Separate names with a comma.
The next morning, Ophelia was pulling the sheets off the bed, her hair pulled back.
He shook his head, looking a little troubled as he leaned back against the pillows. I don't like it when you're away either."
(Zoop?)
"I love you too," he replied quietly, brushing her hair back. "I missed you."
She kissed his jaw gently before closing her eyes again, snuggling up to him.
He kissed her back, his shoulders slumping in relief as his arms encircled her waist.
She laughed a little. "Well... in that case, I think you're perfect too," she said, looking up at him, the edge of her tattoo exposed from under...
"I'm not in the mood to die," he told her gently. "Don't fret. I'll be safe."
"That's not true," she mused sleepily. "I have a temper and I'm mean when I'm tired, and I'm stubborn..."
"When it comes to my work," he said slowly, folding his hands in his lap. "Anything I tell you to do, you have to do. Obviously, I won't ask you...
She flushed a little, but looked pleased with this response, resting her head against his heart again. "Good."
He pressed his lips against her temple gently, considering this. "I suppose that's okay. I have one more thing, Fleur."
She looked at him sleepily. “Was that better...?
He didn’t pull away, watching her fondly. “Nothing? What if I come home to you and I’m covered in tree sap?”
He would hear her drowsily murmuring, her voice soft. “I love you, Abel,” she said sleepily, turning her face into his shoulder. “I love you.”
He watched her before leaning back in the pillows. “Any other negotiations?”
It had come loose from her braid, and it was slipping through his fingers gently. Ophelia herself was half-asleep, her head nodding slowly as...
“You say that like you’re joking,” he said smoothly, “but it is serious.”
