Slick hands pull and press arms to shape rhythm between us. Watching people, lighted shops, and tan cobblestone blur with our swinging steps. The air is thick, but we breathe in tandem.
He joins me in the chair, but before settling, our eyes are turned to Jane and she lays across our laps. I bury my face in his neck, he eases my hand into his. Three breathe exhausted breaths. Then Ren chuckles.
"What's up?" Jane asks.
He explains the sensation of my fluttering lashes against his cheek. Butterfly kisses.
When Jane left, he spreads my fingers to interlace with his, then wraps his other arm around me to repeat on the other side. The sound of his slow breathing and slight movement of his body soothes my senses to blur my consciousness.
His hazel green eyes. His forehead against mine. Another tickle fight ignites as we both reach out to grab at the other's waist. We challenge each other with meaningless conversation:
"Lena, why are you attacking me?"
"I'm not attacking you, Ren. It was you who tickled me first!"
"Are you sure about that?"
"Of course I'm sure!"
"Lena, you should really calm down."
"I am calm!"
The struggle always ended with his hands gripped around my wrists. We breathe hard from the playful exertion. I always tried to slip my hands out to grab his instead, but that never lasted too long and he would cautiously release me after I promised not to tickle him.
I feel the impact of my elbow against his jaw. After the momentum of the last move dissipates, I instinctively hug him, my left cheek pressed against his.
"I'm so sorry."
"It's okay."
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