Storm.

Part Six

"No, Vico! Put me down!" Ariadne's shrill voice screeched across the meadow, accompanied by a continuous stream of laughter in a baritone, complimenting her soprano. "Alright, alright!" He smiled, dropping her gently into a bed of lavender flowers, and then rolling onto his back, as the pair lay shoulder-to-shoulder amongst the florets, staring up at the bright blue sky together, through a haze of yellow-green leaves. After a moment of comfortable silence, Vico turned to look at Ariadne, shifting his weight onto his right forearm so that he could better observe her. Pale green light, filtered through the trees above them, hit her brown skin at just the right angles, displaying her sharp cheekbones and clear skin. She opened her eyes, squinting up at him, the green in her eyes exposed due to the abundance of light in this secluded meadow.

She reached up, grabbing his left hand and, lacing the fingers of her right hand through his, looked at their joined hands in the sunshine with a curious look on her face, brows slightly furrowed, but with a visage of tranquillity. They were now in a position where his body was right next to hers, his face casting a shadow on hers, his torso angled just over hers. Soon, she found herself lost in his eyes, as though the beauty of the entire meadow around them was to be seen only in his ocean-blue irises. "Ari..." his hoarse voice whispered, laden with pain for some reason, strangely pensive despite the euphoria of the moments before. "Shhh, Vico, shhh." And he did, because she had that power over him. No questions asked, just 'shhh'. Her being was just that: soothing, calming, perfect. He never worried when he was around her. Never stressed. It was magnetic – being around her was addictive. It was easy to become dependent on her narcotic being.

He wished this moment could last forever. He wished they could remain in this bubble forever, co-existing, staring into each other's eyes, silent but sharing their souls with one another. And then she did what was as unexpected as it was expected; she leaned up and kissed him. And it was one of those kisses that can't be described. The kind that shouldn't be described. The ones that are so heartfelt and private, they shouldn't be expressed to anyone else, for fear of soiling the purity of the memory. For fear of distorting it with crude, crass words that could never fully capture the true, raw, rhapsodic moment in a way that would do it justice. No, this kiss was private because it was indescribable. It made him feel everything at once. It was all the sensations in the world. It was paradoxical, ecstatic, and honest. It was perfection.

They pulled apart, and he yearned for her not to let go, for the moment not to end. For time to freeze, and for them to remain in that memory, reliving it over and over for the rest of eternity. But they separated, their physical bodies a heart-wrenching three millimetres apart. Three millimetres too far. An unspoken agreement passed between them. They weren't dating, or 'talking', or even soulmates, because putting a label on the connection they had would reduce it to less than what it was, would reduce this supernal liaison between them to something horrendously mortal and ordinary. What they had was more than that, and it couldn't ever be expressed with common words.

And so they remained in the meadow, neither daring to mention leaving, because it would break the thin veil of the bubble they were encapsulated in, and allow reality to filter into their perfect universe.