"I'm so tired I could sleep for a week," she announced, toeing off her boots right there in the entryway. They landed in a jumbled heap, one upright and one tipped over, blocking the path to the living room.
She didn't think about it. She just kept walking towards the kitchen, already thinking about water and bed and curling up against Tarmek's wonderful body heat.
"Edie."
His voice stopped her. She turned to find him standing by the door, staring at her discarded boots with an expression she couldn't quite read.
Oh no.
"Sorry," she said automatically, moving back towards them. "I'll move them, I wasn't thinking?—"
"Don't."
The word froze her in place.
He walked towards her slowly, stepping over the boots like they weren't there. His eyes never left her face. There was something in his expression now—something warm and fierce and impossibly tender.
"Don't move them," he repeated.
"But they're—" She gestured helplessly. "They're in the wrong place. They're blocking the?—"
"I know."
He reached her. His hands came up to cup her face, tilting it towards him.
"I love you," he said quietly. "All of you. Including the parts that leave boots in the middle of our floor."
Her breath caught. "Tarmek..."
"When you first moved in—the first time, during the storm—you left your boots by the door. Do you remember what I did?"
She remembered. The look on his face. The barely suppressed horror. The way he'd physically twitched before moving them to their designated spot.
"You had a small aneurysm," she said. "I thought your eye was going to start bleeding."
"I couldn't handle it." His thumbs stroked her cheekbones. "I couldn't handle the disruption. I couldn’t handle a whirlwind of chaos who painted murals and sang off-key and left coffee cups everywhere like breadcrumbs."
"Hey, I have a perfectly acceptable singing voice?—"
"You're a disaster," he said fondly. "My disaster. And somewhere along the way, I stopped wanting to fix you. I stopped wanting to contain you. I started wanting to..." He paused, searching for words. "Make space for you. In my life. In my home. In my head."
"That's very poetic for an orc who communicates primarily in grunts."
"I'm serious."
"I know," she said softly. "I know you are."
"Those boots are going to stay exactly where they are."
"They're blocking the walkway."
"I'll step over them." His arms wrapped around her waist. "Every day. For the rest of my life, if you'll let me."
She stared up at him—this massive, terrifying, meticulously organized orc who had somehow become her home—as tears pricked her eyes.
"That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me," she whispered. "And you once told me my chaos was the best thing that ever happened to your mug collection."
"I meant that too."
