hold (on) (to) my heart

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They get used to it little by little, only children the both of them, completely unused to sleeping in the same bed or even the same headspace as another person, because you don't often think about what your parents are doing before they fall to snores once you've passed the age of about six (until about the age of sixteen, at which point you are likely listening [eavesdropping] quite fervently every single night and hating every second of it).

Approximately two years pass before Addam leaves, but there are only two months, again approximately, before Milton is living with them anyway, besides whichever staff members. They forget about childish glee soon enough. Enough work crops up that sleep, bedtime, fades back to more of the simple necessity that it should be, rather than a wholesale party whereat you cannot possibly fall asleep, you're so giddy about the presence of the other guests.

And then Addam's got to leave. Then all the quiet conversation starts to maneuver its way into the rearview mirror, and Flora knows she'll be all alone, quite possibly without even Milton to hand, because Addam hasn't quite decided whether he'll be taking him along or not.

"I suppose I'll have to miss you," jokes Flora, sat on the bed with fingers busy undoing her braids before they get nasty and tangled overnight.

Addam has just closed the book, capped the pen, on a report he'll need to furnish to the king, summarizing the state of Aletta as he plans to leave it for this indefinite period of time, and soon enough he joins her, settling crosslegged and moving to smooth out the indented strands on the side she's just left.

"You make it sound as if I wouldn't be glad to do so."

"You'll be glad I'm not there?" She's wrinkled up her nose; silly, silly, silly.

"Never once," he replies evenly, brushing her bangs out of her eyes and kissing each browbone in turn.

"And you won't forget me?"

You'll have to give me something to remember you by, like I have you, he almost says, but knows it isn't true. Instead: "How could I? Alrest is so full of pretty flowers."

"But-" Her voice hitches, just briefly, chin dipping to acknowledge the maudlin compliment, and she lays an absent hand to the flat of her chest. "I think I'll miss your voice."

"So? That's alright." With one arm looped around her waist and the other reaching back to clear the pillows and catch the lamp, they're soon lain down together. "When you hear the Armus moo, you can think of your silly husband and all the tomfool things he does - all the things I'll be doing, just to pass the time until I can see you again. How's that?"

She pokes at his chest, petulant. "I don't think you are very much like a cow, udders or not."

Now it's his turn to pout. "I thought you liked my chest."

"Oh, well..." Flora's fingers, nails trimmed short and prim in a way that makes it somehow less obvious how stubby the digits are, wander over the fatty not-quite-pectorals as if they're considering something anew, and the final judgement is about to be not handed down but instead revised. "Maybe I do. Maybe I don't."

"You tease."

"I love," she shoots back triumphantly, and presses her ear close to the place above his heart. "I like listening to your heart, too."

Addam doesn't answer, goes quiet so as to let his wife proceed. His thoughts must be quite loud, right about now, to prevent him from hearing the blood rushing in his ears, thump, thump, thump, the pulsing that he is never conscious of until she points it out, or until he gets out of breath and doesn't know why.

"I have to memorize it," Flora says absently. "The pattern, I mean."

The pattern? The tick of the metronome, more or less? "I don't see the point in that. Everyone has a heartbeat."

Shaking both her head and his arm that she's cuddling, she squints renewed focus. "I mean the arrhythmia. It's quite peculiar."

Oh. Right, that. "That's, ah..." He scratches the back of his head with his free hand. "That's why it's called an arrhythmia, I think. It's not regular."

"Hmmm..." Flora considers this. "Do you know an approximate percentage, then?"

At that, Addam nearly starts up from their reposed position, and his chest shakes with laughter, which is surely not as appreciated by his captive audience as it might be at other times.

"HA! You want to keep a calculation on it? That's the most nonsense I've ever heard you spout." Her nose, upturned in affronted confusion, presents itself quite conveniently for a kiss as he squeezes her tighter. "Oh, Flora, I love you."

And the lady? She simply... "Hm."

"Oh, now I've done it. I'm being hm'ed. How will I ever recover?"

But Flora ignores Addam's plaintive, woeful cries, and changes the subject, somewhat. "Do you ever notice when it skips?"

"Not really, no. Why?"

"It's very natural, to you," she says slowly. "I'd like...I'd like to feel that."

Where are the loud thoughts, anyway? It's been nothing but talk, talk, talk, for several minutes now. Oh, there's one. Perfect.

"That would be nice, yes. Here, I've got an idea."

"Oh?"

"I'll keep you in here. Right?" He taps nervously over the crucial place, right next to her cheek. "In between the missing beats."

"In place of them, you mean." It's not a question.

"Oh, yes, right," Addam agrees, "only...you're not replacing anything, or being a substitute, Flora. Right? You know that, don't you?"

"Of course. I'm just me, and you're just you." Should it be?

"And that's not strange, or wrong, or pathetic, is it? To...think of it that way?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Flora remarks softly. "Such a curious fellow."

"A nervous fellow," comes the tenuous correction. "It's quite the grand task."

"And aren't you grand? I certainly think so."

Who else even has a genuine impression? "I'm Addam, that's all. Maybe I wouldn't even sound half as intimidating if I didn't have the extra D."

"You h-" she purses her lips, eats this provocative taunt in particular "-oh, you know. A funny joke, isn't it? Oh, I like you so awfully very much."

"Your adverbs are out of order," Addam says, for lack of anything else.

One more scrunch of the freckled nose: "Shush. I'll say what I like, when you're not here and I'll just have to imagine this."

Quiet, everyone, for the placing of the beat, beat, beat, and Flora over, around, through, under, above, everywhere in between.

Addam sighs. "Yes, dear. We'll both just have to get used to it."