A/N: For once, something less angst-ridden. Short and sweet, I hope.

Ennis awoke to the sun waltzing through the opening of the tent, pressing its gentle fingertips against his eyelids. He felt content and warm, like whiskey in the gut; and slowly, he followed the breathing of his companion, in, out, in, out, and could for a moment pocket this feeling for eternity.

Jack had not yet stirred, just lay there like a china doll, as beautiful as a virgin princess. Ennis examined his smooth forehead and shapely nose; his full lips, red-blooming like rose petals. He had acquired wrinkles near his eyes and they creased as he slept; his hair was dark, deep and rich like chocolate; Ennis could feel every muscle in his back, the curve of his shoulder blades, the irresistible slenderness of the nape of his neck that, to him, smelled of musk and charcoal far after evening had closed the curtain.

His hands were willowy, delicate, and smooth, as unblemished as his darling face; hands that existed in another world, untouched by the heat and toil of everyday life; hands so different from his own, that gave his calloused heart a soft place to fall.

"Ennis," Jack breathed, his drawl laced with milk and honey. "Ennis."

Everything he meant to say, needed to say, escaped him like the seasons past. Jack's eyes smiled and took everything in stride.

Maybe God was merciful after all.