#ww:drabble

[wvlfwife-blog]

rag & bone

EVEN THOSE BROKEN WILL EVENTUALLY BE FIXED BY THE HANDS OF TIME

I have you under my skin.

She used to whisper it incessantly under the hazy hues of post love-making light, with eyes closed and his name upon coral lips like a prayer. For she wants to commit the vow to memory, the presence of his voice, his eyes, that Smile-- to be within every shiver and every breath. He became a part of her like no one ever was. All of his perfect self covering her imperfections, his strength became hers, and she became whole.

But that was before. And this ( cold sheets, hurtful flinches ) is now.

Roseanne became a master in keeping her tears at bay. And even though pain has never been too far away in her life, it has never stung quite as much as when her husband stared at her with broken eyes, when her fingers fall just short of his skin -- he exists so far away from her now despite being in the same room. Only a breath away. He no longer exists under her skin, he tore himself away from her person.

Song Yixing was not a part of her anymore.

Too bad Roseanne Park did not know a world that did not involve her loving her husband wholeheartedly and without fail, despite the cold glances and awkward words -- her honey eyes could not help but to see the man she fell in love with. The man who caressed her under the moonlight, the man who held her hand as she was about to slip across the mossy floor of the rainforest; she saw that Yixing under his scars, under his cold, cold eyes.

“Darling.” She called, carefully knocking the door of the spare bedroom -- she refused to call it her ‘husband’s bedroom’. In her heart, they still shared a bed. “I have breakfast ready, come out when you’re ready...”

She left then, bare feet padding softly across their cozy living room, getting her morning routine started. Although this time, their three year old isn’t balanced on her hip, his crying and cooing didn’t break the still morning air. Her husband didn’t try to lift him off her arms-- already dressed with his hair impeccably off his face and wearing his reading glasses, the prophet in one hand and a cup of coffee on the other. She lamented sadly if they could ever be that way again.

A family. A proper one.

He did not surface throughout her breakfast. So she sat in the still of the morning with her mug of coffee, trying her best not to glance too much at his door. With a whispered goodbye, she went to work; as if her heart could fathom runes and symbols when she is so, painfully, not whole. Her other half lay broken worlds away from her, and she did not know how to reach him without losing him forever.

But Roseanne Park did a good job pretending. She held her tears at bay and did her research as best she could, ignoring the dull ache in her mind, heart, limbs, everywhere. She visited her son after work, spending a bit of time on Victoria Kim’s couch with a cup of tea as the elder offered words of sympathy. It did not dull her ache, but having her son smiling and laughing in his cousins’ arms did. He was too young to understand after all, and it was definitely for the best.

“He’s been eating well, I presume?”

“Hyojin seems to have the most fun trying to get him to eat things through various modes of muggle transportation... I think he likes the train the best.”

Rose laughed painfully. She wished that she could be the one telling this story, and not her son’s aunt.

Little Finley Song looked up at her with all the innocence in the world. His father’s eyes blinking up at her, the curl of his little mouth almost a perfect echo of her broken half. She nearly shed a tear.

The clock struck eight, and she realized that she had overstayed her welcome. So the young woman kissed her son goodbye -- he didn’t even cry for her anymore, and she thought her heart might break right then and there -- and headed home. Her quiet -- but never suffocating -- home in her mind as she apparrated away.

From one love of her life to another, Roseanne gently unlocked the door and tiptoed across the landing. ( always gently, for the slightest shocking noise would hurt her love -- and she would rather die than have him in pain because of her insensitivity ). She leaned against his door once more, calling out softly to him.

“I’m home darling,” She paused, not knowing what else to say but the obvious. “I love you.”

Sufficiently drained -- for a simple day of routines would do it for her these days -- she washed and got ready for bed. Slipping on one of her husband’s old quidditch t-shirts and clambered onto bed. If Rose would close her eyes and concentrate, sometimes she could still feel his weight on their bed beside her, his warm limbs draped over hers -- his breath tangled with hers. But that was many months ago, and even though she could never get used to sleeping alone, she had accepted her fate and would only hope and pray for the best.

Even if that meant living separate lives from her husband. Even if it meant breaking her heart beyond repair.

But as the night sank a darker -- and her eyes finally giving her merciful sleep -- she heard the unmistakable creak of her bedroom door, the soft padding of familiar steps and the onslaught of the scent that she had so missed.

Rose nearly turned her head to jump into his arms .But she did not, she stayed stock still, with eyes clamped closed and the incessant beating of her thundering heart ringing in her ears. The mattress sank a little under his weight, and after a second of hesitation warm arms slowly circled her middle, a warm torso pressed upon her back. Fingers in her hair, warm breath on the crook of her neck.

A shuddering breath made its way through her limbs, a light sob slipping out of her parted lips. She did not dare say a word, still -- but tears slipped out of her honey eyes. Tears of utmost happiness. His answer was slow, so softly hesitant. A small kiss on her shoulder blade, the fluttering touch of his lashes. She felt like she was exactly where she belonged, and her soul sang praises to the heavens for allowing her to feel such happiness.

Rose’s heart welled with inexplicable fullness as she closed her eyes.

For the first time in almost a year, she felt whole once more.

[wvlfwife-blog]

remedia amoris.

something in the way she moves

“Darling, we absolutely must go–”

“Just five more minutes, I don’t think it’ll be very wise of me to go to work right now… I would just fall asleep on my desk. That would be embarrassing, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes but we very well can’t spend the entire day asleep–”

“I don’t see you trying to leave… You could’ve thrown me off ages ago.”

All entwined, warm with lazy smiles and soft touches; she pressed her cheek against her boyfriend’s bare chest with a certain determination. A determination not to let her eyes stray to the clock above her bedroom door. Song Yixing had been trying ( and failing ) to persuade her to start her day– in order for him to start his. But it was a dreary Thursday in cloudy London, and after a late night meeting ( and the fact that her boyfriend didn’t let her sleep until much, much later ), Roseanne Park felt decidedly not ready to head down to study dusty parchments. Not when she could lay in bed and study something entirely different altogether.

Golden hair glowing bright in the early morning light like a halo above her head, she traced small constellations on his arm, lining long fingers with featherlight touches. Like this, in their quiet little space, she wouldn’t dream of being parted from him. Perhaps it was the blissful haze of a relatively new relationship, or perhaps it was the love coursing through pulsing hearts – but she had never quite felt this happy. Not even curled up under a blanket on top of the astronomy tower, Venus glowing above their heads, with Ovid on their lips.

“But I do have something to tell you,” She murmured, this time with an apprehensive edge in her voice. Roseanne blinked up to focus on his dark eyes, almost immediately assured.

“Mhm?”

“Mum called last night, she wants to know if you’d like to come round for tea on Sunday….”

Silence.

Rose could feel his rapidly increasing heartbeat under her cheek, and she knew just how fast his mind was whirring with one scenario or another; proposing several different choices of excuses, should he need them. But she propped herself on her front, crossing pale arms on top of his chest as she placed her chin on level with his. In her innocent mind, she believed that a sincere request accompanied by a few kisses might be enough to persuade him to relent.

“You know I tell them about you all the time! And you spoke to mum that one time on the phone when I was in the loo–”

“Yes darling, well it would be quite different meeting them in person.”

His voice shook slightly, and she could not help but to think it terribly adorable. The great adventurer Song Yixing, Slytherin Quidditch Team Captain, shook a little under the weight of her words. She smiled prettily under the soft glow through the small crack of her silver curtains, poking the space where his secret dimple lay hidden.

“Oh you know they’ll love you. They’re my parents, they have to.”

“Perhaps because they’re your parents, they would be inclined to think that their little princess deserves better…”

With a raise of her eyebrow, Roseanne blushed soft pink at the word ‘princess’ for what ever inexplicable reason.

“Better than you?” She asked softly, not willing to break their quiet space.

He frowned a little, a little mark marring the small space between his brows, and she could not help but to lean forwards to softly kiss the offending spot. Honestly, she could not think why one would not fall in love with him on the spot– and in moments of clarity, small bouts of courage prompted her to make her feelings clear.

“No one is better than you.”

And she believes those words implicitly, not in the innocently naive trusting way she used to in her teens – but in the loving belief that she had seen enough of the world ( and had known enough about herself ) to trust in her own opinions. Of course, it didn’t stop the all too familiar pink glow to spread across pale cheeks, deep and awfully warm. She could do nothing but clear her throat and try her best to not fluster her boyfriend even further.

“Is that so?”

A slow smile accompanied his rumbling low tone; Rose bit her lip as an effort not to giggle out loud. She tried her best not to look too effected by that secret smile, the one that always left her heart in stuttering in its wake.

“Mhm.” She answered quickly, forcing an easy smile across her lips. “All you have to do is convince them of it.”

The Smile stiffened.

“… Do your parents prefer red or white?” He paused, brows furrowing once more as dark eyes flitted across the room. “That’s a stupid question, it depends on what we’re eating–”

“Scones, darling!” She laughed, kissing his collarbone once before rolling off him and sitting up, stretching pale fingers to the ceiling and letting her head tilt back with a satisfied little sigh.

Oversized white shirt riding up bare legs, she patted his knee once and jumped off their bed, expertly dodging a stack of poetry books by the foot of the bed. Honey eyes flickering back to him over her shoulder, she felt her heart swell with prolonged happiness at the sight of him on her bed, disheveled dark hair and all. Her heart swelled with the thought that he was all hers.

“I’ll ring and say that we’ll be there in our Sunday best after breakfast–”

“Rosie– darling…”

“Hm?”

She turned to find him all flushed around the ears, the slow smile back on his face as he raised a hand to beckon her to him. He looked so soft underneath the early morning light – with half-lidded eyes and pretty parted lips – that Rose paused by the door, eyes willing him to continue.

“C’mere sweetling, come back to bed for a little bit.”

“But i have to start getting ready and breakfast still needs to–”

“Get back in bed right now so I can distract you.”

A chime of laughter, a smile riddled in disbelief – Roseanne Park pretended to be exasperated for a fleeting second before relenting ( far too quickly ) and claimed her spot on the bed by his side. Lazy kisses and soft touches resumed, as if they had all the time in the world to stretch love into countless Thursday mornings.

With cold fingers entwined, they decided with an exchange of sweet little smiles that pressing matters of the real world had no place between their tangled sheets.

[wvlfwife-blog]

lost and found,

their sunday morning vibes.

She woke up with a start-- a common occurrence as of late that left her feeling no less panic than she felt the first time dangerous words left her husband’s mouth. ( Her husband! She thought, the only light that could ever come out of perilously dark circumstances ). He whimpered and cried in his sleep, and she did not wait another second before engulfing him in her arms, splaying dainty fingers through his downy locks as she willed calmness and quiet back into his mind -- for him to be fully her’s again, for him not to be consumed by dangerous events that had such an intense hold on her nerves. But she wasn’t the soft, lilting angel she was when he first laid his hands on her at sixteen. Roseanne Park thought she is much stronger than that now, a strange coincidence that she always felt so in his company.

( perhaps he was destined to make her stronger, whilst she must stay so for his sake )

But with all the love in her heart, the strong will of her mind; she wants nothing more than to lay all of the strength she possessed just for the hope that it will all be okay. The he will be okay. That the demons that might consume him from the inside might be defeated by sheer will and might leave him happy, content, and whole -- her only wish.

Roseanne Park did not know how to not love Song Yixing with all her heart.

You’re here, she whispered, his name on her lips like a trusted prayer. You’re safe, love.

Perhaps it was the old look in his eyes, or maybe the secret smile that he held that made it all the more easier for her to continue on. In her small space, the miniscule breadth of the world that was her own -- she now shared with him, amidst piles of books and potted plants. Their love grew and bloomed like the roses he had grew in her name, the stanzas that she whispered beneath rumpled sheets. Affection and testaments of love and devotion did not fall behind, for it was behind every breath, every word; within the space between beating hearts.

It was that morning when she first referred to her husband as her husband did he answer with the most brilliant of smiles. His secret dimple not so much a secret anymore -- at least not to her -- for it became her’s as well, just as all of her became his, just how she would like to stretch the moment into the rest of eternity.

“Remember, you can’t say that in front of other people, sweetling. At least not until we tell your parents about the engagement.”

“Oh-- you mean when you tell them about our engagement?”

He stayed silent for a bit, a slight crease marring his otherwise beautifully smooth face. She had to resist the urge to run over and claim his lips -- she didn’t resist strong it enough it seems, for she had flitted over to do so before running back to make sure she didn’t burn her eggs. The small bliss was so welcomed amidst the stormy thoughts in her mind and the constant fear in her heart, the thought only caused her to grip the spatula a little tighter between pale fingers.

“You should go call.”

With a silent nod, her husband reached over for his phone and used clammy fingers to dial -- his eyes burning a little hole to the back of her head, nerves palpable in the easy Sunday morning air. She had to hold back a trail of laughter, pleased at least in the array of berating reproach that will undoubtedly be directed towards her lover; as if it’s the only ( playful ) revenge she could act upon after all the grief he had put her through.

“Marcus! Hello, good morning, how are you?”

She giggled at the obvious nerves that had cut through the peaceful air. Eyes focused on her bacon, but ears trained on the conversation happening behind her.

“Oh, just your way home from church, how marvellous.”

He cleared his throat then, and she had to remove the whistling kettle in order to hear him better.

“Well... I do hope I’m not being awfully untoward, or rather- I have to apologize for not approaching you first as per tradition-”

Rose sat herself cheerfully on the dinning table her feet dangling off the edge after she knocked a few books off of a well placed stack. A knowing smile stretching her lips.

“But I have asked your daughter to marry me, and she had said yes. I was wondering if it might be possible for us to have your blessing.”

A pause. His pupils trembled a little as they searched for her’s; a light suspension of breath in the room. She unconsciously leaned forwards in hopes of catching her father’s response.

There was a little whoop of glee, loud enough for even her to hear, accompanied by loud cheering and clapping in the background. Her mother, it seems, had been informed of the news.

“Oh! Well, thank you very much - I’d have to say that I’m very much relieved... And yes, we’re still coming for tea at five... I’m sure we have lots to talk about-”

A smug smirk, dark teasing eyes. She would’ve scoffed and slapped him on the shoulder if she didn’t find it so attractive. But with a little sigh of resignation, the now twenty-five year old blonde hopped off her dining room table and sauntered back to her cooking, only slightly disappointed at her father’s reaction to the prospect of losing his baby daughter to another man. She had to admit that she wished he had reacted somewhat stronger than he did.

The little pout slipped off her face as warm arms encircled her waist from behind, the familiar scent that was so fully him made her thoughts hazy with the frantic beating of her heart. After all these years. A low chuckle near her ear, the small kiss on her cheek, it’s difficult to hold on to annoyance when love became the reasoning to every breath.

“What? Did you expect him to hex me over the phone?”

“I thought he’d at least wonder if we were living in sin and you decided to put a baby in me before having our relationship acknowledged in front of God.”

“Darling, we were living in sin.”

She laughed a little, endlessly thankful that her parents weren’t aware of their current living situation. Her father would have an altogether different reaction if they knew, no matter how much they loved their future son-in-law.

“...Although he did mention something about ‘finally getting grandchildren’-- I don’t think he’s very happy with your sister at the moment.”

“They haven’t been for a while now. She keeps dating inexplicable men who all had the same commitment issues...”

“Well then aren’t you glad that you landed such a catch?”

Finally turning off the stove and putting her utensils down, Roseanne Park turned in her lover’s arms to place a deep kiss on his plush lips, standing in tiptoes to lean herself into his embrace. She kissed her with all the love she had, all the love she could muster -- all of her, displayed on a gilded platter for him to consume for the rest of time. Strong as she is ( all thanks to him ), she could not deny that her heart is still weak to his voice, those eyes, that secret smile ; she would not have it any other way.

“Of course I am. You’re all I ever need.”