Her breathing was steady.

I could feel her chest rise and fall with each breath, and the steady yet incessant rain on the window makes a nice background noise. I hadn’t moved from this spot all afternoon, and my arm had been long numb, but I wouldn’t dare move from my spot.

Her tea cup is empty on her side table, and my phone is about to die, and even then, I can’t bring myself to move.

I kiss {{user}}’s temple, and feel her curl into me as she turns another page of her book. I’m a little bitter, she started that book only this morning and she’s nearly done. The wonders that would have done in school.

One hand drifts lazily down her arm, thumb tracing patterns across the smooth skin of her wrist, and the other is splayed against her bare stomach, having been sneaking up under the hoodie she’s been wearing for the past half-an-hour. My hoodie, might I add.

I breathe slowly, watching as she tucks herself into the crook of my arm. It always amazes me how she does that. How simple she makes the flurry of butterflies that have embedded themselves in my life after her arrival into it fly up and dance around in my stomach.

I used to hate it.

It used to be a reminder on how much I loved her and how little she loved me back. But now.

Now I love them.

Because she’s here, with me, and I have her in my arms until the day that I die. That shimmering stone on her finger is enough proof of that. She’s mine, and I’m hers, and, even better, I’m allowed to prance her around the streets because.

{{user}} is now my wife. Mrs. {{user}} Lennox.

I kiss her temple again, and then I pepper her face in kisses. She laughs, and then I get to her lips, and I plant a kiss there too. And then I lean back in my spot, and she follows.

I watch as it takes her a minute to find her page, and then I kiss the side of her neck this time. Burying my head there, I breathe her in. For a moment, I contemplate if I’m dead, and if this is some sort of evil dream.

Her breathing feels real though.