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To be with her is
To sit in autumn sunlight.
— Virginia Woolf
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The afternoon sun embraced them. Lumine and Dottore had their arms wrapped around each, their limbs tangled in a knot. There was only the weight of his chest against hers. The sunlight moved lazily across the room, planting soft, golden kisses across the map of their skin.
Lumine’s eyes drifted shut as Dottore pressed his lips on the hollow of her neck. Skin against skin. Their bare shoulders warm. Dottore’s mouth trailed up from neck to her cheek, and the sensitive spot behind her ear. Lumine felt like sinking, slowly and delicately. The pillows soft under her; a stark contrast to the rough world that had cast them out, casted him out.
“My love.” She heard Dottore whisper, his breath warm against her collarbone.
“Yes?” Her reply was breathless.
Then— a giggle when Dottore teasingly bit the soft curve of her earlobe.
He leaned back, his palms holding her jaw, thumbs brushing her pink cheeks. Maybe the ceiling to ground windows were not a bad idea.
Lumine’s eyes hungrily raked over his naked chest. “You're pale.”
Because he wore his mask most of the time, the upper half of his face held a ghostly, blue-ish pallor. Her eyes lingered on the old scar that cut across his cheek, a reminder of the violence he endured.
“This is the most my skin has ever seen the sun.” He said, slowly bending down to press their foreheads together.
Relief washed over Lumine when she saw him smiling instead of getting defensive when someone pointed out his features. She hoped one day he would see himself the way she did.
“It's not bad. You look beautiful either way.”
As expected, Dottore pretended not to hear it. Complimenting him was hard. He could endure harsh treatment from society but even a slight praise made him retreat into shadow.
Loving Dottore was like tip-toeing the line of her own sanity, he drove her to complete madness.
“You are beautiful too. Specially here, on the bed and under me.” He grinned.
“You are delirious.” Lumine reached up, lacing her fingers through Dottore’s. Her laughter vibrated in the small space between them.
How long had it been since they started chasing the phantom feeling of comfort from each other? A month? Three months? Perhaps a year? Lumine couldn't recall.
As their hands laced, intertwined, Lumine felt like the time had stopped. She had stopped chasing the fleeting form of comfort. How cruel of others to call him dangerous, evil and a thing to be masked and feared when she felt the safest in his arms.
Lumine felt him squeezing her hand, just the slightest pressure.
“I’m glad you're here.” He kissed the corner of her mouth.
Being with Dottore was not an easy choice. There were times when Lumine nearly lost herself to violence and fought others to be with him. It was later drawn to her that she didn't owe any explanation. It was a choice made by her, though others disagreed. Loving him was not easy at all, but it made her feel alive.
“I’m glad too,” she smiled.
“I don't know what I would've done if you..” Dottore’s words drifted away.
Lumine knew, of course, what he would have done. I would burn down the world for you, he once said. She remembered feeling warm at his words. Dottore's fear of being abandoned was clear. He avoided affection for the fear of losing more. Lumine understood the peril of dependency and the fear of it shook her too, and yet, it felt so right to be with Dottore.
The sun shone even in the walled courtyard, the flowers adorned the placed with colours so bright that those could be seen from the bed.
Dottore kissed her lips one more time before laying on his back. Lumine curled up against his chest immediately. Her fingers played with his blue strands. Then brushed his collarbone. Her index finger slowly trailed down to his shoulder and to his arm. Her eyes curiously traced the blue map of his veins, so apparent under his pale complexion.
She once picked up a book from Dottore’s reading nook. Books about philosophy and science, filled aching questions about the nature of humanity and the mechanics of the universe which always circled back the same answer— the star.
Are we made of stars? Lumine wondered then. We must be. If every being was from cosmos and made of stardust, she and Dottore were not any exceptions.
She felt the rise and fall of his chest under her. She rested her head right above his thumping heart, closing her eyes and imagining their hearts connected by a silver thread.
If they were truly made of dust and stars, Lumine hoped that they were stars of the same constellation. They fell asleep like that, curled up and together, surrounded by warmth the rest of society had long since denied them.
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