Kayse (prime)/Vignette: Pretend

The lock turned on the cherrywood door of the cabin and she slipped inside, careful to latch the door softly behind her and relock them both safely inside.


The dimness of the dwelling was a touch brighter than the moon outside, but her pear green eyes still squinted as they adjusted to the lighting.  She exhaled a sigh of relief when the figure in the bed hadn’t been disturbed, his chest steadily rising and falling in a peaceful slumber.  Her brow furrowed slightly.


Removing her boots, she quietly moved to the mantle to prepare a fire.  The routine awoke him eventually, but the need for him to eat outweighed rest right now. Despite that knowledge, she went out of her way to delay his awakening, slowly and painstakingly breaking the kindling hoping to not make a sound.


The flames began to dance higher and bathed the cabin walls in an orange glow.  The aroma of soup flooded the air and grew more intense as the flames licked the bottom of an iron pot.  A freckled hand threw more fuel upon the blaze, causing the fire to crack and pop loudly. 


She turned abruptly to check the bed, but a pair of misty gray eyes were already locked onto her.  The figure now propped up on one elbow watching her intently. 


“I heard every one of those twigs breakin.” He grinned slowly.


Her lips curled upward to mirror his grin, the lines in her forehead disappearing and her eyes brightened.


“C’mere,” he urged as he scooted over to make room.


Her arms snaked around his shoulders as she pulled her body to meet his, their lips brushing against each other eagerly. As they separated, their eyes regarded each other as they soaked in every detail of the other.


“Hours away from you seem like eternity,” she murmured. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist in response.


Her hand reached up to caress his cheek and she paused, his skin hot to the touch.  Instinctively, her palm felt his forehead and the excitement faded from her eyes.


“Your fever is back.” Kayse bite her lip, the concern and worry painting her features again.


Drektor’s hand brushed a few strands of her mournbloom black hair out of her face. His eyes scanning over her,  “I'm okay. I promise.”  He attempted to grin again, but this time a small amount of pain reflected back.


She knew that wasn’t true, but with how his arms felt around her and in the way he was looking at her, she wanted to pretend it was.