inbox.

[staysail]

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[hassaran]

I suppose you told them about the constellation on my ankle as well [ she says in a dark tone. A dire revelation indeed. ]

[staysail]

I practically wrote a poem about the constellation on your ankle.

[Very serious. He casts his eyes up toward the ceiling to try to disguise his smile.]

And I talked about how great of a mother you were. Will be.

[hassaran]

[ This time the face she pulls is real. ]

I'd rather a dozen poems about freckles than that.

[staysail]

[He laughs.]

Really. Even if I'm more complimentary about it? And that's hard to imagine, I know, given how I speak of your freckles.

[hassaran]

Really. [ She flicks a finger against his shoulder at the laugh. ] I'd prefer they didn't know.

[staysail]

Well, it was a dream. Likely all forgotten.

[He grabs for her hand so she can't flick his shoulder again. And, you know, just because he wants to hold her hand.]

I didn't speak of you that much. Even then, I remember knowing that you didn't want yourself to be too known. I love knowing you, so I know that about you.

[hassaran]

[ She tugs on his hand like she might try to pull away, but really just pulls his arm near, trapping it across her body beneath her other arm. ]

You do. Only you get to know these things. [ Or so she'd prefer, anyway. ] Though they may not forget the baby.

[staysail]

They might. [Hope, for two seconds, before he corrects himself:] Likely they won't. But it was only a dream, they'll tell themselves. Or you could give them something to distract them.

[hassaran]

[ That gets him a sidelong look. ] Such as?

[staysail]

[He shrugs, without looking at her, while still looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Very casual and matter-of-fact, this is a serious suggestion--]

Can't you do a handstand and juggle with your feet?

[hassaran]

Through all our meetings? [ Like that's actually a thing she can do. (It's not.)]

[staysail]

It would be distracting.

[hassaran]

For me especially.

[staysail]

Now, that I don't believe. I can barely manage to distract you.

[hassaran]

You underestimate yourself.

[staysail]

Really.

[He shifts, abruptly--straightens his posture, looks down at her.]

I propose a test.

[hassaran]

[ She shifts to match, twisting back toward the couch arm to look up at him. ]

Go on.

[staysail]

Well, you're expecting it now, if we do it now, how do I know you won't fail it on purpose, just to make a point?

[hassaran]

Hmm. But it also wouldn't be fair to you to wait til I'm working.

[staysail]

Ah. True.

What if we do two rounds--one now, and one as a surprise later, while you're working? That way there won't be a chance of cheating.

[hassaran]

You're so sure I'd cheat! You should have more faith in your abilities. Or at least my interest.

[staysail]

What, c'mon--are you saying that--to make a point--you wouldn't?

[hassaran]

Not when any suspicion of cheating would defeat that point, no! Are you so determined not to believe I find you wildly distracting?

[staysail]

No, I know you find me wildly distracting. You married me while you were on a holiday, obviously I'm distracting. [And he is pleased about it, thanks.] But I also know you, so I know you can manage your feelings well enough to ignore even the wildest of distractions.

[hassaran]

Good. [ That he knows. And is pleased. He ought to be. ] And yes. Or I'd hardly have done a moment's work since you moved in here. Fine.

[ She sits up a little, enough to lift her hand palm out, and puts on a mock-serious face. ]

I promise I will do my very best not to let you distract me for the duration of this test. Whatever it may be. [ She lowers all but one of her fingers. ] If you promise that it will not involve the irritating sort of distraction.