The sun is setting on the horizon, painting the sky in spurts of soft orange and lilac. The green grass between their toes. And the fruity scent of her hair blowing in the breeze that he follows instinctively, reaching out to tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear.
Next to him she is quiet, as she often is when it is not just the two of them in the comfort of their homes. But he feels her leaning into his touch, and he holds on to that feeling of her against him. Warm cheeks, cold hands.
She wiggles her toes, painted a glittery nude colour, suddenly chuckling to herself.
“What?” he asks, finding himself smiling too. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing, just...” she trails off, looking up from her feet and into his eyes. “Just thinking about how happy I am when I'm with you. Like, I don't care if anything else happens. I'm just happy to be here with you.”
He has always been the more exuberant one between the two of them. They were both a little reserved in their own ways, but he's always been an energetic child who would spend his days running around with his friends, cackling in childhood bliss. He knows it's not easy for her to speak her mind, especially when half her life has been spent in the shadow of a brilliant and beloved sister, and under the unforgiving limelight, and the eyes of strangers who rarely bother to know better before they form an opinion of her.
But when it's just the two of them within four walls, she is loud and emphatic. Whether it's giggling at his jokes or sighing into his touches, she lets him know what's on her mind. She lets him keep her and all of her secrets. He would like to think that he's the one who brings out that side of her, helps pull her out of her own head.
You spend so much time with someone, you find themselves rubbing off on you, and you start letting go of some of your own -isms.
And as such, where he was once a rambunctious, overtly self-assured boy, she'd gone and made a mess out of him. He has a habit of running around after things that momentarily catch his eyes and let it consume him. To feel something, to be alive. But she puts him in his place and reminds him of the things that matter to him. She balances him out.
And in this moment, he knows this. No more running. This is it.
“Me too.”
The sun is setting behind them. The grass is soft under their feet. In her eyes, home. There is no need for him to run or hold back. Because she is here, with him, and together they will be here again tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.