Drew had never been very good at expressing his feelings toward her, and even two months into their relationship he still felt strange about holding her hand. It always seemed too forced, contrived. He didn't feel like he needed much other than his words to communicate with her, and so their relationship progressed with very little physical contact, and the little contact they had was usually initiated by her.

But today was one of the first days of winter, and they had gone to a little café for a light dinner and coffee - well, coffee for her and tea for him - and it had been nice. He had watched her as she smiled at him, sipped her coffee, burned her tongue and laughed it off as usual. He had smiled a little, too, at her antics, knowing that she did it for him, trying to get him to laugh as she always did in her adorable puppylike enthusiasm. And he had chuckled tonight. She had succeeded a few times over the years, and tonight was one of them.

He loved her for that.

Now they were stepping out of the café, she cradling her coffee in her hands, sniffing it with a slight smile on her cold-blushed face as she looked out at the world before them, probably thinking about how wonderful it was, or perhaps thinking nothing at all, only feeling it. The fading light of sunset touched her as she looked toward it, windblown hair framing her face. And he was watching her from behind as always, wondering at her innocence, her purity and her joy. It amazed him. His own world had been so closed before: a world of competition and strict rules, lines and boundaries drawn straight and clear - and then he had met her and her wildness, her silliness and her little mistakes and, above all, her freedom of emotion. Now whenever he looked at her, he could feel that same freedom welling up in him; perhaps not happening in the same way, but it was there.

He loved her so much for that.

And now that feeling welling up in him threatened to spill over, to overwhelm him with its raw intensity. She was saying something; he didn't know what, because every sound from her lips brought him greater and greater feeling, just waiting to tumble out and consume him. Was it possible, really, to be changed so much by one person? Was it possible to love one person so much?

He had to do something, say something to show her.

Mid-sentence, she turned when he slid his hand onto hers, and he saw her mouth open slightly from surprise. His other hand took her waist as he stepped in front of her and he knew she would know that even when he was trying to take the initiative, he was begging for her to show him the way.

She smiled and let go of her coffee with the hand he had taken, folding it into his. Her fingers were cold, but her palm was warm, and almost shyly he let his fingers seek that warmth, just as his heart always sought for her love.

Now she tugged on his hand and stepped forward, and he held on to her, still wondering.

I'll be updating this for the next 30 days until it's complete. Also check out my tumblr and my deviantART (links on my profile) for the artwork I'm doing for it. :)