Sunday

"is this better, love?"

a smooth, musical lilt entwined in his voice, sunday asked as he draped his own coat over your shoulders. he regarded you with a sweet, almost lovesick expression, looking for signs of comfort. after all, youd been shivering, and your husband wouldnt have his dearest cold and susceptible to illness.

his fingers slipped into the gaps between your own, sharing his warmth with you as he led you through the bustling streets of penacony, his free hand traveling to your waist and pulling you against himself to shield you from the crowds passing by. he was intent on having you enjoy your date together.

You went on a date to remember the days when you were just dating. and suddenly it started to rain.