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She sighed as she sat down heavily on the long couch facing the hearth. Her eyes turned toward the window near the junction of the low ceiling of the modest living room. It was raining again. It’s not that she hated it; on the contrary, she rather enjoyed the sound as it hammered the roof relentlessly. It reminded her of steel-shod horses’ hooves on cobblestones of the perfect 18th century English square she saw in her mind. She was jerked out of her reverie by a tree branch strewn across the impossibly small window. The heavens had been sobbing for too long.
She thought it best not to dwell on the oppressive gale and shifted her gaze to the sputtering fire in front of her. A log that had been precariously balanced upon a stack of coals tumbled in a flare of sparks. She watched idly as one left its mates, drifted onto the brick hearth and flickered before dying.
Something loomed in the shadows at the corner of her vision and she let out a squeal of surprise, but she calmed when she saw what it was. He stumbled his wobbly way out of the darkness of the doorway. His eyes still held the remnants of sleep as his face stretched into drowsy grin that soon contorted into a jaw-wrenching yawn. He padded over, his bare feet covered by several inches of blue flannel fabric from his too-long pants he normally slept in. Why they were his favorite, she could never tell. He yanked them up with one hand as they came dangerously close to falling; the drawstring had long since been claimed by the forces that be. While that hand served as an impromptu belt, the other went up out of habit to drag through his hibernation-crumpled hair.
He sank down next to her on the couch and fought to keep his eyes from molding shut. He snapped them open and stretched his arms with a sinewy feline grace. He mirrored her position by leaning into the couch and propping his feet on the low coffee table next to hers. His feet, though not overly large, looked gargantuan next to her petite ones. A pale line left by the leather flip-flops he loved so much snaked down the deep olive skin. Her own feet, left unmarred by the sun, held several toe rings and a neat pedicure. One pair natural and unprotected, one pair sheltered and maintained. The contrast was almost laughable.
One of his arms slid its way behind her neck and the hand attached to it came to a stop near her elbow. The other’s fingers snaked between her own. She dropped her gaze to the ivy-like conjoined hands. His appeared to swallow hers in a protecting embrace. It was curled around in a manner that was affectionate and quietly possessive at the same time. Normally she detested the Cro-Magnon man-own-woman logic, but at the same time it was warm and reassuring.
Many symbols of unity are intertwined objects, be it rings, olive branches or even weapons. The picture that their two hands created was more than just a simple gesture. It left something to be pondered about life in general. Could two beings really be joined by simple contact? She was sure she looked rather foolish just staring at two appendages like she was. She knew she was starting to over think this and the late night was probably getting to her head. But the nagging question still presented itself with a glowing persistence. What if love really is on a different level then simple earthly interaction?
His hand looked so different now. Maybe it was the light of the fire playing shadows off the curves and tendons stretching from his wrist. Maybe it was the fact that her eyes were closing in a fog of drowsiness. Perhaps that hand really was different. What if it really was a guardian, an ethereal, glowing entity? She had seen that hand so many times before. She had seen the lithe fingers relaxed in sleep, twitch in anxiety. She knew the manner in which he tapped his thumb against any solid surface while he waited for time to pass. She had noticed them frantically curling and constricting the first time they had a conversation where he actually said anything. She watched it ball into a fist holding the blow he wanting to impart so dearly to preserve his dignity. She even remembered, perhaps most of all, when he first held it out to her when he truly needed help. But it had never looked as it did now, cradled on his thigh.
It thrummed with quiet energy she could feel in some primitive and long-ignored part of her being. The feeling scared and fascinated her. It was like the flame of a candle that mesmerized her as a child. She stared at it until she reached for it and drew back howling. She glanced at the smooth scar lining the tip of her index finger. She had a feeling that this situation would be similar. Try to find out more and it would hurt you and possibly end up crumbling around you. She decided that ignorance must be bliss in this case. Don’t disturb it and you won’t get burned. So she drifted into comfortable intellectual silence and basked in the wonder of human interaction.
His head dropped onto her shoulder like a lead weight. An almost inaudible baritone snore drifted to her ears. He was dead asleep. He had missed her entire mental quandary. She grinned to herself and rested her cheek on his delightfully disorderly hair. The rain had slowed to a pattering on the window. The last ember in the hearth turned to ash. The dewy sunrise found the two of them exactly the same.

Description
She sighed as she sat down heavily on the long couch facing the hearth. Her eyes turned toward the window near the junction of the low ceiling of the modest living room. It was raining again. It’s not that she hated it; on the contrary, she rather enjoyed the sound as it hammered the roof relentlessly. It reminded her of steel-shod horses’ hooves on cobblestones of the perfect 18th century English square she saw in her mind. She was jerked out of her reverie by a tree branch strewn across the impossibly small window. The heavens had been sobbing for too long.
She thought it best not to dwell on the oppressive gale and shifted her gaze to the sputtering fire in front of her. A log that had been precariously balanced upon a stack of coals tumbled in a flare of sparks. She watched idly as one left its mates, drifted onto the brick hearth and flickered before dying.
Something loomed in the shadows at the corner of her vision and she let out a squeal of surprise, but she calmed when she saw what it was. He stumbled his wobbly way out of the darkness of the doorway. His eyes still held the remnants of sleep as his face stretched into drowsy grin that soon contorted into a jaw-wrenching yawn. He padded over, his bare feet covered by several inches of blue flannel fabric from his too-long pants he normally slept in. Why they were his favorite, she could never tell. He yanked them up with one hand as they came dangerously close to falling; the drawstring had long since been claimed by the forces that be. While that hand served as an impromptu belt, the other went up out of habit to drag through his hibernation-crumpled hair.
He sank down next to her on the couch and fought to keep his eyes from molding shut. He snapped them open and stretched his arms with a sinewy feline grace. He mirrored her position by leaning into the couch and propping his feet on the low coffee table next to hers. His feet, though not overly large, looked gargantuan next to her petite ones. A pale line left by the leather flip-flops he loved so much snaked down the deep olive skin. Her own feet, left unmarred by the sun, held several toe rings and a neat pedicure. One pair natural and unprotected, one pair sheltered and maintained. The contrast was almost laughable.
One of his arms slid its way behind her neck and the hand attached to it came to a stop near her elbow. The other’s fingers snaked between her own. She dropped her gaze to the ivy-like conjoined hands. His appeared to swallow hers in a protecting embrace. It was curled around in a manner that was affectionate and quietly possessive at the same time. Normally she detested the Cro-Magnon man-own-woman logic, but at the same time it was warm and reassuring.
Many symbols of unity are intertwined objects, be it rings, olive branches or even weapons. The picture that their two hands created was more than just a simple gesture. It left something to be pondered about life in general. Could two beings really be joined by simple contact? She was sure she looked rather foolish just staring at two appendages like she was. She knew she was starting to over think this and the late night was probably getting to her head. But the nagging question still presented itself with a glowing persistence. What if love really is on a different level then simple earthly interaction?
His hand looked so different now. Maybe it was the light of the fire playing shadows off the curves and tendons stretching from his wrist. Maybe it was the fact that her eyes were closing in a fog of drowsiness. Perhaps that hand really was different. What if it really was a guardian, an ethereal, glowing entity? She had seen that hand so many times before. She had seen the lithe fingers relaxed in sleep, twitch in anxiety. She knew the manner in which he tapped his thumb against any solid surface while he waited for time to pass. She had noticed them frantically curling and constricting the first time they had a conversation where he actually said anything. She watched it ball into a fist holding the blow he wanting to impart so dearly to preserve his dignity. She even remembered, perhaps most of all, when he first held it out to her when he truly needed help. But it had never looked as it did now, cradled on his thigh.
It thrummed with quiet energy she could feel in some primitive and long-ignored part of her being. The feeling scared and fascinated her. It was like the flame of a candle that mesmerized her as a child. She stared at it until she reached for it and drew back howling. She glanced at the smooth scar lining the tip of her index finger. She had a feeling that this situation would be similar. Try to find out more and it would hurt you and possibly end up crumbling around you. She decided that ignorance must be bliss in this case. Don’t disturb it and you won’t get burned. So she drifted into comfortable intellectual silence and basked in the wonder of human interaction.
His head dropped onto her shoulder like a lead weight. An almost inaudible baritone snore drifted to her ears. He was dead asleep. He had missed her entire mental quandary. She grinned to herself and rested her cheek on his delightfully disorderly hair. The rain had slowed to a pattering on the window. The last ember in the hearth turned to ash. The dewy sunrise found the two of them exactly the same.