Cervan woke up in the morning and turned to face Avelyn. She was still sleeping. He kissed her nose and she woke up, like magic. Her eyes fluttered open at the touch of his lips and Avelyn smiled. It was his favorite trick. She was like one of her paintings, breathtaking.

“Good morning,” she whispered. He nodded, brushed the curls out of her eyes wordlessy.

Avelyn hummed happily, leaning into the touch. He managed to smile slightly.

A glance at the far clock past her shoulder, hung on the wall. He carefully climbed out of bed and helped her sit up. “It’s six in the morning,” he told her, and hefted her in his arms. He cradled her to his chest. She got lighter; Cervan pocketed that thought.

His back ached, a warning. He grunted, but didn't falter.

He was forty-two years old, his hands were still quick but his back was weary.

He looked down at her face, she was watching him closely. Her honey brown eyes weren't judging, they were just. Concerned.

“Put me down,” she then demanded just before they reach the kitchen, scowling now. Her words were slurred with sleep. He huffed, face set. His fingers twitched, but his arms remained steady.

“Put me down,” she insisted, starting to wriggle.

“I'm fine,” Cervan said stubbornly. Avelyn didn't believe a word.

“Love,” Avelyn hissed, eyes fierce and blazing now; he couldn't remember the last time he saw her this angry, “put me down.”

He acquiesced. He laid her down on the couch. Avelyn sat up with a frown. He gazed at her, and her face softened.

“I'm not that old.”

She laughed, one that made her shoulders hike up slightly and her eyes close and crease at the corners. “No,” she breathed, “no, you're not, but your back is.”

“That's the same thing,” he argued, fingers curling around hers.

She smiled, fond. “No, it's not. You're a very handsome young man.”

Cervan nearly melted. He knew what she was doing. “You're beautiful.”

She laughed again. "Will you play piano for me, my love?"

His lips quirked up, and he caressed her cheek tenderly. "Of course, darling."