you could break my heart in two, but when it heals, it beats for you
She cannot know what it is Brigade cannot tell her, only that it is impossible for him. He begins twice and can say nothing more and though her topaz eyes trace the hardness in his features (relaxed as he is, she sees him there: the citadel with gates shut tight) Kensa does not press. She does not give him too much softness, lest he feel pressured by a show of syrupy understanding. A little quiet settles between them —not uncomfortably—and then she nods once and slightly. Accepting his mystery, what secrets he may need to keep for himself.
Until whenever or never.
Naturally she is curious but she is protective too, of this man, the budding feelings between them. One day she may press, but the purpose or necessity of that is far beyond her tonight.
Kensa laughs when she feels the smile on his lips and warmth spreads down her neck and over her shoulders, a little wildfire. She would rather kiss him again that tell her silly stories or embarrass herself to her serious Brigade, but they come apart in time for her to keep talking instead.
When she told him about the filly who had to be first, there is a fullness in his voice, and warmth radiates off his body when he holds her blushing to himself. She will take him there, stand with him in the wildflowers and look toward horizons they may never touch. She does not know what he will do or say there, if he will stand and watch or leap from the ridge to try his wings from those heights but she wants to. She wants to live a million moments with Brigade, to wonder at his wildness day after day.
She curls into him, so that her blonde poll is tucked beneath his strong wine-red jaw. Into her ears his words fall. They are hers alone, first yes, but that is not why her heart hammers or her eyes burn. “You are so incredibly beautiful, Brigade.” She breathes this in an awed whisper before drawing back to kiss the tender line of his jaw once and slowly.
Kensa
[brigade]
