Signe grinned as she watched Bella work her magic on the bracelet, finally forcing the knot into submission and untangling it. She let out a soft, impressed laugh and shook her head. "I feel like that has to be a resume-worthy skill, right?" She offered the girl a playful, half-smile before reaching out to accept the bracelet. "Well, I am pretty well-known for my unwavering moral support," she teased, playing along. "It was obviously my standing here and doing absolutely nothing that got us through that whole ordeal." Signe turned the bracelet over in her hands, smoothing it out now that it was untangled. "There was a second there I thought we might have to sacrifice it to the jewelry gods," she glanced back at Bella, lifting an amused eyebrow. "But no, you pulled through. My hero!" Signe giggled and gently bumped her shoulder against Bella's. "No, but seriously. Thank you. I was going to toss it into the ocean and then I'd probably be fined for littering."
bella wasn't really one that liked to give up on anything so she was one that would continue with something until she ended up getting it. and that's exactly what she had been trying her best to do with this bracelet until the knot had finally began to be undone. " there we go! " she responded as if it was one of her greatest accomplishments that she could've ever made. wasn't sure how since it really was proving to be difficult. and quite stubborn and knotted up. " see it was your faith in me that let me do it. " she laughed jokingly before handing the bracelet back over to signe so that she could begin on what she was planning on doing. " maybe it was going to be but i am not one to give up easily. or that easily. maybe that was a slight lie since i almost did but we don't have to talk about that. " she'd respond playfully.
She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t fight the affectionate smile. “That’s really not the most encouraging thought, Pappa. You gotta at least try and make it hard for the identity,” Signe scolded, a kernel of truth and concern in her teasing words. “I miss you guys too,” she said, slowing their steps just a little to give herself time to find the right words. “But, you’re not losing me, right? I’m just a few minutes and a phone call away.” Signe let out a soft laugh. She loved both her parents with equal fervor, but she’d always been a daddy’s girl. Seeing her dad all torn up about her moving out was harder than she thought it would be. She squeezed his side and nodded. “Of course you two can come for diner. Only fair, considering all the years you guys fed me.” Her nose wrinkled playfully. “But you’re not allowed to criticize my cooking, even if it’s awful. I’m still learning. Deal?”
søren laughed aloud. “anyone that knows me could guess my pin ! ”. and he was right — it was signe’s date of birth, and he hadn’t forgotten it once since he changed it. whether she was home or not, whether they were together or apart, signe was always at the forefront of his mind. she had been for the last twenty - five years, and he couldn’t see that changing any time soon. maybe he was living in the past. maybe he was stuck in a time where things were rose - tinted, where she tugged him by his pant leg and asked him to play. half of søren ached to have those moments back, but the other half adored what signe had become so ferociously that he wouldn’t trade it for the world. in a sense, him and sigrid had built their very own best friend from building blocks. every second spent together was precious. which was why being in separate homes stung quite so badly. “it is weird,” søren agreed as they walked, twisting his lips to one side as if his mouth had been strung up in ribbons. “and we miss you. but seeing you fly the nest and create your own life is all we ever wanted. just don’t forget about us oldies when you’re big and famous, okay ? ” he knew that signe saw what she wanted and reached out with both hands to grab it. she got that from her mother. “you know, if it’s not cramping your style too much, we’d love to come over for dinner.”
Signe let out an amused laugh, caught somewhere between flattered and self-conscious at the praise, and shook her head. “No, not really. I design clothes so most of what I do is sketch – but my mother is an art history professor,” she said, by way of explanation. “I used to trail her around museums and sitting in her office while she taught classes. It was hard not to pick up a few things about how to analyze art.” She glanced over at the stranger, eyes narrowed playfully. “What I’m sensing is that you do paint? And you’re trying to trick me into saying something wildly pretentious so you can out-articulate me.”
“ i'm not sure i could put it any better , ” clark smiles , amused at the other's ramblings . blue hues move over to the artist card , “ acrylic is right . it must've taken ages to make . do you paint ? or are you just an enjoyer of it ? ” sure clark could've put his own spin on things , adding to the discourse — sharing his deepest thoughts on the work in question . but that would've taken all of the fun out of picking someone else's brain about it . besides , clark could get into technical details all day . it's really the emotion behind it that matters , no ? “ all of that is to say you should definitely keep rambling . it's refreshing . most people just take a glance and move onward like it's nothing . ”
She giggled softly to herself, amused by how much a single word affected him. Signe bumped her hip against his with a playful grin. “Well, Charlie,” she said, drawing out the syllables of his name. “You know I’m only looking at you like that because you make it impossible not to.” Their bantering had grown more playful, more flirtatious since their first date. Which made sense considering the boundaries that she’d dissolved so quickly in his presence. And yet, it still surprised her – how easy it was to be a less curated version of her. Like he saw past all of her facades to the girl underneath and he didn’t balk at any of it. It was intoxicating. His ears had flushed pink as he teased her and Signe could only smile at the sight. He gestured towards the wine fridge and Signe nodded, wiping her hands on a spare dish towel and getting ready to cross the kitchen, when he gently pulled her back. His lips were on hers and Signe instinctively melted into his embrace. A little stunned, she doesn’t rush it or pull away too fast. She merely stays close, her hand placed on his chest, her thumb brushing lightly along the fabric of his shirt, anchoring herself in the moment. Charlie pulled away and her eyes remained close for a moment longer, savoring it before she blinked at him slowly. “That was so rude,” she murmured once she found her voice again. “You can’t just kiss me like that and then go back to casually chopping vegetables. Jesus.” While the words were aimed at him, she wasn’t truly expecting a response. There was no heat in her words, just the warm glow of affection. She moved toward the wine fridge, casting a glance over her shoulder at him. He’s back at his task, but smiling to himself. It was moments like that – his hand finding the small of her back, the offhand kiss that left her blinking at the wine fridge like she forgot why she opened it – they meant so much to her. Her hand hovered over the bottles before she settled on one with a pale pink label. She notices the way he looks at her. Notices before whenever she turns to look at him, he’s already looking back. Signe was scared of getting use to the feeling. What if a day came when he saw all of her? The parts of her that doubt joy and second guess everything. What if that day came and he changed his mind? Signe allowed herself to look at him again–his hair messy from running damp fingers through it, his sleeves pushed up, and that ridiculous little smile on his face like he knew she was watching. Something inside of her quieted at the sight of that smile. She liked him so much, and she wasn't going to ruin that by over fixating. With the wine selected, she walked back over to Charlie, holding the bottle up. “Did you want to open it, or should I? I can do it if you point me in the direction of your finest bottle opener,” she teased.
Charlie let out a low laugh, shaking his head as he rinsed his hands. "Nah, Signe. You don’t say it like my coworkers do. If they said it like you, we'd have an HR complaint on our hands... Don’t call me chef unless ya want me to start barkin’ orders or critique your knife skills." He glanced back at her with a grin, the warmth in his voice unmistakable. "Just call me Charlie. That’s already more than enough." There was a beat where he looked at her again, saw that wicked little glint in her eye, and smirked. "Though for the record.. if you keep lookin’ at me like that and sayin’ things with that mouth... I have a hard enough time with one knee. You might knock 'em both out from under me." He raised a brow, "Right, right.. movin’ on," he laughed, hands raised in mock surrender, the tips of his ears just the tiniest bit pink.
He took the bowl from beside her and turned toward the sink, but as always, he didn’t stay away long. There was a pull to her. Undeniable. Like gravity had adjusted to her. "Whatever you put together, I’ll love it," he added more softly now, rinsing the bowl. "I like that you cared enough to stress over it. It means something. That’s all I’ll say or I’ll start gettin’ sappy and you’ll mock me." He bumped her elbow lightly with his own as he returned, moving beside her to start chopping the vegetables. His fingers worked confidently, effortlessly, but his eyes flicked to her with every few slices, like he couldn’t help it.
"Why don’t you head over to the wine fridge?" he asked, nodding in its general direction with his chin, knife still in hand. "I’ve got a few different moscatos chillin’ in there. They’re all kind of the same, but go with whichever label speaks to you." Then he paused, completely mid-chop. "Oh.. wait." He reached for her hand, a gentle tug drawing her toward him in one smooth motion. No rush, just closeness. Just him. And then he leaned in and kissed her like it was something he’d been meaning to do all evening. Nothing dramatic. Just warm, certain, and grounding.
When he pulled back, there was a spark of mischief in his own smile now, but something tender beneath it too. "Just realized I hadn’t done that yet. Didn’t want it hangin’ over my head while you were choosin’ wine," he said lightly, going back to chopping as if he hadn’t just completely short-circuited his own train of thought. His voice was a little quieter after that, but no less sincere. "Glad you like bein’ here, by the way. Feels natural to me, too. Like we didn’t have to work at it. Just… fit." He glanced over again, this time pausing the movement of his knife. "And if your playlist’s even half as thoughtful as your outfit, I know I’m in for it. Might cry. Might fake cry for sympathy. No tellin’, really." He nudged her gently with his shoulder again, eyes lingering on hers. "Go on, then. Pick the wine. I’ll try not to burn anything while you’re gone."
Her wide eyes softened with recognition and she gave him a look, that Pappa look, the one that carried equal parts exasperation and affection. It was corny, but Signe might have been the tiniest bit homesick. Or, as homesick as one could get just living across town. Still, she’d gladly jumped at the idea of spending a few hours with her dad and explore her new neighborhood in the meantime. She nudged him back with her elbow. “Pappa,” she sighed, dramatically. “You can’t sneak up on people like that. You’re too tall, it’s unethical.” The painting in front of her still tugged at something within her – something about the use of color that made her wonder if she could dye fabrics to catch the light in that way. Sometimes she envied the way artists could make anything they envisioned into a reality, while she had to work around the restrictions of fabric, stitching and technique. Still, it was those constraints that made Signe’s eyes light up with a challenge. God, she shouldn’t have left her sketchbook at home. She shook the thought off and offered her father an exaggerated huff. “I was thinking… maybe even being inspired! And now, you’ve chased my muse away!” Her father dwarfed her, being almost an entire foot taller than her 5’6 and she leaned into the familiar safety of his presence. “For your crimes, you’re going to have to pay for fika.”
it felt strange that life was meant to just continue after signe had left. it felt as though a hole had been blown in the side of their emerald point home, and søren had tried to brick up the cavern only to watch it fall again, and again, and again. he wondered if sigrid felt the same, that they were missing some sort of vital organ now that he couldn't hear the distant closing of doors down the hallway and no longer noticed snacks being smuggled from the kitchen cupboards. it was one of his days off, and once they had worked through a flurry of dad jokes him and signe had decided to meet up for a few hours. a cup of coffee, some light window - shopping, and maybe a few treats from his own back pocket. søren parked a good distance away and walked to the art district, soaking up the sunshine that was still a novelty after ten years. sweden had been beautiful, but he couldn't honestly say they had much of a summer back home. 6'4" and with hair the colour of wood ash, he wasn't the easiest person to ignore. søren approached his daughter without the intention of sneaking up on her, but once he was a few steps away and still unnoticed he decided to reach into the fatherhood handbook. the doctor hovered beside signe until she saw him, nudged her with the point of his elbow and chuckled, “i don't know, are you ? ”
Signe’s face lit up when Charlie pulled out the photos and moved closer, warmth blooming in her chest the moment their shoulders brushed. She clutched the photos gently, giggles escaping her with each new picture she flipped through. Signe let their shoulders stay pressed together, grounding herself in the feeling of his heat against her skin. “Oh, Charlie,” she breathed, laughing especially hard at the sight of the bold prints and the sunglasses that looks ready to swallow his face. She held the prints in her hand as if they were precious artifact. “Your mom might be my new favorite person if she can keep supplying me with these,” Signe teased. The way that Charlie listened to her and didn’t dismiss her feelings cracked something inside her chest wide open. He spoke in soft and gentle tones, not trying to make the words anything more than what they were, and it made the back of her throat tighten. Not from sadness, but from such total acceptance – from being so quickly understood by this strange and wonderful boy. Her fingers tightened as he held her hand and confessed he wasn’t all charm and jokes, and that he was scared too, and that he was still trying, still chasing the things he wanted even when it terrified him. And then he started talking about himself – little things, mundane things, some slightly more important things. Signe blinked repeatedly, swallowing the sudden burn in her throat. She let out a shaky break and shook her head before looking at him. “You make opening up seem…less scary.” Her thumb brushed along the back of his hand, mirroring the way he’d been touching her. Signe took a moment to gather herself and then nodded, smiling faintly. “Okay. My turn.” “I’m Signe Holmström. My mom’s name is Sigrid, dad is Søren … Don’t worry, I’ll help you with the pronunciation,” she smirked to herself, already imagining Charlie struggling with the task. “They’ve always given me everything they could, and while my head understands they’re proud of me…part of me feels like I need to be…better? Successful? In order to be worthy of all that they’ve given me.” She hesitated, the shine in her eyes flickering for just a second before she pushed forward with a small smile. “My favorite color’s green – but like a pastel, sage green. I’ve lived in the States for ten years now, but I still miss Malmö every winter when we don’t get any snow.” Her eyes met his and she fought a smirk as she continued. “I’m terrible at running, I was always more of a swimmer if I had to pick a sport. Hot cheetos are my guilty pleasure snack. I hate olives, can’t stand ‘em,” Signe wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I’m a little bit of a perfectionist. And like…scary organized. You should see my closet sometime. I hate when a house or room is too quiet, so I sing to myself. I’m God awful at board games,” she let out a watery laugh, wiping any tears with her fingers. “You’d absolutely destroy me.” “But…I’m trying too,” she whispered. “Trying to be brave.”
Charlie laughed, the sound warm and easy as he watched her light up at the mention of his past questionable fashion choices. At her excited invite, he didn’t hesitate to slide closer, closing the small space between them as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He reached into the bottom of the basket, pulling out the folded stack of photos. “These were the only ones I could dig up from my football days,” he said, nudging his shoulder softly against hers as their arms touched. “But Mum said she’s got some tucked away back home, reckons they’re too good to keep to herself, so I’m sure you’ll be gettin’ those soon enough.”
Their shoulders stayed pressed together, the nerves he’d carried into the evening long gone now, replaced by something calmer, easier. He handed over the photos, loud designer prints, bold patters, shorts and shoes that did not match the top half of his outfit, sunglasses far too large, and immediately covered his face with one hand, peeking at her through the gaps between his fingers. “Listen, I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life—but these outfits? Top of the list.”
When he felt her pinky hook into his, his hand dropped, eyes catching hers just as her smile softened and her expression shifted, just enough that if he hadn’t been paying attention, he might’ve missed it. But he was paying attention. His brow knit together slightly, quieting, leaning into the moment as she spoke. “That’s what a date’s supposed to be, yeah?” he said gently. “Gettin’ to know each other. The whole picture, not just the bits we like showin’ off.” The smile on his face softened, not playful now but real, open. When she mentioned him only knowing the charming version of her, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.
“You think this is me all the time?” He tilted his head, gaze steady on hers. “I promise. I’m not all charm and jokes. We’re all a bit fucked up underneath, aren’t we? It’s just about findin’ someone you can be fucked up with.” He shifted, leaning in just slightly, not to flirt, but to assure, “There’s no tellin’ what we’ll learn about each other. But you don’t have to worry about scarin’ me off. No pressure here. None at all.” He paused for a beat, his voice somehow softer now. “I’m scared too, y’know… a lot of the time. About work, about leavin' home and me mum behind, about what comes next.. But I’ve been tryin’ real hard not to let it stop me from goin’ after what I want. Not after missin' out on football.. I won't make that mistake again.”
Then, because the air felt a little too heavy for a second, and because lightening it was as much habit as it was care, he bumped their shoulders together, grinning. “Besides, I’m from Moss Side. Some of my mates were proper bad news. I don’t scare easy.” His grin widened, teasing. “I can sit through all of Nightmare on Elm Street and only have to cover my eyes, like, twice.” The tension eased between them again as he laced his fingers fully through hers, linking their hands together without rush, without asking. Just sure.
“Well… Hughes is my last name,” he started, his thumb gently stroking her knuckles. “Mum’s name is Wendy. Dad’s Charles.. yeah, I’m a Jr. But no one’s allowed to call me Charles. Been Charlie since I were a baby.” He smiled at her, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Favorite color’s blue.. but it’s a very specific blue. I’ll point it out when I see it.” “My injury was already ten years ago now, but I have some nerve damage, so long shifts in the kitchen can be hell on it. And runs, but I still go on 'em.” His lips pressed together for a second before the smile returned, a little sheepish. “I love video games. Hate broccoli. Tried, can’t do it. Absolute sucker for sushi, though. And I’m annoyin’ to watch football with ‘cause I get loud like I’m right there in the stands.” He gave her fingers a soft squeeze. “I’m a bit uptight in the kitchen. I mean, my coworkers would probably say very uptight.” A chuckle pushed past his lips. “And I’m ridiculously competitive. Doesn’t matter what it is, cards, board games, coin toss.. I hate losin’.” Charlie leaned his head to the side, considering her with a smile that felt steadier now, more sure. “But I’m workin’ on it.” His thumb brushed lightly across her hand once more, his eyes meeting hers fully again. “Like I said… determined sort of guy.”
Signe glanced sideways at the voice, offering a small smile, an automatic response to being engaged in small-talk. She took a moment, her eyes drifting back to the canvas before she spoke. The subject of the painting was a female flamenco dancer, mid-dance. “It really is,” she agreed softly with a quick nod. “I think it’s acrylic, but the way the colors just melt into each other. It almost looks like watercolor. Like, they’re bleeding at the edges but still holding control.” Her green eyes remained fixed on the dancer’s dress. “It’s the skirt that got me. The way it moves…like it’s caught mid-spin. And that red! It’s layered with these deep crimsons and hints of coral and orange, but they all blur into each other without getting muddled.” She tilted her head, thinking through something. “I just keep wondering how you’d even begin to replicate that on real fabric. Not just print it–like actually dye it that way and make it look like that when it’s worn. It would have to be sheer…maybe layered? Something that picks up the light the right way…” Her words trailed off and Signe’s posture straightened, suddenly remembering her audience. “Oh my god, I am so sorry,” she laughed. “I’m telling you the painting hypnotized me. I did not mean to ramble on like that.”
mango bay art district sure lived up to the hype that echoed from the seasonal tourists that came and went , cataloguing their trips digitally through vlogs and various yelp reviews . clark had spent months researching the hub , calculating whether or not this would be viable to place roots down in . standing across from the works that graced the walls , he could see that is was all worth the effort . soon , this would be home . wandering mindlessly through the gallery , clark was drawn to a particular painting adorning the center of the room . more so , curious about the person standing in awe , gazing at it . a fellow artist ? an admirer ? someone to pick the brains of ? “ it's a beauty , isn't it ? ” he responds , artfully dodging her initial ask .
Signe Holmström had always been someone who carefully thought and planned through everything. Not that she was disingenuous, but she wanted people to like her. And so, she made sure to always put forward the best version of herself – the one that was nice, and polite, and charming and never too much, too soon. But being around Charlie, who was so transparent and forthcoming with her. It made it hard not to want to meet him in the middle and be just as authentic and unfiltered. Her cheeks flush at his admission, and she tilted her head, looking up at him like she couldn’t quite believe he was real. “You’re so dramatic,” she chided, but there was a softness in her voice. Behind her teasing there was a quiet kind of awe in the way she studied him. She let out an amused chuckle as he called himself flawed, raw affection curling through her chest. Flaws and all, she was really liking him, although it felt scary to say out loud. He laid out his future plans with that cocky, casual certainty that made her laugh again, warm and bright. “Not that I’m doubting your teaching skills,” she began. “But you’ve never seen me near a hot pan. Yet you’re so sure I’ll survive your cooking lessons.” Signe giggled again, and added quietly: “But I’m still looking forward to it.” Charlie pressed a kiss to her nose and her breath caught just a little. The absolute tenderness of it all was what truly did her in. She looked up at him, eyes flickering between his and his mouth for the briefest second, and then smiled shyly and averted her gaze. His playful accusation that she was trouble had her fighting a smile. It wasn’t fair at all, how quickly he had her guard down. He was trouble and she knew it, but she found that she didn’t really care. As they walked, she happily accepted the semla, but narrowed her eyes at him in playful suspicion. “You’re just trying to bribe me for a good post-date review,” she muttered, taking a bite anyway. As they walked alongside each other, Signe finishing the delicious semla and their hands finding one another, she found herself glancing around the the dwindling festivities. The night had been everything she’d hoped for and more. She just hoped that all the dates that followed would be the same. Signe leaned in instinctively at his little shoulder bump and smile. “Okay, fine,” she sighed, as if the topic was really taking its toll on her. “The ambiance was perfect, the company was disarmingly charming, and the date surpassed all expectations.” A beat where she cast a sideways glance at him. “But I do retain the right to edit my review for at least 24 hours after the date is done.” She gave his hand a squeeze as they made it to her front door, and then looked at him from under her lashes. “Because everyone knows—it’s all in the way the night ends that really seals the five-star rating.”
Charlie huffed a breath of a laugh, the kind that buzzed low in his chest and softened something in his expression as he looked at her. "Oh, I’m sayin’ it, alright. Loud and clear. You affect me, Signe Holström." He shook his head, thumb tracing small, unconscious circles through the fabric of her dress. "I’m holdin’ it together out here, but inside?" He let out a dramatic sigh, leaning in like he was telling a secret. "Total emotional devastation. I'm a goner. Done for. It’s a miracle I’m still standin’, really."
He smiled crookedly when she called him out, that spark of playful challenge catching in his eyes. “Perfect?” he echoed, shaking his head. “Nah, love. I ain't perfect at all. I’ve got flaws stacked higher than my wine rack. But I’m tryin’, swear down.. And that’s gotta count for somethin’, right?” The sound of her giggles as he scooped her up made his grin stretch wider, cheek pressed to her temple for a second, "Oi! I may not have been selfie-ready, but don’t think for a second I haven’t got our next few dates locked and loaded. I got it all planned out, Signe." He spoke, voice low, just for them, "Dinner. Movie. Me teachin’ you how not to burn garlic. You causin’ chaos in my kitchen."
Her whispered 'Yes, Chef' had his breath catching, low and rough like it had been punched right from his lungs. He murmured, shaking his head, eyes dark as they settled on hers, "You-.. are trouble, innit? You’re doin’ that on purpose.. Really tryin' to make me come undone here, ain't ya?" He smirked, "Whatever you want.. but that's for next time."
He reined himself in, the heat in his chest grounding as he looked around at the quieting party. Families packing up, the fire pit flickering low. Charlie dipped to press a kiss to the tip of her nose, the gesture far too gentle for someone who had just been threatening to fall apart entirely. "C'mon, love. Let's get you home before the chill sets in." As she helped him pack up their things, Charlie grabbed the last semla like a prize, handing it to her and then reached for her other hand as they walked along the sand. Fingers laced, warm and sure.
"You enjoy yourself tonight?" Charlie glanced over with a grin, bumping her shoulder with his. "Because now’s the part where I conduct your post-date interview. Very official stuff, you know. For quality assurance purposes... don't deny the people what they deserve, Signe."
#𝐁𝐲𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞: a study in soft things
The moment their lips met again, all of the doubt and hesitation seemed to disappear from Charlie as he pulled her close. The whole world floated away, and the only thing that was left was the dizzying sensation of his mouth on hers. He kissed her like she was something precious, like he’d been waiting to do it again from the second he stopped. When they finally broke away, Signe opened her eyes to see his still closed and the sight cleaved at something within her. He opened his eyes and laughed, low and quiet and the corners of her mouth tugged into a soft smile. God, he was going to be her undoing. And maybe it was too fast. Maybe it broke every unspoken rule she usually held herself to rigidly. But Charlie seemed to have a way of pulling all the caution out of her that bypassed logic and timelines and every hesitant script she usually followed. Signe should have been scared by how easily she could lose herself in this but all she felt was the quiet, heady thrill of wanting more. His whispers to her had her cheeks tinged pink, feeling the words settle in the part of her that still sometimes questioned if she was too much or not enough. He pulled back and with a crooked, playful grin asked for her favorite movie, casually, as if they’d been in the middle of a game of Twenty Questions or something. Her laugh came out a little breathless and she shook her head. “That’s what you’re going with after kissing me like that? My favorite movie?” Her eyes glittered with amusement as she just watched him for a moment. “You’re ridiculous,” she said softly, unable to stop smiling. “My favorite movie is called The Half of It. It’s about a queer Chinese-American girl and it’s a coming of age story and I saw so much of myself not just in the main character, but the supporting characters too.” It was a special story to her even if it was a more recent movie than some she’d watched and loved in her childhood. She glanced down at the hand still resting against her side and the soft drag of his thumb against her dress making goosebumps raise along her arms. Signe’s eyes lifted and watched as he took a drink from his water bottle, a wicked smile on his lips as he drank. Her eyes went a little unfocused as she zeroed in on his mouth, remembering the feel of it against her own and only snapped out of her thoughts when Charlie’s shoulder bumped against hers. She registered his words and his teasing smile and heat returned to her cheeks ( had it ever really left from the moment she entered his presence ? ). She fought a smile, knocking her shoulder against his. “Shut up,” she muttered under her breath, a little embarrassed at being caught staring, but not at all remorseful.
Once Signe’s hand found the side of his neck, Charlie didn’t think, he simply pulled her closer. The last shred of doubt, the fear that she might pull away, evaporated the second her mouth met his again, firmer this time, answering him with a tenderness that made his chest ache. There was no hesitation in the way he kissed her now, no lingering shyness, only this, only them, and the dizzying certainty that whatever this thing was between them, it was real.
He breathed out through his nose as they finally, reluctantly, pulled apart, his forehead pressing lightly against hers. Charlie’s eyes stayed closed a moment longer, as if trying to trap the feeling, the way she tasted like hope and the semla he’d spent the night before working on; the way the world seemed to tilt and steady all at once when she was in his arms. He forced his eyes open, and god, she’s looking at him like that, bright and unguarded. Like he’s something good. Like maybe she’s just as wrecked as he is. A breathless laugh escaped his lips without permission, the sound low and completely sincere. And then Signe’s hand slid down to rest against his chest, right over the place where his heart was thundering like it might break free. Charlie drew a slow, deliberate breath, hoping to steady himself and he knows, he knows, she can feel what she’s doing to him.
After all the years spent wandering from place to place, nights spent with people he hadn’t seen long enough to even learn their names, let alone remember them, Charlie had never felt anything like this, the gut-punch pull to stay. The need to memorize the way she flushed at a compliment, the way her smile tugged shyly at the corners before it bloomed into something brilliant. The need to know her, really know her. Charlie stayed still, like he was afraid even breathing too hard might break the spell between them. He tucked his head beside hers, huffing a shaky little breath against her hair, smiling against it because it’s either that or say something too raw, too soon. His fingers brush along her waist, slow. “You’re somethin’ else, Signe,” he says quietly, the words barely a whisper between them. Another breath. Another half-second where he almost says more. Where he almost tells her he’s never felt like this on a first date, never wanted to stay so badly it physically aches. But he swallows it down for now.
Instead, he leans back just enough to catch her eyes properly again, his forehead brushing against hers one last time as he grins, breathless and boyish and undeniably him. “I’m definitely startin’ to like responsibility,” he murmured, his voice low and playful. His arm tightened around her for just a moment before he peppered smaller, feather-light kisses along the slope of her cheek, a low laugh rumbling from his chest, half disbelieving, half proud. “And now that we got that bit sorted…” Charlie pulls back, finally giving them a tiny sliver of space, though his hand stays curled around her side, thumb tracing absent little patterns against the fabric of her dress. His grin sharpens, playful again but his eyes stay soft, drinking her in like he can’t look away. He bumps his nose against hers, that boyish, cocky spark reigniting in his eyes, “What’s your favorite movie?”
The question was so normal he almost startled himself, like he’s inviting her into some private joke that only the two of them know now. Charlie leaned back properly for the first time all night, just enough to put an inch or two of space between them, though his hand never fully left her. He scanned her face again, greedy for it, for the look of her cheeks still tinged pink, the way her eyes softened even when she laughed. Grabbing his water bottle from the blanket, Charlie took a sip, glancing at her as he did, his grin lingering around the bottle. There was a steadiness under the teasing now, something unmistakable. Something that said he wasn’t going anywhere. That whatever this was between them, this quiet, slow-blooming fire, he wanted to stay and see exactly where it led. He lowered the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and then, without missing a beat, bumped his shoulder lightly against hers, the grin tugging at his mouth unmistakable. “Careful, love.” Charlie says, voice low and teasing, “Keep lookin’ at me like that and I’m gearin' to start askin’ a lot more questions.”
@anchorsfm
Warrior Nun Season One Episode Five
Isaiah 30:20-21
resoluxe \ˈre-zə-ˌluks\ 1. the quality of resolving a challenge or decision with sophistication, elegance, and luxury.
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