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Caged in too long, she climbs the walls. No literally. She's stood on the windowsill above my head right now. There's a spider on the ceiling and she's either rescuing it or ensuring its sudden demise.
Who am I kidding, of course she's rescuing it. A spider couldn't scare her. She wants to set it free.
"It's a house spider, Amber, it's probably happy up there."
"But what if he's bored? There's nothing to look at up here. I'll move him down onto the plant where it's more interesting."
Typical of Amber to even help insects reach their full potential.
Am I the only one who is resistant to her optimism? Gods, I struggle to even spell the word.
It's not that I'm un-enchanted by her. (Because I am; I've been completely under her thrall since the day we met.) It's that I have no idea what she sees in me.
Me. The proverbial spider in the dark corner, resisting her outstretched hand- the offer of change and excitement.
I'm trying not to look up as she tightrope walks barefoot across the sill. She's all peachy legs from this angle. The soft blonde fuzz across her calf catches the light of the overhead bulb. (A daylight bulb. She made me install the thing for my 'mental health'. I hate the cold light it sheds on everything. It feels clinical. Only Amber can glow under it, while I squint- bacteria caught in a Petrie dish, unwilling to be studied up close.)
The smell of her moisturizer lingers as she hops down. Apricots and honey. She's all light-footed grace, like gravity bends to her will. (It probably does.) I try not to flinch or grimace as she ushers the (fucking massive) spider on to a lily in the corner.
"That thing is big enough to be paying rent." I stare at it with narrowed eyes, trying not to feel ridiculous at the pang of jealousy I feel as it lingers in her palm, cradled and protected.
Amber is grinning, and it takes me a moment to realise she's directed that beam on me. It's warm and eye-watering, the first ray of morning sun through a gap in the blinds, beautiful and uncomfortable in equal measure.
I can never measure up to this radiance.
All the same, once the spider reluctantly steps it's (far too many) little feet from skin to leaf, Amber closes the distance between us. Bare legs straddle my thighs like it's the most natural thing in the world, and I catch my breath. This is still so new.
Everything about her is a vibrant contrast to me. Her golden hair shines, sleek and soft, while mine is mussed, mousy and dull; her dress a belligerent red, demanding to be seen, puts my grey knit jumper to shame. She scratches short nails along my jawline, wrinkling her nose at the texture of my beard. I haven't shaved since she first kissed me. We've been in a daze ever since, lingering in the limbo of my half-decorated flat, surrounded by streaks of paint samples on the otherwise stark white walls. (She insisted I try this ghastly shade of orange and this god-awful pink.)(I can never tell her I actually like the pink.)
For a daring moment, I allow myself to imagine our future together. Being woken up horribly early by her enthusiastic singing and acrobatics. Her faithful manservant, cleaning up after her hurricane; clothes dropped on the floor in random places, dishes left unwashed, curling wood chips from her latest masterpiece, and oh so many tasks left unfinished half way through, abandoned in the pursuit of something else that has caught her attention.
Fuck I hope I am not one of those tasks. How long can I hold her dazzling attention before she rises on someone else's horizon, leaving me in the dark?
"Stop it." She's frowning at me. Her tawny eyes so much sharper than mine.
"Stop what?" Hah. Like she can't read my thoughts.
"You're panicking again. Overthinking."
"Me? Surely not." I give her a wry smile and she shakes her head with a fond smile.
Fond. I made her look that way. How must I look at her? Like she keeps the Earth spinning on the correct axis?
"Fitz." My name is strange in her mouth. It's made of too many corners. Clumsy and uncomfortable. She shouldn't be with a Fitz. Not when Althea or Paragon are right next door, willing to roll off her tongue like syrup.
"FitzChivalry!" She kicks the side of my leg with her foot, her hands sliding up to hold either side of my head. (Idiot sandwich.) "Stop being awful to yourself. I won't have you bullying my beloved."
"Beloved?" I am all round eyes and terrified hope.
The warmth of her mouth over mine is sudden and elating. I feel the pieces of myself slide back together. Leaves settling on the surface of water. Caught in her gentle current.
I'm as enveloped in her as the spider was. What teetering windowsill is she balancing on to coax me out of my corner? I let my arms fold around her, supporting her as firmly as she's supporting me.
We kiss for a long time. Gentle but sure. My touches stop being questions as I let myself start to believe this is real. Tomorrow we'll walk along the river together. I'll hold her hand and buy her apricot pastries from the bakery. Beloved.
By morning, the spider has made itself a web in the leaves of the lily. It catches the sunlight pouring in through the window. Amber's dusty footprints are outlined on the sill, surrounded by wood shavings and speckles of paint. For once I don't wash them away.