despite what anyone might assume, being in a relationship with anaxagoras came as easy as breathing.

was it the fact that you were disgustingly, head over heels in love with him? probably (definitely). but you knew he loved you just as much. even when you hadn’t quite crossed the boundary of your relationship past hand holding.

is this what the kids called “first base?” you didn’t know. the weight of his hand on you was always warmer than the sun, and you would be content with it till he decided he needed more.

but still, longing was a weed– taking root in your heart and fast growing as ever. you’d never push anaxagoras for what he didn’t want, not in your entire lifetime, but somehow, somewhere, you could tell that he craved for your touch too. stoic as he was, he’d never voice out his feelings, but luckily for the both of you, you were fluent in the language of him.

the breeze blew past pleasantly tonight, sifting through your hair like the caress of a lover. you were in the garden of the grove, back resting against the bark of a tree that spread out to cast shade in the cool night. anaxagoras sat by your side, as usual, with his nose buried into a scroll you assumed he’d picked up during his research.

“anaxa,” you murmured, your head tilted to take in the moonlight covering him like a silvery blanket.

“anaxagoras,” he corrected, on auto pilot, it seemed. you smiled. your hands reached up, gently pulling the scroll away so he’d look at you. and when he did, your face grew warmer with something you could only call bashfulness.

“I had a thought,” you started tentatively, watching him carefully for his reaction. but oh, you knew your anaxagoras always wore his meticulously crafted mask, never letting anyone catch him off guard. you wondered briefly if you’d get that chance today.

“I want to kiss you,” you said finally, the words out in the open, stilling the air like you might as well have uttered blasphemy. but then again, that was sort of his thing. he stared at you, his lone silver-pink eye scrutinizing your expression, trying to hide the flicker (surprise? hope? longing? you didn’t know) that passed it.

“you want a kiss,” he repeated carefully, as if tasting the words for the first time. you wouldn’t be surprised if that really were the case. “you realize,” his voice cut off your thoughts, “that such affections are a rather futile endeavour?” you couldn’t help but smile. because even when his words were meant to be sharp, he was already leaning closer to you to grant your wish.

“I know,” you murmured. “indulge me anyway.”

he sighed, as if this were a cumbersome request, as if he wasn’t cupping your cheek already to pull you into his orbit. “you’re a troublesome thing,” he whispered, his lips a hair’s breadth from yours. you smiled. “you love me anyway.”

and when your lips pressed against his, you finally realized what it means to be whole.