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1. In the Garden
You had dirt under your nails and a smudge of soil on your cheek when you strung the paper lanterns between the trees.
Muriel didn’t say anything. He never did when you got into one of these moods.
He admired how inspired you got when you came up with an idea. How the very thought of its execution could fuel you to move fast and eager. Barely finishing one sentence before starting another.
Your hands always got involved. Sketching things midair or grabbing the nearest scrap of paper to scribble on. Sometimes you'd trip over your own words, trying to explain everything all at once. Sometimes you wouldn't bother explaining at all. You'd just start doing, and he'd watch you, quietly, as if witnessing a storm turn to sunlight.
Even if he didn’t always understand the vision right away, he loved how much you did.
And this was one of those times.
Muriel watched you work, one brow faintly lifted, his arms folded over his chest like he was pretending not to smile. You lit the lanterns one by one as the sun dipped behind the treetops, casting a soft golden glow over the slightly over-grown garden.
The crickets had started their evening opera. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and crushed mint. You turned toward him, still barefoot, and reached out your hand.
He waited to see if you really wanted him to join you or if you were reaching for something beside him. His eyes flicked to your fingers, to the dirt still streaked on your skin, to your smile.
He had no other choice. He took your hand.
The dance wasn’t graceful. It could barely even be called a dance.
The two of you were engaging in a sort of slow sway. Rocking gently, being careful not to get tangled among the tomato and pumpkin vines. Your head was pressed against the side of his chest. He didn’t speak, but you felt the way his hand adjusted on your back, cautious at first. Then steady. Then warm.
You heard him exhale, long and low, like it had been sitting in his chest all day waiting for a moment like this.
2. With the Rain
The rain hadn’t stopped for hours.
You loved days like these. Foggy and sleepy. Misty and magical.
Today was the kind of day where the forest felt like it was holding its breath. Waiting for something gentle to happen.
You had spent a good portion of the day just watching the rain streak down the windows, admiring how it pooled in the grooves of the sill. The fire crackled nearby, casting long shadows against the walls. The whole hut smelled like rosemary and broth.
Muriel had just finished sharpening his axe when you placed an old record onto the player. The melody crackled to life: slow, mournful, and sweet. Something from long ago, before either of you were born. You turned to him, grinning. “Dance with me.”
He looked at you like you’d suggested he wrestle a bear.
He crossed the room in a few strides and let you take his hand. The other hovered uncertainly at your waist before settling there, carefully. You moved together slowly, the rhythm barely more than a heartbeat between you. You could hear the rain patter against the roof. You could feel the tension slowly melt out of his shoulders.
At some point, you rested your head beneath his jaw. He made a sound—barely audible—but it felt like an acceptance.
3. Late in the Kitchen
Dinner had come and gone. The dishes were half-done, flour dusted the floor, and there was a forgotten smear of jam across your wrist. You were humming under your breath as you dried your hands, swaying a little to the tune coming from the charm-radio tucked on the shelf.
You didn’t expect Muriel to feel take your hand.
He’d crossed the kitchen silently and now stood there, tall and warm and completely confident in himself. He glanced away once, almost shy, but didn’t then he smiled.
And then you danced.
There wasn’t much space to move, and your socked feet kept slipping on the wood floor. You bumped into the counter. He almost stepped on Inanna. You laughed and he gave you a look like he was trying not to. You caught a corner of his mouth twitch upward.
Then his hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer.
“You’re warm,” you murmured, resting your forehead against his chest. He made a small sound in response. Contented. Maybe even happy.
4. In the Snow
The storm had crept in quietly, dusting the trees and the rooftop in white. When you stepped outside, the snow was still falling. Thick, silent flakes that turned the whole world into a whisper.
You meant to just feed the birds. Maybe scatter a few seeds, check on the little feeder, and return before your fingers went numb.
But, just as you were shuffling back inside, you found a tiny music box on the windowsill. Probably Asra’s doing. You wound it up, and a delicate melody began to play, almost too soft to hear over the snow. You turned toward Muriel, who had just joined you on the porch, bundled up and red-nosed.
You offered your hands. “Dance with me.”
His brow furrowed, just slightly. “Out here?”
You shrugged. “Why not?”
He took your hands, his gloves rough and warm. You began to move together, boots crunching softly in the snow. It wasn’t much of a dance; just small circles, slow steps. The kind of movement that kept you warm and close. It was something akin to what a pair of mated peguins would do to keep themselves from freezing.
You tripped a little, and he caught you had even noticed you slipped. His arms stayed around you afterward, steadying. You looked up at him. His eyes were soft.
He didn’t let go.
5. After-Bath Firelight
The bath had left your skin warm and your limbs loose. Your hair was damp, your sleeves too long. Muriel had changed into something soft; a wool shirt you liked on him, the collar slightly askew. He sat on the floor, one knee drawn up, a hand resting casually on the hearth beside him.
You warmed a little music stone by the fire. When it began to hum, slow and low, you stood and extended your hand toward him.
He looked up at you. “Now?”
“There’s no one else to see,” you said.
He took your hand. Slowly, he rose, and you guided him into a dance in the glow of the firelight. The music wrapped around you like steam. Your feet barely moved. The world felt far away, like it had pressed pause.
You rested your forehead against his and leaned in. His fingers curled more securely around your back.
“I like this,” he said quietly, after a long moment.
You smiled. “Me too.”
And the dance went on.