The Desert's Edge ➣ Gloss/OC

Our love is like a poem said in night,

Chapter Fifty Seven | Our love is like a poem said in night,

"I have night's cloak to hide me from their eyes;

And but thou love me, let them find me here.

My life were better ended by their hate

Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love."

2.2, 75-78 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare

Gloss is like a blue sky stretching out into the vastness of time. His sun is hot and untampered, blinding anyone who looks up at it. When he is angry, it burns so brightly that even Elara has to look away lest she be swept up in it. When he is upset, the rainclouds are unending and gloomy, and he sinks into his moods like he is made of the rain that drips down to the earth. But when he is content, he reminds her of a summer afternoon, when the temperature is not too hot or too cold, and the world is vibrant with a color that exists only beneath the sun's warm rays. The blue skies are dotted with clouds so white that they take your breath away, and there is a gentle breeze that sweeps them across the sky as if they are meandering from one point to another.

She likes him no matter which mood he's in, but she most especially likes it when he's happy, because the warmth that radiates from his eyes in those moments have a dizzying way of warming her, too.

She watches as he strides across his bedroom, bare as the day he was born and completely unconcerned about it. He'd gone to retrieve a bottle of liquor from the other room. They had just spent the night locked in each other's arms, ignorant to the outside world in a way lovers often are, and probably would have remained like that had Elara not offhandedly remarked that it is her birthday next week. She hadn't mentioned it because she had wanted him to take notice of it. It had merely been a remark that was made in response to something he had said, but he'd taken it more seriously than she had expected.

The great Gloss Augustine doesn't seem the type to care about birthdays, after all.

He sets two tumblers down on the bedside table and, with a smiling flourish, uncaps the liquor. As he pours her a glass, he shrugs, "We should have a proper toast, since you'll be back in District 5 by the end of the week."

She reaches for the glass he hands her and mutters, "I already regret telling you."

He just gives her a look and pours himself a glass. As he rejoins her in bed, he nudges her with a scoff. "Don't be stubborn, Winston. You should be grateful. I don't do this for just anyone." When she raises an eyebrow at him, he gestures the liquor and insists, "This is expensive stuff! I don't like sharing."

His petulant tone makes her break out into soft laughter. He seems rather pleased with himself for drawing such a sound from her and throws the blankets back over them before leaning against the headboard. He stretches out an arm behind her head and hums contentedly when she fits herself against his bare form, enjoying the feel of her skin against his.

"I haven't celebrated my birthday in years," she tells him, forgetting about the liquor in her hand as she lays her temple against his chest. She curls her legs over his as they sit there in his bed and murmurs, "Amelia stopped fussing over me ages ago. She says I'm too much work."

Elara glances up at him with a wry look and he bites his lip to stop himself from chuckling.

With a shrug, he agrees, "You are too much work, Winston."

She pinches his side in retribution, and he snickers. Then, turning his face to hers, he presses his lips gently against her forehead and lifts his glass up. He catches her eye with a subtle smile and taps his glass against hers before lifting it to his lips. She hums and does the same, making an appreciative noise at the taste of the finely aged whiskey. She has no doubt that this stuff is expensive. Gloss doesn't buy cheap things when he can help it, and his liquor cabinet is something he happens to take great pride in, much to her continued amusement.