𝑰𝑵𝑲 • 𝑻𝒆𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒔𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒚 / 𝑳𝒐𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆

Laze Away

"Alright," I said quietly, thanking him for his help, "sorry."

I felt like I was pestering him, interrupting his peaceful time off of work. He'd never said it was a bother, but then again, I don't think he would have said anything anyways.

But I felt him shift onto his side, his head turning against my back. He reached to trace unseen patterns onto my my left shoulder, a touch so soft i'm not sure whether his finger was even touching me at all. It resembled a breath, or a merely a hover.

"Hey," he caught my attention. I turned my head to the side, letting him know I was listening before he continued.

"You never have to be sorry Flo, about anything, ever." His voice was soft and quiet. And if it weren't for the weight of his words, I'm sure they would have floated away, joining the clouds he seems so mesmerized by.

It sent a stream of love through my veins, knowing that he would do anything for me, and that I never had to apologize for needing his help. It's probably something I'd known before, but to hear him say it, hear it lift from his own voice, was something else entirely.

We remained like that for a while, each in our separate acts, but tethered together by need and want. Once the words on the page began to blur together; a result of reading for longer than I usually would have had time to, I decided to move.

I rolled out from under him, briefly onto my back before sitting up and looking at my surrounding. I felt like I could see forever, there was nothing to obstruct my view, England not being the most mountainous land. But then again, what did I have to compare it too?

"Hey!" He said as the back of his head hit the ground. I hadn't given him any warning as to what I was going to do so I suppose it was partially my fault. I'd assumed he had better reflexes.

I turned to look back at him with a smile. He was rubbing the back of his head with one arm, resting on the other. What a wimp, his head landed on cushioned grass. But I know first hand that he sleeps on the softest of pillows that seem to absorb your head when you lay on them.

I gave him a quick peck, leaning over him as he tilted his head up to reach me. It was a cheap apology, but I knew it would be effective; and it was.

"You're forgiven," he said, sending me a satisfied smile as i held back the urge to roll my eyes at his childishness.

I went to rest my head in his lap, eager to finish the final few pages of my book, or rather, his book. Tewkesbury had no complaints, and took the opportunity to fiddle with my hair, a habit of his I'd become accustomed to over the years.

He'd twist his index finger around individual coils, loosely strung and turning auburn in the sun. Always taking care not to pull, tug, or get his hands tangled in anyway, not wanting to cause me any discomfort.

When the words first struck me, there was significantly more paper in my left hand then there was in my right. The page flickered delicately in the wind as I read those four words over and over again. I couldn't them, it was as if they were stopping me from moving forwards.

'Completely, perfectly, incandescently happy.'

I should have been, shouldn't I?

I had more than a girl like me could ever ask for. And for once, I truly felt like I was deserving of it. I knew he felt the same way, it was mutual, I was only asking him for what he was giving me and he was only giving me what I was asking for. So I should have been all of those things.

But I can't deny that at the time, what had happened didn't poke and prod at my mind, eager to peek forwards and make itself known. Eager for an answer to the question I really didn't want to ask. But I knew I wouldn't rest until I did.