The Hidden Spirits of a House

She watched him. Her eyes were that golden brown that was characteristic of her colony, like sunlight. These eyes had watched him for as long as he could remember. They watched him when they first met in the attic. They watched him when they would lie on their backs and dream about the outside world. They watched him when he pulled up the supplies to build the fort that they stood in now. They watched him in the prison cell. They watched him by the water.

And they watched him now.

She was quiet before she rested her forehead against his gently, her hand falling to cup his jaw instead.

"Well, then. I suppose we're bound together, you and I."

 

Her nose brushed his and she watched him, her thumb brushing his cheekbone.

"Always. It's always been you."

 

She kissed him back slowly, gently and tentative at first. The thrill shot through her, and she pulled back for a moment and gave him that cheeky smile.

 

She laughed, her hands curling against his chest.

“And it only took 10 years.”

 

“Oh?” Dahlia asked, pulling away and going over to the stove to ladle him some of the soup that waited there. “When did you figure it out?”

 

She brought him back a bowl of soup, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Oh, come on. There has to have been a moment."

 

She reached over and rubbed his back gently, finding the tenseness that had built up over the day.

“Like not wearing a coat?”

 

“Sure it is,” she replied eagerly. “Or, at least, you’re able to love me in spite of it.”

 

She laughed, raising an eyebrow.

“Why couldn’t you say that you loved me before?”

 

“But... I told you I loved you. You never said it back.”