Six of crows imagines

'One more?'

"One more?"

"Y/n, i've already played you three songs," he said, chuckling lightly. He wasn't reprimanding you, and the faint smile on his lips suggested just that.

He had been playing his flute all afternoon, with you listening closely on the couch, eyes barely open as you let yourself be transported by the music. It took you so far away and yet you never moved once; Wylan was capable of that magic.

Or maybe it was just the love you had for him, so pure and strong it made magic possible. You didn't know and you couldn't honestly care less, not as you opened your eyes to look at the red curls of the boy in front of you, framing his own eyes as he set the instrument on the table.

He got up from his own armchair to cross the space that divided you, and in that moment another song was the last thing you wanted: you wanted to lay in his arms, play with his hair, bask in his presence. It was enough, it was more than enough; it was perfect.

"Oh but you know i love hearing you play," you said as you outstretched your arms to welcome him on the couch. He laid down with his head on your lap, legs loosely hanging over the sofa's armrest.

"And you know i love playing for you," he countered. You smiled down at him as he brought one hand up to caress your face; such a tender gesture that had you wondering what you'd done to deserve him. "But you'll get tired of it if i play it too much, don't you think?"

"I highly doubt it," you huffed, carding your fingers through his hair. "I would just fall more in love with you, with every single note."

"Then i better take back the flute," he said as he tried to get up but you were quick to hold him in place, swiftly placing your hand on his chest.

"I suppose we can wait one minute more," you whispered, going back to your previous activity, brushing his hair with your light fingers. "So that you can take a break."

He took your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it gently. "I suppose you're right."