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Description
1 Kristofer

"What are you doing here?"

The look of horror on her face was enough to send his heart flying into his throat. She was clutching a squirming infant to her chest as she stared at him from the yard, and he couldn't bring himself to walk through the gate. Something about the hardness of her expression made him regret his decision to come home, forced his feet to stay firmly on the sidewalk. All of a sudden, in the few moments since she'd noticed him, he felt like an intruder, an outsider to the life she'd obviously been living despite his absence. It took great effort for him to tear his eyes off her, to survey the yard and gardens set neatly in front of the cozy house. Nothing was perfect; she had anything but a green thumb, but it was tidy.

"You look well," he said, the phrase falling awkwardly from his lips before he had a chance to stop them. The truth was she looked more than well. She looked fantastic compared to the image he'd built up in his mind.

Incredible compared to the way he'd left her.

Nothing about that day he'd left had skipped his memory. Everything, down to the last, impossible detail, was etched into his mind so clear and crisp that he sometimes doubted how long he'd been away. Even as he stood there he began to realize that what he'd taken to be an infant was in fact a toddler; a dark haired little boy clutching at his mother's shirt as he warily watched the stranger across the yard. Something in his gut twisted at the sight of the boy's bright eyes and the understanding of time gone by. Her question still hung in the air between them, thick and heavy as it crushed in on him. There was no avoiding it, no escaping that cold accusation. He'd made the conscious choice to come back. Why he'd ever thought his leaving in the first place would be forgotten he couldn't quite figure out.

Shoving his hands into his pockets in an attempt to ease his nerves, he took that small step through the gate and raised his eyes to hers. "Can I come home?" He asked it slowly, cautiously, as if he were a child in fear of being scolded fervently. He watched as his words washed over her and a million things passed through her eyes. She didn't say anything, gave no shake of her head or shrug of her shoulders. She simply turned around and walked back inside. His shoulders slumped as he watched her walk away, and he found himself turning and walking back through the gate to the motorbike parked a few feet away.

He was sitting and securing his bags when a shadow fell over him. He turned his face up and her eyes were staring down on him, her arms free of the child. Up close he could see the tan to her otherwise pale skin, see the rosy tint to her cheeks and the depth of her eyes. Her hair was tousled, windswept and flowing down her back. Her feet were bare, and as she stepped forward and leaned in to kiss him, sand blew across her toes and swirled around her legs.

Her hands on his face were cool against the heat of the sun, and he soon found himself standing and wrapping his arms tightly around her, burying his face against her neck. She smelt like almonds, and bit by bit he felt himself wilting against her. Her face was turned into him, her breath warm across his ear as she whispered, "Where have you been?"

Description
1 Kristofer

"What are you doing here?"

The look of horror on her face was enough to send his heart flying into his throat. She was clutching a squirming infant to her chest as she stared at him from the yard, and he couldn't bring himself to walk through the gate. Something about the hardness of her expression made him regret his decision to come home, forced his feet to stay firmly on the sidewalk. All of a sudden, in the few moments since she'd noticed him, he felt like an intruder, an outsider to the life she'd obviously been living despite his absence. It took great effort for him to tear his eyes off her, to survey the yard and gardens set neatly in front of the cozy house. Nothing was perfect; she had anything but a green thumb, but it was tidy.

"You look well," he said, the phrase falling awkwardly from his lips before he had a chance to stop them. The truth was she looked more than well. She looked fantastic compared to the image he'd built up in his mind.

Incredible compared to the way he'd left her.

Nothing about that day he'd left had skipped his memory. Everything, down to the last, impossible detail, was etched into his mind so clear and crisp that he sometimes doubted how long he'd been away. Even as he stood there he began to realize that what he'd taken to be an infant was in fact a toddler; a dark haired little boy clutching at his mother's shirt as he warily watched the stranger across the yard. Something in his gut twisted at the sight of the boy's bright eyes and the understanding of time gone by. Her question still hung in the air between them, thick and heavy as it crushed in on him. There was no avoiding it, no escaping that cold accusation. He'd made the conscious choice to come back. Why he'd ever thought his leaving in the first place would be forgotten he couldn't quite figure out.

Shoving his hands into his pockets in an attempt to ease his nerves, he took that small step through the gate and raised his eyes to hers. "Can I come home?" He asked it slowly, cautiously, as if he were a child in fear of being scolded fervently. He watched as his words washed over her and a million things passed through her eyes. She didn't say anything, gave no shake of her head or shrug of her shoulders. She simply turned around and walked back inside. His shoulders slumped as he watched her walk away, and he found himself turning and walking back through the gate to the motorbike parked a few feet away.

He was sitting and securing his bags when a shadow fell over him. He turned his face up and her eyes were staring down on him, her arms free of the child. Up close he could see the tan to her otherwise pale skin, see the rosy tint to her cheeks and the depth of her eyes. Her hair was tousled, windswept and flowing down her back. Her feet were bare, and as she stepped forward and leaned in to kiss him, sand blew across her toes and swirled around her legs.

Her hands on his face were cool against the heat of the sun, and he soon found himself standing and wrapping his arms tightly around her, burying his face against her neck. She smelt like almonds, and bit by bit he felt himself wilting against her. Her face was turned into him, her breath warm across his ear as she whispered, "Where have you been?"