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[begot]

[ The words wash over her like the first rays of dawn, the beginning of high tide under the pink-blue light of morning.

I love you. Precious and warm and perfect, a shiny pearl in the hollow of an inky oyster. It fills her chest, raises her up onto the balls of her feet as she blinks at him, like confirmation of what he's just said is something she could find by looking for it. It doesn't always feel this way. Spoken at the wrong time, by the wrong person, in the wrong way, it's anathema, but here, now, with him— ]

Rupert.

[ The words come late, but the set of her expression gives at least the tenor of it away — her gaze liquid and soft, her lips parted, her very breath suspended in time. She wants to remember this: the feeling of his arms around her, the faint drum of his heart under her palm, the way he looks at her like— well, like he loves her. Too much for her not to feel a little drunk on as she breaks into a true smile, her hand finding his cheek. ]

I love you, too.

[ Another kiss — a seal pressed to a letter, lifting from the wax with a laugh. ]

I'm— I feel dizzy, I'm so happy. [ She pauses, a little sheepish, but not enough so not to ask: ] Say it again? Please?