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V — Be aware that this meme will likely be image-heavy. That's kind of the point.

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There's a thoughtful hum at that as he shifts slightly, presses a moderately gentle kiss against her forehead.

"That's better, really."

Not that this was a serious conversation, but that the sentiment beneath it was. It's better that they live in separate realms of the same artistic minds.

"It works."

He's right. It is better, it does work. They're similar in broad strokes: artistic temperaments, the drive to create things, to share their translations of ideas with the world. They both compose and tie ideas together.

But they do so in wildly different arenas. She tells stories and he writes music, his work provokes emotions where hers aims to make the audience think. The underlying similarities tie them together and give them says to understand each other and what they do, but the differences keep things interesting and let them be independent, achieve things on their own. They can complement and support each other without getting in the way of their work.

It all completely works.

"I'm glad you think so." She leans up to press her lips to his cheek. "I do too."

And it's all thanks to some dumb luck. That's the best part. That's the thing that cinches the love song and completes the novel and entirely creates the act break.

He'd never thought he'd be such a fan.

"Hold onto that thought when you've seen the mess."

"All right," she relents. "I'll keep that in mind."

It still won't bother her, she suspects. But that's something to worry about later. Right now is for nosing along his jaw, coaxing him to turn his face so she can kiss him properly.

Far be it from him to distract her from a quest for a kiss. All he needs is a moment to set the coffee carefully aside again so he can use his fingers instead to card contentedly into her hair.

"Congrats, Miss Conway."

Lest they forget the important bit of this morning.

It's an important part of the morning. One that's far less daunting a prospect with his lips on hers, with his fingers in her hair, and, when they break apart, her head tucked under his chin.

It belatedly dawns on her that this was what she ought to have done on returning with such news. That her initial impulse to sit apart was habit and not a necessity, and digesting such a shift wouldn't have seemed half so nerve-wracking had she just come back in here and curled into him.

"I'm so glad you're here." Her voice is soft, entirely plain and heartfelt in its sincerity. "There's no one else I'd rather be sharing this with."

She fits like a violin, he's come to slowly realize. She presses in under his chin like this, close against shoulder and neck. True, she feels like bone and hair and skin, but the general sensation is the same.

Is protective. Is adoring. Is very much right for the woman as well as the instrument.

"Thank God you haven't decided I'm unwelcome to stay the night, then."

She knows just how valuable that instrument is--not just in its lineage, but in what it means to him, how it's an extension of him and the means by which he expresses himself. She's seen the care he takes in transporting it, the reverence with which he holds it, speaks of it.

She'd be deeply humbled and touched if she knew the association he was making in this moment, if she knew he was thinking of her in those terms.

She sighs contentedly, the sound touching her vocal cords in a little him at its very end. "Clearly one of the better decisions I've made in a while. Remind me to congratulate myself for that one," she teases.

Maybe he'll tell her, someday. Hell, maybe he'll tell her a lot of things, someday. Today isn't that day. Today is just shifting slightly to press a kiss against her temple and dropping his fingers from her hair to slide comfortably around her shoulders instead.

"We'll throw a party. First for being amazing at papers, then for being amazing at life choices."

She'll have a lot to tell him someday, too. Little by little, perhaps, the words coming when they don't feel quite so daunting. For now she can only hope he understands, a little, without the words. In her gratitude for his presence, in every little touch and smile.

"I like the sound of that. I've even got a guest list ready: me. And you."

He understands enough. He understands what he hopes she understands back.

"You think they'll all make it? I hear traffic from this side of th' bed to that is just terrible this time of day."

Because the words they say might not be 'The Words,' but the words they say just fit so much better just now.

She does understand. She may not know the exact depths to which his feelings go, the kinds of comparisons to cherished instruments his heart and mind already draw. But she understands enough. She knows what's there , even if the full picture isn't yet clear.

It's more than enough.

She laughs softly. "It's Sunday. We don't need to keep to a strict timetable today, do we? We could be lenient."

"We could." In the quiet of their Sunday morning, he doesn't think twice before shifting to nip contentedly at her neck. "But I'm inclined to keep this an intimate sort of affair."

Which would probably involve sloppy kisses and tickling, spilling breakfast crumbs and nearly kicking important things off the bed and letting the room fill with laughter and breathlessness all at once.

Her response doesn't need much thought either, from the soft hum to the slight tipping-back of her head to let him at her neck, to the way she shifts, nestling even closer, arm more firmly around his body.

"I like the sound of that. When do we start?"

"In a minute."

Because clearly the plan to be sprawled together in bed celebrating had to start first with being sprawled together in bed lazily without actually celebrating yet. It's important to differentiate.

"Can't be showing up on time to our own party. I hear that's entirely un-hip."

"Really? Dear, oh dear." She nestles even closer, as if warding off any potential social missteps.

Or maybe it's just that she really would like to stay close. That's more likely.

"I can't get off to a poor start like that. What would I do without you to properly advise me on these matters?"

It can be both. It can be mostly just desire to stick close. He's a big fan of the sticking close.

"Lost. You'll just have to keep me around."

Purely for this reason.

She's a big fan of... well. Everything, really, when it comes to him anymore. But sticking close is high on the list.

The most contented hum--so contented it fades to a happy sigh in its final moment--issues forth from somewhere under his chin. "I guess it's a good thing I was planning that all along."

"Approved."

Approved and absolutely sealed with a warm kiss as he shifts a hand to the back of her neck to hold her in place.

"Shall we celebrate, then?"

She returns the kiss just as warmly, lips curving into a smile against his mouth when she pulls away. Her hand lands on his elbow, gliding up his arm, making its way to the back of his neck in a near-mirror of his gesture before it slides up into his hair.

"Please. I'd like that."

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Painfully busy but otherwise well. o/

That is a feeling I know all too well lately. Glad you're otherwise well.

/high-fives all over the place for surviving life

Indeed. /high five

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Oh jeeze we watched Last Holiday last night and I spent the whole time flailing "I KNOW HER."

Aww. :3 I very similarly no longer automatically think "Constantine" when I see Paul anymore.

;w; ♥!

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