Inside the Cliff, Ibutatu Estate
Aurelie’s hand came and curled down at his chest; Aremu felt the faint pressure of her fingers, just barely, though the fabric of his shirt. His heart was pounding, just a bit – the exertion, he thought, of sitting up. He tried not to think of the swim back to shore; he would make it, Aremu thought, one way or another, even if he had to pull himself along the rocks by his hand. He was glad Aurelie wasn’t hurt; she could have been, he knew, and that weighed on him heavily, but she wasn’t, and he was grateful for it.
“I think so,” Aremu said, still leaning his head back against the wall. “I’m feeling better, at least. I have quite a hard head, you know.” He wasn’t sure himself if it was a joke; he’d sort of meant it to be, but he didn’t know how well he’d managed the delivery. He’d never had a knack for joking; he wished he could, just now. He’d very much have liked to make her laugh again.
Aremu breathed in deeply, opening his eyes, and glancing down at Aurelie, still curled into his side. His hand was still stroking gently up and down her arm, the damp fabric shifting over her skin. The bright red slashes of her eyebrows were snapped together, and the whole of her face was tight. It was, also, very close to his own face, much closer than he’d realized. Aurelie’s hand came up, and settled against the line of his jaw, very careful.
Aremu smiled beneath Aurelie’s hand, feeling it shift against his face as he did. He studied her, rather intently; it was easier to see her sitting up, without the light falling on her from above. He could find the suggestions of her freckles now; there were places on her face still in shadow, and he thought idly that he should have to double-check them later.
“You’re so beautiful,” Aremu said, his hand still moving gently back and forth on her arm, lifting his gaze from the curve of her nose and the lines of her cheeks, from her bright red eyelashes, and looking her in the eyes once more. “Even when you’re worried.” He had said it aloud; he hadn’t quite been able to stop himself. That was, Aremu thought, all right. He didn’t know truth, and he knew he couldn’t; he would never have claimed to. But this felt right, to him; he wasn’t sure if rightness was forbidden to him as well, but he knew how he felt. Just then, his head ached too much to worry over it.