way around the kitchen. She glared at him, shooing him away when he stopped in the entrance. She wasn't ready to apologize yet, and she didn't want to interact with him until she was. |
|
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Beaudan hadn’t been expecting anyone to come into the room, so when a gentle hand touched his arm, he half-flinched, a sharp breath escaping his lips. His head snapped up, but the moment he saw it wasn’t one of his brothers, his shoulders eased. If it *had* been Dallas or Cal, there might have been a murder in the lodge that night. He huffed as Adelaide knelt to begin picking up the shards of shattered glass. At first, he wanted to snap at her, his frustration flaring again—this was *his* mess, a deliberate monument to his anger. But the sharp edge of his remorse caught up with him, silencing him. Her soft words pulled him from his brooding haze, and he tilted his head, watching her with an expression not unlike a scolded puppy. He folded his hands behind his back instinctively, hiding the evidence of his tantrum—slashed palms and tiny cuts that oozed crimson. He could feel the sting of embedded glass every time he flexed his fingers. When her hand brushed against him, his breath hitched, and he couldn’t help but lean into her touch, like a moth drawn to flame. The craving for affection, for *anything* that would soothe the gnawing ache inside him, was unbearable. For a fleeting moment, he was ready to throw caution to the wind and risk it all, but before he could act, she pulled away. His face twisted into a scowl as she moved toward the door, but her parting words stilled him. With a resigned sigh, Beau made his way to the bathroom. He muttered under his breath as he worked to wash the blood from his hands, hissing as the water stung fresh wounds. He fished out the tiny shards of glass with clumsy precision, his frustration mounting as he worked, though it was quickly replaced by a reluctant sense of duty. Back in the bedroom, Beau set about restoring order to the chaos he’d unleashed. He smoothed the sheets back over the mattress with deliberate care, layering the heavy comforter on top. The pillows were less of a priority—he tossed them back onto the bed haphazardly, declaring them “good enough.” He straightened the chair and returned it to its corner, feeling an odd satisfaction as the room regained its usual polish. --- The kitchen was quiet except for the soft sounds of Adelaide at work. Beau wandered in, still shirtless and in his swim trunks, his earlier tantrum having dried him off. He didn’t bother grabbing a shirt; modesty wasn’t exactly his strong suit. Passing by Cal’s door, he could hear the muted shuffling inside, and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Dallas’s suit hanging on the deck railing. It seemed both of his brothers had decided to retreat for the evening. When he stepped into the kitchen, his gaze immediately landed on Adelaide. Her back was to him, and he grinned to himself, a mischievous glint lighting up his features. Quietly, he approached her, his bare feet making no sound on the polished floor. Without warning, he slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her gently against him, while his other hand covered her eyes. “Guess who,” he murmured into her ear, his voice low and teasing as he rested his chin on her shoulder. Adelaide let out an unimpressed sigh, and her tone was less than amused as she deadpanned her answer. Beau rolled his eyes, a mock pout forming on his lips. “Don’t act like you’re not thrilled to see me,” he quipped, though his grin betrayed his teasing tone. He didn’t release her, instead leaning more comfortably into her. “So... watcha making?” |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
The heat of the stove warmed her hands. After she had set a pot to boil, Adelaide determined it was time to get dressed. She had thrown on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, deciding she would shower again later that night. The fire crackled behind her, but its heat hadn't quite reached the chill in her bones from their outdoor adventure earlier. Instead, she hovered her hands above the wafting steam, willing it to thaw her faster. Once it was boiling, she dumped the entire contents of the box - three boys ate a lot, she had noticed, and she was sure it would be gone once Dallas and Callum decided to leave their rooms. She stirred the noodles, noncommittaly humming a tune as she worked. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled slightly, but she didn't turn around, sure Dallas had come to try and speak with her again. Instead, she was greeted by a warm body pressing into her own, one arm snaking around her waist while the other reached to cover her eyes. "Guess who?" His teasing voice was light, all traces of his previous anger gone. Adelaide couldn't fight the smile, even as she sighed. "Oh, I don't know, Beaudan," she deadpanned, rolling her eyes behind his hand. "I don't know who could possibly be touching me right now." Despite her words, he seemed to relax further into her, enveloping her in his warmth. Within seconds, she felt that icy chill seep away, and she refused to consider why it was dissipating now that Beaudan was with her. "Pasta tonight," she replied. "There's so much food in there, but nothing popped out at me. So we get plain old pasta." Beaudan's breath ghosted over her neck, and she fought the shiver climbing her spine as she turned to face him. Her arms instictively came up around his neck as she stepped to the side of the stove, careful to keep the steaming water at a distance. "Do you feel better?" Her gaze was soft, doe-eyed as she watched his face for any change. She cautiously threaded her fingers together behind his head, revelling in the soft feel of his hair against her skin. As he answered, she nodded, lips curling into a small grin. Her fingers fiddled with the curls at the nape of his neck, and she couldn't help but admire his face, the planes so perfectly sculpted. "Good. And... Is there a reason you've decided to cling to me, or am I just that lucky?" She laughed as she spoke, voice light. Her own previous feelings were gone, evaporated by the presence of the boy holding her. Without noticing, she began to sway slightly, still thinking of the song she had been humming. She was facing the entrance to the kitchen, so she couldn't help the way her eyes flickered to the door as Callum stepped into it, paused, and observed. She shook her head minutely, eyes narrowing slightly, before she returned her attention to the boy in front of her. Hopefully Callum was as smart as she assumed. When Beaudan began to sway with her, she laughed again, dragging her arms down his to grab at his hands. "Will you dance with me? I've got this song stuck in my head, I simply can't get rid of it until I dance." |
|
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Beaudan brightened visibly at the mention of dinner plans, but the warmth of her hands threading through his hair was what truly made him melt. For all his bravado and sharp edges, he was a creature of touch, and the simple affection grounded him in a way nothing else could. His hunger—both physical and emotional—had been gnawing at him, and after the chaos he’d caused upstairs, he was more than ready to make amends. When Adelaide shifted, stepping away from the stove and tugging him closer, he followed without hesitation, a spark of delight flashing in his eyes. Her soft words made his grin widen, and he settled himself firmly against her, hands resting casually at her hips. “Better, I suppose,” he replied vaguely, though his tone betrayed the teasing nature of his words as his gaze flickered over her face and frame. Beau’s curiosity was hard to suppress, and when her eyes darted over his shoulder, his instincts kicked in. He started to turn, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly in suspicion, but the faintest shake of her head stopped him. He hesitated for a beat, then made the deliberate choice to ignore whoever—or whatever—might be there. If it was one of his brothers, they could deal with their own boredom. For once, he was at ease, soaking in attention that wasn’t familial or filled with obligation. Her laughter, light and melodic, pulled him back to her fully. His own laugh followed soon after, deep and rumbling as he rested his forehead against her shoulder. “You want to dance?” he asked, his voice soft with amusement. “Our very own Dancing Queen? What’s next? You’ll want me to dirty talk to you in Swedish?” He smirked, mischief glinting in his eyes. “But hey, I could do that too, you know.” Despite his mock complaints, Beau leaned past her to flick on the radio. The jazzy tune that filled the air surprised him, but it didn’t take long for his grin to widen in approval. Humming along, he spun her around with an easy grace before pulling her back into his arms, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin. “Classical music,” he mused as they swayed, “is probably better than whatever nonsense was running through that mind of yours. Edie always said so, anyway. And it’s her fault I know how to dance in the first place. She wanted to learn ballroom, but Cal? He wouldn’t be caught dead. So I got stuck being her partner.” His words came with a hum, his voice dipping into something softer as he let a comfortable silence settle between them. As the song reached its dramatic crescendo, Beau moved them into the open space of the kitchen, his confidence unshakable as he dipped her low. The sultry turn of the music filled the room, and when he pulled her upright again, his grin was wickedly charming. His movements became slower, more deliberate, his hand tightening at her waist as he pulled her even closer. “Come here often?” he murmured teasingly, his voice dropping into a low purr. His cheek barely grazed hers, the lightest brush of his breath against her neck sending a shiver through the air between them. “Because I know I’ve never seen a pretty girl like you around here before.” |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
As the song came to a close, Adelaide felt euphoria she had never experienced. Beaudan was so close to her, so warm and inviting that she felt her heart swell with utter joy. Without thinking, her hands cupped his face and she surged forward to kiss him. Passionate fire burned between them, the cooking meal nearly forgotten. With a gasp, Adelaide separated herself from the boy in front of her, quickly grabbing the pot and placing it on a cool burner before flicking the fire off. She grabbed his hand, dragging him behind her as she made her way down the hall. "Dallas! Go strain the pasta!" She pounded on his door briefly before finding her own, pulling Beaudan in with her. - She woke as the first rays of sun began to peek through her window, groggily rubbing her eyes before she stilled. Behind her, arm wrapped snugly against her waist, Beaudan slept peacefully. She smiled as she turned her head, taking in the disheveled hair, the pillow lines on his face, and the warmth of him pressed against her. Wistfully, she reached back to push a stray strand from his eyes before she slowly peeled herself away from him. He stirred lightly, but didn't wake as she padded silently across the room. Grabbing a change of clothes, she headed to the bathroom to shower and prepare for the day. While the warm water beat down on her, she allowed her mind to wander, first to the night before, and then further. She fiddled with the locket against her chest, mind starting to race as she realized just how distracted she had become. She had allowed herself a day to enjoy herself, to attempt to make peace with the Morcant boys, and instead, she had slept with the very boy who insisted on keeping her at arms reach. She couldn't regret it, she thought with a sigh. Beaudan held something within him that called to her, something equal to her that she would be a fool to pass up. It didn't negate the fact that she had become distracted, would completely forget herself if she allowed him to consume her as it seemed they both desired. She would talk to him later, she decided, shutting the water off. Spend the day finding and looking through the blasted room that had sent her here in the first place, and then talk with Beaudan about whatever was blossoming between them. She dressed quickly, toweling her hair dry as she brushed her teeth. As she made her way to the unexplored wing of the house, she cast a wistful glance at her door, at the boy behind it, before dismissing the thought entirely. She had a goal today - had to accomplish something before she allowed herself to grow doe-eyed and sappy again. Quickly, she made her way up the stairs to the second floor. She was thankful that all of the occupied bedrooms were below her, even more so that the house was structurally sound enough not to creak with her every move. Carefully, she began opening doors, shutting them with a sigh as she failed to find the one she needed. After ten minutes of exploring, she turned to one of the few remaining doors, tucked into the hall's corner. Some had been locked, and she hadn't dared to test them, recalling Beaudan's previous upset at her exploration of the estate. This one, however, was not locked, and it opened with a hiss. Adelaide nearly jumped with joy as she saw the inside, identical to the landscape she held around her neck. It appeared to be some kind of study, a large desk taking up the back wall. Bookshelves lined every available space, overflowing with knowledge. As her fingers began to trace the spines, she allowed her questions to rise once more. What was so important about this room? It was becoming increasingly clear to her that Alistair did nothing without motive. So why had he given her a locket with this room inside? Was whatever heirloom he had "stolen" locked within? Her initial scan of the room had come up clean - nothing stood out to her as different, as belonging to her father. She rounded the desk slowly, eyeing the contents on its surface. Papers, a wax seal, books. A lamp that looked as though it belonged in a different century. Nothing was inherently eye-catching, and she let out a frustrated groan as she raked her hands through her hair. If she spent too much time up here, Beaudan would come looking for her. While she was sure she could explain in time, she wasn't sure his temper would allow for her to get the chance. "Come on, Alistair," she mumbled, growing frantic as she looked around. "I'm not opening any drawers without Beaudan here, so give me something to work with." |
|
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Beaudan woke with a slow, lazy stretch, his muscles protesting just enough to remind him of the previous night’s endeavors. A smug grin tugged at his lips as flashes of memory danced through his mind—her warmth, her touch, the way she’d pulled him closer like he was the only thing that mattered. But as he rolled onto his side, reaching for her, his hand met empty sheets. Cold sheets. His grin faltered, the satisfying haze of his morning unraveling into confusion. Sitting up, he raked a hand through his messy hair, staring at the vacant space beside him. She’d been gone for a while. A while too long. Beau frowned, the echoes of their shared moments turning into questions. Had she regretted it? Had he done something wrong? The thought twisted in his chest, unsettling and unfamiliar. He shook his head, trying to banish the creeping doubt as he scanned the room. Her luggage was still there, a small relief in the midst of his growing unease. She was still at the lodge. Throwing on his swim trunks, he began to pace, the motion as much an outlet for his frustration as it was for clarity. The house wasn’t that big; he’d find her. And deep down, he already knew where she was. Adelaide wasn’t the type to disappear without reason, and if she was avoiding him, she’d likely buried herself in the study. With a determined set to his jaw, he grabbed a pair of pants from his room and pulled them on as he strode into the hallway. His mind raced with possibilities, each one feeding his resolve to find her. Reaching the study, Beau stopped short. The door was ajar, the faint scrape of papers shifting inside confirming his suspicion. Pushing it open just enough, he peered inside and saw her. She was hunched over the desk, her posture tense, her hands fidgeting with the edges of documents as though the papers themselves held some sort of answer. Sunlight spilled across her hair, turning her into something almost ethereal, but there was a weight in the air that stole the breath from his lungs. He lingered in the doorway, unsure for the first time. A glance at the mirror across the room caught his attention, and he stared at his reflection. The bruises from their game of Splat were still there, a vibrant patchwork across his torso. But the faint marks trailing his neck—the ones she’d left—brought a wry smirk back to his lips. Splat did not, in fact, leave bite marks on boys' throats. Straightening, Beau leaned casually against the doorframe, clearing his throat to announce his presence. The sound broke the silence like a stone dropped in still water. She froze but didn’t turn, her head ducking slightly. “Hey,” he started, his voice low and warm. He waited, hoping for a glance, a word, anything. When nothing came, he continued. “You ran off before I woke up. And I hate to break it to you, but nothing is more important than the guy you…” He trailed off, letting the words hang in the air before finishing with a shrug. “Well, you know.” When she didn’t move, he sighed softly and pushed off the doorframe, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps. “You know,” he murmured, his tone gentler now as he stood behind her. “Dally and Cal won’t care. Cal’s done worse—I swear.” His attempt at humor was weak, even by his standards, but he couldn’t stop the vulnerability slipping through. She still didn’t turn, and the tension between them grew heavier. For a moment, Beau just stood there, his hand resting lightly on the back of her chair, his gaze fixed on her. |
|
|
| |
Neutral
|
As Adelaide began to ruffle through papers, she took a seat in the curling chair behind the desk. Her mind was racing, and yet she still refused to touch the drawers that beckoned her. Something had shifted within her, she knew it. Two days ago, she wouldn't have given a second thought to Beaudan's reaction, to his upset at her rifling through things that didn't belong to her. Now, though, she found herself waiting for when he inevitably found her, so that she could ask before rummaging through the contents. Instead, she busied herself with the papers atop the desk, scanning them frantically for anything. She thought she had found something early on, a mention of her father's name, but it had merely been a business correspondance for something she cared little about. Sighing, she moved onto the next stack. As she was reading the first page on the stack, a throat cleared by the door. She froze, paper still in hand, and a flush rising on her cheeks. She lowered her gaze to her lap, ducking so her hair covered more of her face. Adelaide grew confused as Beaudan spoke. He should be mad, should be yelling at her for going through things that didn't belong to her. Instead, he sounded almost nervous as his speech petered off, and she felt a pang begin to grow in her chest. She had run off, yet again, and worried that he would yell at her. She had... left him in her room like some thing. Like some object that she would come back for later. The thought disgusted her, curling in her stomach as she stared blankly at the paper before her. He moved, then, coming to stand at her side, hand gently pressing into the leather behind her. "Cal's done worse - I swear." The words took a moment to register, to clear her mind as a joke and not some hidden anger. She sat, quiet for a moment longer, as she processed what was happening. Beaudan wasn't mad at her, wasn't upset that she was going through the study. Of course, he had understood that she would be here, had understood that some part of her seeked answers even when she was perfectly content without them. Instead, he was making jokes, coaxing her to him - hurt, probably, that she had left without him, but trying nonetheless to bring her back. She stood slowly, exhaling a shaky breath as she turned to face him. At first, she kept her eyes firmly on his chest, unable to meet his gaze. Her desire to see him, to let him see her, won out, though, and she allowed her gaze to trail up his collar bones, past the bruises from the game yesterday, past the marks she had left on him. Tentatively, without any thought, her hand came up to press lightly against a mark of her own - mirrored on his neck. When she met his eyes, she smiled softly, guilt and adoration warring in her mind. She had expected them to resume their typical game, to go back to scathing remarks and witty comebacks that stung just right, but instead, she was met with a man who held no contempt, no anger. "Good morning," she murmured, grabbing his hand from the chair. "I'm sorry I left. I woke up and just had to find this stupid room so I could look through it and be done with it." Gently, she brought his hand up, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist without breaking eye contact. "I haven't - couldn't go through the drawers without you. You've ruined me, darling. I waited until you found me, all nice and respectful. Knew you would know where to find me." She felt something in her fracturing at the way he looked at her - caring, nervous, concerned. When was the last time someone had looked at her like that? If ever? She didn't allow people to look at her like that, didn't want them to care, and yet - before her stood a boy who she had somehow allowed in, even if it was just the tiniest bit. "I'm sorry," she said, abruptly dropping his wrist and turning from him. She blinked furiously, hating the way her throat closed with emotion. The faintest tremor ran through her arm, and she tapped her fingers together anxiously. "You're supposed to be mad at me, you know? Telling me I'm not supposed to be up here and whatnot." |
|
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Beaudan stood still, his heart pounding with a mixture of frustration and confusion, resisting the urge to recoil when Adelaide's fingers grazed his throat. The touch was soft, but it stung in ways he wasn't ready to confront. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that he didn't usually allow to surface. He was usually so good at keeping his emotions buried, but right now, the hurt was undeniable. This wasn’t supposed to happen—not with her. He didn't understand why it felt so different, why it was affecting him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. This wasn’t his usual game. Normally, he was the one to disappear first, the one who kept things casual and shallow. It had always been that way, ever since high school when his mother had thought he was studying, when he was just trying to fill a void. Affection had always felt like something to chase, but never something he could hold onto. Yet here he was, tangled in something far more complicated than he wanted to admit. The nagging thoughts began to creep in—what if she ruined his reputation? What if the press found out? They’d only known each other for a few days. What kind of guy hooked up with someone so quickly? The familiar spiral began to tighten its grip on him. He shifted uneasily, and yet, as she spoke again, the pieces slowly began to fit back into place. *I'm sorry I left.* The words hung in his mind, dissolving the knot of tension in his shoulders. She hadn’t left because of anything he had done. She was just… gone for a reason that made sense, one he hadn’t understood until now. Her apology was sincere, and as she took his hand, bringing it to her lips, he felt the tender pressure of her kiss as though she was worshipping him in a way he didn’t know he needed. It was so genuine, so intimate, that it unraveled him in the best possible way. “Course I’d know where to find you,” he murmured, the words softer than he intended, carrying a warmth that felt new. His usual bravado faltered, his voice almost a quiet whisper. "My mother always said I was above average." The words were supposed to be sharp, biting, something to fill the space between them. But instead, they tumbled out slowly, laced with a vulnerability he couldn’t quite suppress. She was there again, so close to him, and the way she looked at him made him want to hold her in a way that wasn’t just for show. The thought of her crying—the soft, fragile way she seemed to be on the verge of breaking—drove him to act without thinking. Before she could say another word, his hands found her face, gently turning her back toward him. He tipped her chin up just enough to catch her gaze, his own searching hers for any trace of doubt. When he was sure she’d stay locked in place, he moved his hands to her hips, pulling her closer against him. The space between them was gone in an instant, their bodies pressed tightly, and her warmth seeped into him like a balm. "I should be angry, mm? Should I pretend for you, pretty girl?" His voice was playful, but there was an underlying tenderness that cut through. “I’m not angry. And you shouldn’t be sorry. The only thing you should be sorry for is that you didn’t find the secret latch yet. Don’t you want to put that locket to good use?” Though his words teased, his gaze never left her lips. His breath hitched just slightly as he leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers, his eyes fluttering closed as he held her tighter. His wrists crossed behind her back, keeping her close as he let the moment stretch between them. “Do I get a kiss?” His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper, but the weight of it held her there in the space they shared. “For giving you a hint?” |
|
|
Fall 
Night 
Clear Moon: 
