Micah’s smirk seemed permanent as he stabbed at the tree with his knife — creating jagged lines which soon formed his initials. Right above them were your own; and soon, the first letters of your names were trapped within a rather crude heart.

“And you say I ain't romantic,” Micah spoke slyly in his usual drawl, arm slithering its way around your waist to pull you into his side; his facial hair scratching your skin as he firmly kissed your temple.