Two Years Later
The Island of Maupiti, French Polynesia
Approaching the Vernal Equinox
Day 63
Taciturn; inclined to silence, reserved in speech, reluctant to join in conversation. Dour, stern and silent in expression or manner. Uncommunicative, reticent, secretive, tight-lipped. Three syllables that begin in varying hard and soft consonants, a satisfying word that paints the one being defined as shrunken and tucked away into a self-imposed philosophical corner. An observer and a thoughtful one at that, almost as if their quietude stems from their ideas carrying too much weight or are merely shadowed by too broad of a canopy. A word that perfectly describes how Harry feels when carefully meandering through a colored premonition, a tactful decision to remain camouflaged while traipsing amongst eggshells and broken glass. A creature hidden within the bushes with glowing eyes of either curiosity or trepidation, a lungful of breath waiting to be released, a phobia of limelight. He is awake and he is asleep. He is himself and he is someone else. He is here and he is there.
Harry has opted to skip out on a staggering number of premonitions since learning to lucid dream that he feels the need to pay his dues to the cosmos once in awhile. He imagines colored dreams getting backed up like a faulty conveyer belt in a bread factory, one loaf jammed in a small tunnel while all the others spill out from behind it onto the floor in a pile. Or squeezing a tube of toothpaste with a gummy chunk jamming the opening, until eventually it's squeezed so hard that it explodes all over his hands and the bathroom sink in a pasty mess that's impossible to clean.
He's worried about interfering with the call of nature to such a degree that he'd one day drown in premonition after bloody premonition, his life reaching a point where sleep is nothing but a constant deflection. So today he's chosen to stay because this one in particular doesn't feel menacing. He knows where his brain is, he knows where his mind is, he knows where his body is. His intuition has him caught at a rare moment of ease and he trusts himself now more than he ever has before. It may have to do with your gentle and habitual suggestion that maybe his special dreams aren't all horrible if given the chance, that perhaps the premonitions that visit him match his whatever his current psychological state happens to be.
You're trying to help him see his gift from a different perspective, knowing that while a lot of them may remain difficult to swallow, that he's garnered enough skill to free himself whenever he wishes. Possibly he will happen upon something that is eye-opening or even utterly beautiful if his state of mind is open to receive it. For most of his life his mindset was almost strictly at a high level of angst and fear. But now, after years of feeling nurturing safety and protection, his brain naturally rests somewhere between pleasant and exceptional.
Within the dream, he recognizes his environment immediately. An outdoor market on the neighboring and touristy island of Bora Bora, one that you and he frequently travel to via boat for supplies or work. The entire marketplace is covered by a flimsy ceiling of dried grasses and pillared with palm trees, awash with booths that crowd inside the open-air space. The tables are covered in loads of brightly colored tablecloths, set up with various goods for sale such as black pearls, coconut and tiare soaps, monoi oil, vanilla beans, shell leis, wood carvings, woven hats and baskets and the colorful pareo fabric worn by the islanders.
The market is crowded beyond belief, children weaving in and out of their parent's legs and the random stray cat perched on tables or stools to silently judge passersby with wide, owl-like eyes. Within the midst of the hoard of people there is a loud, jarring ring of a cell phone that draws his attention. He doesn't feel fear, he doesn't feel anxiety, he doesn't feel apprehension as his feet command him towards the sound.
An invisible spotlight seems to appear and highlight a woman digging through her festive wicker bag, her mouth moving as if she were frantically cursing to herself. As if she had been waiting for this particular call and now that it's come, her cell phone seems to have magically drifted into the abyss of her purse. The sounds of the marketplace are drowned as the irritating ring of her device takes precedence over every other noise and then the woman locates the object before clicking the screen and jostling it to her ear. She listens intently, not speaking a word as her eyes dart left and right as if she were reading the speaker's invisible words in the air. Harry stands frozen as he awaits her reaction and then finally it hits; her hand falling slack as the phone slips from her palm and clatters against the ground, her hands covering her face as she breaks down into tears with her shoulders heaving to aid in their departure.
With an exasperated, defeated sigh, Harry lifts his palm to his face to inspect the four stars that are now tattooed there, although he hardly needs them with how cognizant he has become within the realm of sleep. He's aware of his dormant, physical body asleep in your bed with your limbs tangled in a knot and he's also wise to his wandering astral mind, navigating through a landscape of color so rich that an outsider might consider it blinding. He doesn't feel defeated knowing that the dream hadn't played out the way he was hoping it to, but he's also grateful for the lack of massive catastrophe that he had become acquainted with in the past.
He takes a couple steps backwards with his eyes fixed on the sobbing woman, her body crumbling into a squat just as he looks towards the sky and allows the sun to blind him. The background sparks and blisters before bleaching white, the sensation of his mind re-entering his body weighted, warm and prickly as if diving into a pool of unwashed wool in slow motion.
He keeps his eyes closed, allowing himself first to notice his breathing followed by the beating of his heart. The sound of the whirring fan comes next, chasing hundreds of crickets who chirp together in a chorus that stretches as far as his ears will reach, then the gentle coo of air filling and depleting your lungs beside him. He lays still as he replays the premonition until it's crushed to dust, finally willing a bit of movement in his fingertips as he crawls them towards you until blindly finding your arm, his nails dragging down your skin before he intertwines your digits together.
His eyelids peel open to focus on the sliding glass door pushed ajar, locking his sight on the satiny, twinkling sky as he begins to pull himself from the unconscious realm to join the waking one. A short time passes before he turns his head to look over at you, facial muscles that he didn't even know were tense beginning to loosen and relax at the sight of your gloriously peaceful figure.
Your body is draped in the flimsy white sheet layering your bed, clinging to your hips and coiled around your legs and feet. A thin glaze of sweat creates a graceful sheen on your chest and neck, frizzy tendrils of your hair that have been roughed out of a ponytail billow softly in the breeze from the palm blades spinning in a circle on the ceiling fan. Your chest rises and falls rhythmically with gentle breath, your mouth parted just enough to appear dewy and salacious in the sticky, muggy heat. Even though early morning is the coolest part of the day, it still manages to be brutally humid in the winter during the 'wet months' whether the sun is risen or hiding below the shoreline.
Harry lowers his gaze down the curves of your body to admire your tan lines and freckles that have appeared and have become permanent since you arrived here over two years ago. He's been known to lay you down in the sand and untie your bikini top to count all of the new sunspots on your shoulders and stomach, pausing to leave a nest of kisses into your skin before catching your nipple with his teeth to suck into his mouth. There is hardly a risk of his seduction being interrupted as you share the island with less than a thousand people, most of whom live near the tiny 'town' that is comprised only of a market, a small guesthouse for ten or twelve tourists, a breakfast restaurant and a ramshackle business to rent boats from.
The locals typically ride bicycles or scooters and therefore the island is dead quiet; no loud music or bars, no construction, jet skis or trucks. Every once in awhile you can convince Harry to accompany you via boat to the neighboring island of Bora Bora for some more intense socialization and the off-brand party, rubbing elbows with visitors and locals from other islands who are stopping off for supplies to bring home. But mostly Harry is content in the silent tranquility of insects rubbing their wings together and the lap of the ocean upon the beach, the brush of taro plants in the wind and the soft squish of malleable sand between his toes.
The bungalow that you bought after only a few days of searching was appealing to the both of you upon first glance. Secluded and tucked away in the corner of the island in a thick nest of palm trees and less than fifty paces to the beach, it's facade a perfect banana cream pie yellow trimmed in faded aquamarine, a small porch with a mismatched but charming baroque detailed fence. The porch is just large enough for a macrame hammock chair and a spot to kick off your shoes, the inside of the house the right size for a spacious bedroom, a functioning kitchen, a bathroom and a small living room with a pottery wheel and a wood burning fireplace. Whenever it storms, the rain echoes and trills against the tin roof, the flicker and glow of candles dancing on the walls to lull the both of you to sleep.
Harry has managed to keep a substantial income by throwing and selling his pottery. Once a month, the two of you gather all of the pieces that he's toiled over on the pottery wheel and fired in the kiln he dug outside on your property, piling them into boxes and carting them off in your unobtrusive runabout boat to Bora Bora. There's a weekly open-air market in the town's square where Harry rents a space to set up a booth on the last Sunday of each month, typically selling every last piece to wealthy, vacationing tourists who are looking to bring an exotic local item back home with them. The endeavour keeps him busy, socially and creatively motivated, plus helps him to garner a sense of pride to be in the position to provide for you as you had for him in so many ways over the years.
It has become part of your weekly routine to gather nets and fishing poles, slather your scantily clad bodies in sunscreen and walk a mile along the beach to a hidden cove to fish and just breathe easy in the shade. Tucked away in a thicket of trees is a deep lagoon surrounded by craggy rock and moss, a sputtering waterfall that deposits water into the whimsical cerulean pool with a dulcet chime that is soothing enough to drag you to sleep. It is so private that over the course of two years you've never once seen another person in that spot, which gives it such a mystical air that you've begun to tell yourselves that you were the ones to discover it in the first place. You'll often carry a basket with a blanket, books and snacks, spending the better part of the day catching fish, reading, napping or making love on the small patch of sand before diving into the water for an indulgent freshwater dip.
Harry keeps his heavy training bag tied to a tree branch outside of your bungalow for solo boxing and meditation. On the rare occasion that he's had fitful sleep or a haunting dream, he wraps his hands in tape and spends hours striking the images away. With a stable diet of home-cooked meals, breathtaking sex, fishing, hiking and regular sleep, his body has both fortified and whittled in all the right places. He can easily toss you around now and he reminds you of that often, with a hefty dose of empty threats and the frequent hurl into bed or the closest body of water.
Aside from the beach and the lagoon, the bedroom is Harry's favorite place to be. A deluxe king sized bed webbed in gauzy mosquito nets, a door with a sliding screen that leads to the back of your property where a little natural pond teems with algae and land snails. Stepping stones that begin at the threshold of your bedroom door navigate you through the ankle deep water and into the forest of tropical greenery where the outdoor shower is located. You insisted on thirty minute allotments of water so that you may comfortably bathe together and more often than not, that's precisely what you do. After the evening winds down and all the sweat, saltwater, sun and humidity have absorbed into your skin, your fingers combing soap through Harry's locks that he keeps at a steady jaw length for your benefit.
Typically you fall asleep with your doors and windows open for maximum air circulation and for the soothing sound of crashing waves, but mostly so Harry can have a full view of the night sky in a way that he's never had the pleasure of experiencing before. Vast and overwhelming, not a single man-made light to pollute the atmosphere, sparkling crystals against a throw of crushed black velvet, a handful of shooting stars every second, stretches upon stretches of a universe so expansive and full of secrets that it humbles him into remembering his diminutive size and unimportance. His entire life he's been told that he's a priority over all other living beings, and never once has it felt like a positive thing.
The stars have now burned off in preparation for the day, the crown of the sun's head not yet visible but adjusting the sky for its appearance with a hint of deep indigo. This is Harry's absolute favorite time of day in his favorite room in his favorite spot on the planet. On a comforting island of security in a luxurious bed of love, the tips of his toes rubbing small circles into your ankle bone. He pries his sight from the screen door and rolls onto his side, propping his head in his palm and brushing the pads of his fingers in a line down your bare stomach. His hand skids to a stop when it reaches the sheet bunched around your hipbone, his fingertips crawling their way under the linens to trace stars into your thigh.
You murmur something that he doesn't quite catch before licking your lips and whining softly, his hand flattening and responding with a confident skim back up towards your stomach, his large palm spreading across the surface of your chest to graze over your stiffened nipples. He rolls one between his index finger and thumb, humming at the immediate feedback of your nervous system and how incredibly in sync you've become with one another as time putters along.
He reaches up to tug the elastic from your hair before tossing it to the foot of the bed, his fingers shuffling into your locks to loosen them and scratching against your scalp before leaning down to press his lips to your ear, "mm, hey baby." His voice is warm and sticky like baked peaches, the caramelized nectar from his stone pit seeping out through a shocking magenta pout. Your eyes are still closed but you're just conscious enough to envision it; a cordial heart of two peony petals attached at the corners. Lush and puffy, yielding and demanding. The fact that you'd actually accepted losing him forever will never be forgotten and the thought of not having what you have now forces piles and piles of recognition onto your heart every second to urge it to beat stronger than ever.
Harry. Two lazy claps with a long, grateful pause in between. Harry.
"Mmm..." Your chest rises when you draw in a breath and his mouth attaches at the apex to meet your inhale as if he were sucking your drowsiness from you, "mornin', brownie. S'early?" You roll your lips together before wetting them, your eyes peeling open at the exact moment that your hand snakes into his hair, "you feel really good. Like your skin was tempered just for me."
His hands are running up and down your sides, becoming more and more bold on each sweep until finally the sheet is pushed away from your figure and replaced with his snug and supple skin. His chin rests on your sternum as he gazes up at you with loving regard, his eyes soft and relaxed as if he's been awake for awhile and alone with his thoughts until he had pushed them far enough away to give all of himself to you in a heaping, plentiful picnic basket.
The corner of his mouth quirks into a smile before he hums and allows his eyelids to slip shut. He buries his face between your breasts for another wet and relaxed kiss, sucking each one of your roused nipples past his teeth before trailing his mouth down your stomach and past your bellybutton. You gather his plan and arch your back away from the mattress, your legs spreading and tangling with his as he mumbles into the squishy skin just off of your knobby hipbone, "how about a good morning kiss?"
In lieu of his famed underwear kink which he quickly deemed too hasty ever since he'd lost and found you once again, he's gotten into the habit of sucking your tan lines into his mouth. He loves you on the beach with no top and the sun kissing your chest, but you almost always have faded patches of skin on your hips that he sinks his teeth into just to hear you whimper.
You play along with his coy prodding and rake your fingers through his waves, "but I'm all the way up here."
Just as he was about to attach himself to your center, he reroutes and crawls up your body to seal your lips together in a heavy kiss, "this better...?"
A smile creeps across your features before you giggle at his teasing and shake your head before dropping the charade, "it's really good, but I was hoping you'd go down on me."
He tilts his chin in a gradual nod as if to convey the sudden realization that he'd actually had all along, his mouth shaping an 'o' as his eyebrows flick upwards in curiosity, "now why would I do such a thing?"
You roll your hips against his and rock your head to the side, breathing deeply to stave your arousal as you muster the praise he's searching for, "because you're so, so good at it." Reflections of the way he suctions his mouth to your tender bud and drags it past his teeth scroll behind your eyelids, "because you love me. Because the sun can't rise unless you do so."
"You said the same thing about the sun setting."
A breathy laugh brightens your cheekbones and reveals your teeth, "and it set, didn't it?We don't want anything drastic to happen. Gotta save the world, honey. One lick at a time."
Without another word spoken, Harry is meandering his way back down your body behind a path of kisses and licks and nibbles. He pauses to leave a decisively sodden, open-mouthed kiss upon your entrance and grins to himself when you mewl and whine a quiet reassurance of 'mhm', his hands clawing your hips and thighs at the recognition of how impressionable and compliant you are in his arms. He loves your body this early in the morning; with your voice raspy and soft, your mind working at a lazy pace that is peaceful enough for him to keep up with through his normal fog of chaos.
He continues his journey down with his fingertips trailing along the line of your legs, his fingers wrapping around your ankle before he sits back on his haunches and lifts your leg into the air. You're unhurried when you allow your other foot to drift up his thigh before pushing on his center, his lips wrapping around your big toe before sucking on it with a hum. He kisses the arch of your foot and blood is surging to his cock as it presses against your teasing prod, an overwhelming wave of lust washing over him at the feeling of being wrapped up in silken sheets and the web of your legs.
"Actually," you're panting now as his tongue darts out to flick against your toes again, "I just wanna fuck you. Mmm... mm, please? On my stomach, all slow and lazy-like? Holding me with your chest sweaty against my back. Please, gooey-" You know by now that pleading rarely works when Harry is in charge, but you're much too tired this morning for much flattery or mind games.
His stare is a burst of flames as he drops your leg and lays down on his stomach, his palms spreading your thighs before finding your hands and threading your fingers together, his tongue managing a bold lap through your folds. He keeps his eyes locked on yours until your head falls back followed by your shoulders, his mouth alternating between long, steady and loaded drags and wet tender kisses. Each pass prods just a little bit deeper until finally his tongue is reaching inside of you, your toes curling against the bristle of hair on his thighs as you try to control your breathing. He could get you off in just a couple of minutes but he won't, he hardly ever hurries through any act of love and it's something that has always been true of him, but especially since his escape. He promised himself he would never again rush a thing and run the risk of not committing a shared moment to memory.
He grabs your delicate knot between his lips and sips hard before tapping his tongue again and again, his thumb soothing the back of your hand as if to distract you from his other fingers circling first your entrance and then your back rim. His ears are swallowing each one of your little encouraging moans and requests, his eyes finally peeling from your face when he pulls away to survey your core. If he was any good with a pencil he could sketch it from memory, he could sketch every single detail of your body from the tips of your toes to the mysterious flecks of your irises. You are a part of him, the best part of him, the part of him that inspired him with enough tools and confidence to change the course of humanity and if the purpose of his life-long premonitions about you weren't clear before, they definitely are now.
Harry sucks two fingers into his mouth before sinking one into each of your openings simultaneously, his tongue laying flat and pressing with force against your sensitivity again. You curse and writhe, asking once more for him to fuck you, but your request falls on deaf ears with each push and pull of his digits. His tongue flicks and flicks before he nips with his teeth, the first sign of your imminent release met with a slew of praises, "that's it- that's... so, so- you dreamboat-" But when the radiant hot light of your peak dances across your eyelids and seizes your muscles, your words are stolen and Harry's eardrums sing with the resonance of your pleasure. You deserve it, you deserve all of it and more and Harry will spend the rest of his life fulfilling that promise to you.
Before you've had a moment to recover, Harry sits up on his knees and flips you onto your stomach, dragging you back towards him with your centers so close that he can feel your heat. He rests back on his haunches and pulls your core closer, bending down to lap your juices as his hand wiggles it's way under your legs to start stroking his own length. You manage a sleepy and intoxicated glance over your shoulder to witness him in action, your jaw falling open in unruly longing to find him indulging himself while he licks you with his fist wrapped around his cock, as if your pleasure breeds his own, "oh my god. Oh my god... you are so hot."
You can feel him grin against your folds before he pushes you down onto your stomach with his palm spread flat against the small of your back. You grab a pillow to wedge under your pelvis, his thickness and the wet dribble of early excitement dragging a line up the hind of your leg until his chest is heating your back. His tip prods your folds before aligning with your entrance for a teasing rut forward, "I love you, Novs." His mouth nudges the shell of your ear before catching your earlobe between his teeth for a little tug, "want me? Love me too?" He inches forward and lodges his cap inside of you, your hips pushing back for more in response, "is that a yes, pushy girl?"
"Yes. Yes, yes, yes. I always want you and I always love you, pushy boy." You rest your cheek on one of your pillows before drinking him in over your shoulder, your speed slowed to a crawl at his gentle reminder to be present and mindful even at moments like these. Especially at moments like these. His dark curls and waves clash and twist around his cheekbones, his mouth glistening proudly with your furor. His eyes are light and glowing, his skin tanned and sunny as if you can feel the nourishment of the bright star's rays just from looking at it, "you're beautiful in the morning. Like the ocean when the sunshine hits it just right, sparkling and sparkling forever until it melts off the edge of the earth. Kiss me."
His appreciative hum spirals into a moan when he seals your mouths together and pushes his hips forward at the same time, your walls sucking him towards you until that final point when he's sunken to a pause with your muscles molding around him. He cries out against your lips and pulls back for air before he's kissing you again and savoring your tongue, his heart clapping at the same loving pace of his thrusts and his mind wiped clean except for an explosion of multicolored pleasure. He breathes in huffs as if he were blowing softly to cool down a steamy meal upon the heated metal of a spoon. His utterances are a complete, sensual wreck, "how's it feel?"
You nod and breathe in the humid air mixing between your mouths, your eyes pinching shut when he rocks forward and stays there, rolling his hips in small circles that stroke every delicate seam inside of you in landmine after explosive landmine, "like magic."
As if on tortuous cue, Harry withdraws and sits up on his knees to pull you into his lap, your sweaty back slipping against his chest when he anchors your centers together and dives upward into your heat. You're in the perfect position for Harry to wrap his arms around you and hold you close against his body, one hand drifting down your stomach to your slippery swell where he draws tight figure eights.
Your head falls back onto his shoulder and your fingers weave into his hair as you allow yourself to succumb to him and the work of his body, his mouth attaching to your exposed neck for a rough suck. His breathing is heavy and raspy in your ear as he groans through the cadence of his hips, "you are everything to me. We've got everything we need right here, yeah?" Most people would be afraid or embarrassed of this much vulnerability but when you live your life through forcibly peeled back layers, the rawness can only be soothed by blunt recognition.
Your hand falls on top of his to freeze his movements, his pelvis following suit as he pulls his length out before slowly driving it back. He pauses and waits for your signal, his chest heaving as he manages his arousal and the tremble of his stomach each time your muscles siphon him in wordless pleas, "yes. Every last bit of it."
The only sound in the room is cumbersome breathy moans and the quiet drone of the ceiling fan as it orbits through space. Harry cups your cheek and angles your face towards his for a blistering kiss that has your toes curling and your core clamping around him, his mouth suspended just long enough to allow a whimper to escape before he's tossing you down on your back into the sheets and dropping on top of you. Your legs cling around his waist and cross at the ankles behind his back, "it's the best kind of ache." He guides himself back through the tight clasp of your center and croaks with a quivering exhale, "feels so good."
Your head rolls back to bare a long stretch of smooth skin and Harry takes this moment to attach his mouth to the base of your throat, his hips rocking into you in velvety and leisurely strokes that have your second crest blistering from the pit of your stomach. He reaches behind his back to wrap his fingers around your ankle, gently gliding his hand upward along your shin before grabbing your knee and pinning your bent leg to the bed for superlative passage.
"Oh god... Harry, I'm gonna c-"
A growl unexpected to the both of you strangles his throat as he picks up the speed of his hips, the dulcet, lazy rhythm that he'd been practicing so far this morning momentarily forgotten by the both of you, "wait for me, Nov. Hang on- I'm right there. Come with me, baby. Fuck, please. Wanna feel you huggin' me." His euphoria is teetering on the brink; swimming in his stomach, throbbing in his groin and tingling everywhere in between. Little beads of sweat litter his chest and neck to glisten in the early morning haze, slender strands of cocoa locks glued across his forehead and jaw to etch becoming curls against his golden flesh. A single drop of perspiration gathers and rolls between his pecs and down his stomach before pattering just above your bellybutton to cool your skin, his breaths noisily sucking through his nose seemingly without any exit.
He can feel his hair tickling but he wouldn't stop his movement even if the storm shutters were being violently blown from your bungalow in the midst of a hurricane. Your core grabs tightly before pumping in long drags to egg his release, his eyes pinching shut and his head falling back as he groans towards the ceiling to reveal a strain in the veins and tendons in his neck. The slap of his hips speed until they falter and slush, his mind thoroughly lost in the numbing delirium of orgasm when he cries your name in a final, hoarse plead to join him as his thickness pulsates inside of you to amplify his request.
The sensation of him reaching his peak snaps yours to the periphery and then there is a cluster of ethereal debris, there are nails digging crescent moons, there is the pull of the moon on the ocean tide, there is a frozen black hole sucking away all sound to transform it into a droning ring, there is a fusion of celestial love that burns brighter than the hottest star in the sky.
The soft noises in the bedroom return alongside a vibrating hum; trembling breathing, palm blades slicing the air, mewls and groans and curses and then all-at-once your body is smothered by his commanding heat and slick sweat. He lays loose and relaxed, in complete opposition to the tension strangling each fiber of muscle just a moment before as the rise and fall of your chests meet to communicate your satisfaction. You can feel his heartbeat, pounding a loving symphony against your chest, his nose and mouth tucked into the most perfect pocket of your neck where heated breath casts a shadow into your skin. The tips of his shortest curls tickle against your jaw but it doesn't matter. Nothing does except for the connection that has somehow strengthened between you in the last twenty minutes and the gentle path the pads off his fingers trace up and down the line of your forearm.
A short shattered sonnet of two syllables, "fuck's sake."
Your sweet giggle spurs his on even though he doesn't know what he's said that's humorous. His delirium has his brain spinning on a perpetual backwards spiral, every shred of his premonition successfully retreated into the darkness as you both bask in your loopy highs. He hums loudly when the first hint of consciousness returns to him, his arms slinking around your body to squeeze you tight without a slip of air between you, "somethin' funny?" He perches his nose on your chin and peers at you with shiny polished emeralds, his eyelids narrowed to slits and his mouth a swollen, sugar-coated candied apple.
You lick your lips as if that would give you a taste of him, your fingers brushing his damp hair from his forehead for a clear view of his face, "side-splitting."
Two sets of claws make an appearance at the foot of the bed, your attention drawn to the stark white points puckering the fabric of the sheets and jutting out from two feathery paws of black. One paw shuffles around blindly before making contact with your hair elastic that Harry tossed away as he woke you, followed by Prudence's whole nimbly body scrambling up the side of the mattress to collect the new toy in her teeth. She flops onto her back as she plays, her feet kicking at a nonexistent enemy before Harry gathers her in one large palm and hikes her up to join you in your reverie.
"Hey, jungle cat," your nails stroke down her spine and past her tail before shifting to thread your fingers through Harry's. You play with each other's hands in silence as Harry quietly returns to his mild premonition and what it could mean, the mystery behind the woman's hysterical crying bringing a storm cloud of discomfort to his heart. Your stomach swishes and pulls with each of his doting caresses, his digits delicately toying with yours and applying swooning amounts of pressure to your palm at just the right intervals.
The rumble of his voice fragments the air, "can I make you breakfast today?" Harry's nose wrinkles before he releases a soft chuckle at your blasé expression, his hand breaking free and trailing down your bare torso as his palm spreads wide over your stomach, "take that as a no. Tea?"
Your fingers wrap around his wrist to journey along with his hand across your body, "later. One more round first?"
"Mmm... insatiable." He accepts your kiss and tastes your tongue, circling the tip of your muscle before tracing your top lip in a ticklish stroke. He drags you on top of his body and holds your face close, one eye popping open to survey the lightness in the sky through the window before losing himself in you again. He moans when your legs squeeze his hips, the fog in his mind clearing when he hesitantly pulls back after a minute or so for a gentle reminder, "gotta go on our walk before the sun comes up and bakes us."
You try to chase him for another kiss but he gently dodges in order to stay on track, another gentle laugh following his first when you whine and bellyache, "isn't this good enough exercise?"
Harry braces your cheeks and soaks you in an enthusiastic kiss that marks the pop of your morning love bubble, "yes and no. Rise and shine, Supernov." He slows down a bit for your sake, licking his lips before delivering some sensitive information, "maybe you'd like to rest while I go fishing on my own today, I need some isolation to think."
You sit up and raise your eyebrows in tepid surprise, not offended that he wants to be alone in your normal shared routine, but slightly taken aback that he's seemingly had a premonition because of how complacent and unaffected he seems. Upon further reflection, the way he made love to you was a solid portrayal of the intimacy he craves after such a cerebral experience and now you feel guilty for not noticing sooner, "you had one?" He nods and reaches for you, your fingers weaving with his in a distracted gesture of alliance, "oh? Is it- was it anything like we've talked about, or...?"
He shrugs and sits up for proximity, his arms wrapping around your waist to haul you against his warm center, "I dunno yet. I need more time."
You chew on your bottom lip in thought before retorting with caution, "'kay. Lemme get dressed."
Harry taps the tip of his nose against yours, his voice dropping to a coarse whisper, "can you put on that skimpy yellow bikini top?" His fingers pull up the length of your back, "with those little skin-tight polka dot shorts that I love so much?"
You nod and grin before catching his mouth for another kiss, "whatever you want. Can you go naked?" His expression flattens and your grin spreads into laughter, "fine. It's probably best if we keep that just for me anyway."
.
Harry has lots of different favorite colors, but they never tend to be in isolation. He prefers when they coalesce and warp over short periods of time and he often wonders what his next favorite color will be since his perception is always changing. Just a few days ago he was reminded of how happy an oil slick makes him when it slithers across the ground, it's myriad of cool-toned ribbons waving and marbling against inky and pebbled pavement.
He remembers describing a sunrise as his favorite color to you years ago, but you'd fallen asleep before too much of his description leaked. As he admires the horizon now, with your fingers entwined and sand pressing it's way between his bare toes, a memory of the city that used to inhabit him worms it's way through his innermost self. Black and wet, stained with technicolor rainbows. Quite reminiscent of how his brain functions; a canvas of black-and-white dotted with visceral color, the offsetting saturation a sickening focus that paints the picture of his reality.
A mysterious woman sobs and crumples to her knees amongst a crowd of happy tourists, her pain inconsequential to their need for souvenirs.
He supposes that no matter where he lands, his life will always appear this way and although most would find it oddly claustrophobic to be trapped on an island with a mind full of phantoms and no escape, he finds the smallness of his new world supremely soothing. This is his domain, one in which he's become the master of, like a fish inside of a tank who has inhabited each and every corner. His mind relaxes when he has control over every pebble of his personal universe; each duck in its row, his arrow constantly aligned with his target. A strictness that was imposed on him from outside circumstances since birth and he often wonders what his life could have been like with zero restrictions, but he knows those types of thoughts do him no good. Dwelling on what could have been seems anemic. He prefers to occupy the present and tan his face in rays of the future.
A soft tug on your hand pulls you from a deep but fleeting rumination, your attention drawn to Harry's fingers wrapping around the stem of a large, glossy Tahitian gardenia. He brushes your hair from your neck and tucks the flower behind your ear, dropping forward to plant a long-winded kiss to your cheek. He says nothing when he draws away to admire how the flower appears perched against your skin; creamy and tropical, bolstering your natural beauty, the emphases leaving him breathless as if your entity were polished off with an exclamation point.
Harry directs his attention back to the sunrise, but it's toll has a newer, much more significant meaning now.
Back in the comfort of your kitchen, you rummage through a cabinet stuffed with a collection of Harry's pottery that he deemed too significant to sell. A vase composed of ridges from top to bottom seizes your heart, muted sapphire in color with intentional dips and bends in its surface which give it a childlike curiosity. You fill it with water and drop the gardenia inside, humming at the alliance of pigmentation as you carry it to the dining table and position it in the center.
Harry busies himself with boiling water, the docile bubbles coming to life with a tiny roar inside of the electric tea kettle on the small kitchen counter. He reaches into a cabinet and pulls down two boxes of tea bags, pausing to pucker his lips for a sip of coffee from his steaming mug before collecting a mug for you as well. You pad quietly across the linoleum flooring to press yourself up against his back, your arms wrapping around his waist before your palms smooth up his flushed stomach, "can I have some today?"
Harry hums and stops what he's doing to immerse himself in your affection, his head dropping back to rest on your shoulder. He shakes his head gently and peers at you from the corner of his eye, feeling complete and utter tranquility in your arms, "nope. Nice try."
You catch his chin and turn his face towards you, admiring the beauty in his features as his stare heats up your insides with a sharp twist. His gaze is like fire and ice; melting and then chilling every hair on your body until you draw your mouths together and suck on his tongue, sighing against his lips at the flavor of dark roasted and acidic dried fruits. You pull off with a pant and nibble on his bottom lip, his eyes delicately closed in relaxed contemplation and the aftermath of your embrace as you whisper, "just a taste then."
His eyelids draw upwards slowly like a heavy velvet curtain revealing the intensity of a passionate and rehearsed stage performance, "peppermint or chamomile?"
"Peppermint, please." You hook your chin on his shoulder and watch him prepare a cup for you. His large hands are steady and attractive as he wraps his fingers around your mug and fills it to the brim, the smell of cool, minty leaves much more saturated this early in the morning on an empty stomach, "you're not so bad, y'know." You're abstaining from prying to provide him with mental space in order to dissolve his precognitive dream, but it always has been supremely difficult to watch him suffer inwardly and silently. He shares with you when he's ready and most of the time that translates to after the premonition has occurred in real life, but something about the way he's handling this one in particular feels different and remedial, so perhaps it won't hurt if you nudged him just a little bit, "nice day for some foresight, huh?"
Harry's smile quirks one corner of his mouth before flourishing into a grin and then finally laughter, your sprightly dig a healthy and subtle reminder to let you in, "yeah, I suppose. At least that's what the gods of sleep think. Sorry, I'm- it was weird." He brings both of your mugs to the table before pulling your chair out for you and signaling you to join with a flick of his head, "happened here. Well not exactly here. At the marketplace."
You sit across from him and like clockwork, both of your feet deposit into the other's lap, "what made you wanna stay?"
His thumbs massage the arch of your foot and a lightning bolt surges to his stomach when your thumbs parallel the same treatment, "peculiar interest." He grunts when you locate a tangled knot and dig your knuckle into it, "penance?"
"Harry, you do not owe anything to anyone."
If he hears you he makes no indication of it, "I thought it would be a good exercise in growth. You know? Immersing myself in something uncomfortable in order to prove that I can withstand or enjoy it or in the least bit, just experience it." You hum and lean across the table for a kiss that projects valiance before sitting back in your chair and propping your feet back in his lap, his warm palm falling to grasp your toes and squeeze gently in appreciation.
He watches the breeze move through the soft hair that untangles from your ponytail to frame your face and admires how healthy your skin looks with a clean, glowing sheen from the humidity. Your lean shoulders jut from the straps of your swimsuit and the long line of your legs are tanned and smooth, the pinch of your ankles and the stretch of your feet resting on his thighs to send furor swirling in his loins. A cluster of freckles decorate your nose and your cheeks and he can't help but internally compare them to the night sky that he loves so dearly, before reminding himself that he swore to never hold anything back from you, "you're breathtaking. Prettier every single day, I swear it. Your mouth looks like it tastes like strawberry frosted doughnuts." You look up at him and smile broadly in recognition of his sweet declaration, your response interrupted by his continuation and a balled up fist kneading the sole of your foot, "an' m'also so lucky you let me wake you up with a filthy fuck each morning."
Your core clenches at his unexpected turn in current, your nipples making an appearance against the fabric of your top. His grin widens at his effective tease as your slack jaw pulls into a charmed smile, "what have I told you about that?" He shrugs and lifts his coffee cup to his mouth, stifling a near spit-take when you peel the tiny yellow cup away from your chest to peer down at your bare nipple, "full on superpowers." You wrap your fingers around his ankle and squeeze when a laugh bursts out at a sudden thought, "wouldn't it be funny if you dreamed about me for twenty years and then discovered that I sucked in bed? Like, absolutely terrible. There'd be no saving me."
Harry's entire face turns as solid as a rock, "no." His heart thumps when you wrinkle your nose in levity at his serious reaction, a huff of air pushing out through his nose when he matches your humor with a deadpan quip, "wouldn't it be funny if you didn't say shit like that?" You toss your head back in laughter and he widens his eyes in jesting annoyance before sipping his coffee once more, his fingers pinching your toes again to further convey the amiability in his gentle chide, "love is dead."
"Love is very alive, you know why?"
Harry switches the work of his hands from your left foot to your right, his cock twitching in his shorts when you moan at the ease in tension and roll your head back to rest on the chair, "no. Why?"
"Because you're amazingly generous and you'd do anything in your power to curb my intense craving of peaches and sour cream."
It takes him a moment to understand your tricky way of volunteering him to spring to Bora Bora for a special snack. A breathy laugh lodges in his throat when his premonition flits like a dusty projector light on a white screen, the woman that he encountered crying in the marketplace both birthing and dying before his eyes.
The choking halt to his lightheartedness is obvious in his pallor, "everything okay, Harry?" He doesn't need to explain any further before you've caught on to his realization, "the marketplace. I can come with you... or, nevermind. I'll be fine, don't worry about the peaches. You do whatever you need to-"
"I'll do it." He nods, "m'fine. This is meant to be. I'm just gonna go to the lagoon for a while first."
.
A wayward groan vibrates Harry's throat as smooth bark scrapes against the soles of his feet that you'd lovingly massaged less than an hour prior, the muscles in his biceps and shoulders burning as he hacks away at a cluster of young, green coconuts with a small hatchet. They dislodge before dropping to the sand below in three soft plunks, his feet arriving beside them a couple moments later when he gracefully jumps down from the branches. He knows how much you love coconut juice and the last thing he wants is you attempting to get them on your own, so he gathers them from the sand and drops them into his basket to carry home after his solitary reflection time has resolved.
He brought a fishing pole but in all honesty he hadn't expected to do much fishing today, he doesn't have the stomach to handle the procedure of gutting them open and he knows he won't have to explain that to you. Your support and encouragement of his mental explorations are unending and not a single day passes where he doesn't acknowledge that to you. He's probably being too protective of you by asking you to stay behind and rest, but he knows that the quiet moments of detachment are important for the both of you and for different reasons.
The tip of a sharp knife cracks open one of the coconuts as Harry plops down into the sand and drinks directly from the opening, sweet nectar coating his throat and dribbling down his chin. He allows color to consume the inner workings of his mind and the backs of his eyelids as he peers out at the scenic reclusive spot, the timbre of the waterfall blanketing his ears to create a perfect backdrop of concentration. He allows himself to process his premonition before his mind eventually slips to the bigger picture, the one he never sees firsthand anymore, the city and the world that you both decidedly left behind two years ago.
Harry's bold and risky snub eventually snowballed to worldwide mutiny that has been recorded as one of the most monumental rebellions in history set forth by the actions of a single person. After the riots cooled down and several of the escaped Adroits located their long-forgotten friends and family, awareness and justice burned brightly inside of all those affected.
Harry was never seen again and the exclusive memory the Adroits have of their now fabled king and savior is an image that was passed around mentally by Telepaths. His only remnants now are sketched images, graffiti, public murals and viral paintings. Guerrilla renditions of a notorious legend who changed the outcome of civilization with an isolated, fiery event.
Harry's execution alone carved a path to an undertaking in the lab that day that eventually led to massive rallies, news reports and the stir of widespread protests in favor of Adroits and their families who had just gotten their voices back after years of hopeless thoughts of powerlessness and oppression. Truths began to leak as Adroits gained courage and voice and more people came forward with loud cries on behalf of the unjust actions of the government. Blindness faded, blinders shed. Rallies and demonstrations led to marches and petitions, larger Adroit activists groups meeting underground, demands for change, civilian blockades of Emissary offices, vigilante groups dismantling thousands of Tocsin machines in the middle of the night, and revolutionary raids on laboratories and government buildings that the world hadn't seen on quite a scale since the Age of Revolution in the 18th century. The effect of this many hands and voices and bodies helped aid in a societal pressure so intense that the government was forced to backpedal - a rare and extraordinary feat.
It's still underway and it's not perfect and it's not complete and utter freedom, but it is the substantial foundation of an understanding and a much needed upheaval in the name of peace. The general population never learned his name but that is exactly what Harry wanted, a quiet life where senseless acts of harm aren't something that he and thousands of others feared every waking minute.
He never wanted or needed recognition for his actions; the knowledge of harmony and transformation is enough. Peace without glory. Overcoming nightmares. Becoming more than what hurts. Simple, unguarded and relaxed existence. A night sky saturated with glitter and a cozy bed filled to the brim with his permanently exploding star. He does know for a fact that he may not have ever been seized if it weren't for you, he may not have ever learned the tools required to flee, and therefore the world may very well have remained in disorder as a result.
The universe has spoken and the reason for your union lies in the evidence of positive change for society. The stars quietly brought you together and dually, changed the course of a hostile and threatening atmosphere for all mankind.
You were accidents waiting to happen.
It's important to remember that we can't change who we are at birth but we have utmost control over our reactions and our understanding and knowledge of the world around us. If we are lucky, we will live and die a thousand lifetimes while our feet walk this earth. We should all be so fortunate to shed our skin multiple times throughout our conscious visit as living, breathing and loving human beings on this planet. We should all be so blessed to die wide-eyed, hopeful babies.
He's wishing now that he'd invited you along, but perhaps requested for conversation to stay at a minimum. He could really benefit from your loving and mindful presence, spouting the most uplifting charms in the most unexpected moments.
The warmth and brawn of your arms slink around his neck and his breath hitches in his throat before he hums loudly in gratitude. His fingers hook around your forearms and his chin rests on his knuckles, "hey..." A soft sigh of relief tickles your skin, "baby, hey." He cranes his neck to the side for a glimpse but can't see your full form as he wishes he could due to your positioning, "readin' my mind?"
He can feel you nod against the back of his head and his mouth cracks into a grin before he grips your underarms and flips you over his shoulders and onto his lap, plunging you down into the sand and dropping on top of you for an attack of kisses and bites and raspberries. You squeal and thrash before pushing him off and clawing your way through the sand to your hands and knees, gathering your composure for half a second before you're taking off running towards the waterfall with your laugh carrying behind you in the warm breeze, "it's funny how you actually thought I'd let you stew here alone!"
He scrambles to his feet and follows behind you, the slender straps of your bikini top flapping in the breeze as you untie the knot from your back and fling it over your shoulder. Your bottoms stay in place for his lusty preferential sake that's rarely explored anymore, a taste of luscious nostalgia that draws saliva to his mouth. He's hot on your heels, his swimsuit dropping to his ankles and shedding off of his feet a few paces away from your discarded top before his arms reach into the air and the cool splash of water surrounds his hot skin one second after your plunge.
You resurface and spin around towards him as you sweep your hair from your face, "bet you can't catch me!" A shriek burns your throat when he sucks in a lungful of air and ducks under the water again to swim towards you. You turn and stroke your arms in a clumsy endeavor to flee, your amusement making it difficult to swim as he grabs your legs and pulls you underneath the surface of the water with him.
Harry re-emerges with you draped over his shoulder, his footing steadying along a slippery rock to carry you trouncing and screaming benign threats with your hair stuck to your face and shielding your vision. The calamitous waterfall silences your disagreement as he passes below it, righting you back on your feet and brushing your soaked tresses from your eyes and cheeks, "it's funny how you actually thought you were gonna escape unscathed."
You nibble on your bottom lip and back up towards the wall of smooth rock behind you, "yeah? What're you gonna do about it?" But your question doesn't require a verbal response and you both know it, a soft and playful giggle muting and altering to a moan when he attaches his mouth to your neck and paws the patch of bathing suit at your center to push it aside.
.
Harry pulls his backwards snapback off to run his fingers through his sweaty hair before replacing it, the back of his wrist swiping across his forehead to wipe away a remaining sheen of perspiration. The boat ride to Bora Bora was fairly quick, an effortless hour and a half in which he replayed your filthy romp behind the waterfall ad nauseam. Your legs clinching around his waist, his teeth sinking into your collarbone, your wet stomachs breathing against one another, his cock nursed tightly in the vice of your silky walls, your begging whines pursed against his lips, his release coating your middle and the gratuitous shout of your name that was flushed to the bottom of the lagoon by the rush of the waterfall.
His fingers loop the coarse rope around the cleat as he docks the runabout boat in a slip just a stone's throw from the marketplace; one turn around the base of the cleat followed by two figure eights around the horns, tucking the end of the rope into the knot to finish it off. He steps off onto the dock and adjusts the sleeve of his tank top, surveying the busy scene around him before taking a big breath and starting off towards your favorite produce stand. You'd offered more than once to join him but he refused, insisting that he wanted you to drink coconut juice and lay down for a long nap, promising that he'd be back long before sundown with your unconventional treat in tow.
A colorful intrusion; a mysterious woman sobs and crumples to her knees amongst a crowd of happy tourists, her pain inconsequential to their need for souvenirs.
Harry stops in his tracks and squeezes his eyes shut before rubbing them with his knuckles, his palm landing on his chest to calm the racing of his heart. He knows it's going to happen any minute now, but he also knows that his body will alert him of its occurrence just before it takes place. He reminds himself of the task at hand, shaking out his sweaty hands as he jumps down from the dock and makes his way towards the marketplace.
He nods and greets a few vendors and locals that he recognizes, shaking their hands and exchanging small talk that a former version of himself would be very impressed to witness. He paces to the fruit stand and traces his fingers over the fuzzy flesh of the golden fruits, collecting several in his large palm and bringing them to his nose for an appreciative sniff to check for ripeness.
The sweet scent of prime peach is turned cold in his sinuses when his skin crawls with the familiar sensation of prickling porcupine quills, thumbtacks and goosebumps erupting from each one of his cells to warn him of his premonition coming to life. His mouth runs dry, his tongue slinking out in an effort to moisten his bottom lip when the recognizable tone of a mobile device cuts through the sounds of the bustling marketplace. His ears seem to seal shut and block out all other noise aside from the ringing and his own breath working it's way through his nasal cavity and ear drums, the beating of his heart audible from inside the barrel of his chest.
He blindly drops the peaches back into their display as he turns his head towards the interference just in time to see a mysterious woman sob and crumple to her knees amongst a crowd of happy tourists, her pain inconsequential to their need for souvenirs. He hones in on her like a nocturnal animal stalking its prey in the midst of a dense forest flush with sharp branches and ample foliage, his feet taking on a life of their own as he begins to make his way to her through the brush of ignorant shoppers.
Harry politely pushes his way through a group of people admiring woven wicker baskets as he crouches down beside the mysterious woman and gently rests a hand on her heaving back, "hey... s'gonna be okay... are you in trouble? Can I help?"
The woman doesn't even bother to study Harry before she cries out and tosses her arms around his neck, hauling him close for an intimate hug that most people would deem an inappropriate exchange between two strangers. He pulls her close and hugs her tight in response, hushing her and soothing a loving hand up and down her back as she cries into his neck. Neither of them speak aside from Harry's soft attempts at quelling her hysteria, both of them perched on their knees in the middle of this tropical and busy marketplace located on an island far from any other form of civilization.
Finally she gathers her wits and draws back, her fingers digging into his biceps as she looks at him through the haze of salty, stinging tears, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, you're so kind to- god, thank you. I'm on vacation, my husband is at the hotel and I just... I needed to get some air and, and..." Harry nods and reaches a trembling hand up to brush her hair from her face, her own hands lifting to wipe away tears as she continues, "we've been trying for years to get pregnant. The doctors kept trying to convince me I was infertile but they just called to tell me it's worked. It's finally worked... the IVF." Her whole face, her whole entire being lights up from the inside out, "I'm pregnant."
A black-and-white flashback from just over two months ago flutters by; your bare feet slapping against the tile of your kitchen as you made your way from the bathroom with a slender object in your hand. Your fingers grabbed the doorframe as you careened into the room where he hovered over the sink washing dishes, his head whipping over his shoulder just in time to see tears pooling in your eyes, "Harry! We're-"
Another sob wracks her bones as she springs forward and hugs Harry tightly, his own emotions crawling up his esophagus and choking him when he sputters, "oh my god." His personal life is racing behind his eyes like a black-and-white flip book; your gorgeous face peeling into laughter as you lay sprawled out on a blanket in the sunshine, your tender faith in the goodness of his gift, the stranger on his knees before him that at first frightened him but turned out to be nothing more than a passionate cry as her wishes came true and changed her life for the better with a single phone call. He pinches his eyes closed and hugs her with every ounce of determination he has, slowly allowing the reality sink in that a positive precognition has come to life in his arms, "congratulations. M'so happy for you. This is incredible, I'm so, so happy. You deserve this."
Harry stays seated on a bench with the woman who's gone from stranger to friend with a simple nod of support until her husband arrives. The object of her affection weaves his way through the throng of customers and lifts her off her feet with a joyful hug, cradling her cheeks in his hands and kissing every inch of her face. He turns to Harry and shakes his hand, thanking him for keeping her company before wrapping his arms around her and guiding her toward their hotel for much needed peace and isolation. Harry stays cemented to the ground with his mind running wild, an untamed grin bolstering his already handsome appearance as he slips his eyes shut and feels the warmth of the sun on his face.
Minutes later he's hopping back into his boat and piling the peaches and sour cream upon one of the snowy white vinyl seats, his cellphone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he works to untie the boat from the dock in haste. The moment you answer the phone he's stepping back to fall into the captain's chair in relief, a cluster of tears lodged in his throat and forcing his words out through a small, hoarse space, "you're right. You're so right, baby." His head falls back as a laugh pushes its way past his flurry of euphoria, "they're not all bad."
When he returns back home he's pleasantly surprised to find you awake and waiting for him on the front porch. You wave from your spot on the swinging hammock and urge Pru from your lap in order to pull yourself to standing. The book you were reading is cast aside and your grin is unmatched as Harry makes his way over to you and scoops you up in an ardent embrace, then dropping you to your feet and suctioning your lips together in a pining kiss that curls your toes into the sand. You peel back and hum before planting another kiss on his mouth, your arms circling his neck, "hi, dreamy." Your palms smooth down his stomach to gather the peaches from his hands and place them aside, "thank you. Thank you so much, you're the absolute best human being ever. I can't wait to hear all about it. This is the greatest news. You should be so, so proud."
The glassiness of his eyes hasn't ceased since the woman flung her arms around him in the marketplace and he's certain they will remain that way until he cuddles up to sleep with you tonight. He weaves his fingers into your hair and presses your foreheads together, his breath sweet when he huffs against your mouth, "I am. I'm proud of both of us." His palm spreads over your belly, "I feel like I could burst into either tears or flames. Everything inside of me is floating."
Harry kisses you once more before falling to his knees at your feet, his hands gathering the fabric of your tank top to draw little shapes around the sensitive skin of your belly button with the tip of his nose. You hum and cup his cheek, angling your head down to observe his fragile doting, "what day is it?"
"Sixty three."
"And how many days left until we meet?"
He splays his fingers wide across your stomach before pressing a lush kiss below your navel. Everything looks exactly the same from the outside but he imagines a tiny factory with line workers inside, working diligently to make sure every neuron and eyelash is assembled just right, "two hundred and seven." He glances up at you from his honorable position on the ground, humming when you pluck his hat away and comb your fingers through his hair, "give or take."
The precise number of days isn't known, but he will just have to be okay with that.
Wow, guys. Just wow. Thank you from the very bottom of my heart for joining me on this gut-wrenching journey. Writing this book was easily one of the most challenging things that I've ever done and I couldn't have done it without you. I hope you enjoyed every last word.
Please remember to take a moment to share your thoughts with me. I live for them.
I have a couple very exciting announcements coming, so stay tuned!
But for now, I'm off to do some more writing for you and I will see you very soon.
Love you very, very much,
Birdie xx