She opens her eyes, and hazel ones greet her. A friendly combination brown and green. It's really, really lovely. She can't believe how long it took her to notice. The eyes are smiling. Or they're twinkling with the light that means he's smiling, she's memorized it already. She smiles back at him. He moves closer and catches her lips in a soft, sweet kiss. She giggles, he smirks.

His arm is draped across the pair of them, resting on her body. His hand is drawing lazy circles on her bare back. The sensation is incredibly soothing. He passes just so over a particularly sensitive patch of skin, and it sends shivers all the way down her spine. It tickles and she squirms, moving her chest ever closer to his. She scolds him with her expression; he ignores it and kisses her again. She can't keep a straight face when he does that, can't do anything but grin when she's around him, so she gives up playing cross and beams at him.

She thinks he might say something, but he doesn't. It's very quiet between them, and she has the urge to whisper to him: "I love you, I need you, I'm so glad I found you." But she doesn't.

She doesn't need to. The silence is enough. The way that they're smiling at each other is enough. The way they just made love is enough. The look in his eyes as he gazes at her is enough.

She loves him, wildly, madly, deeply, truly, completely. And he loves her in the same crazy way. It is such a complete truth, such an undisputed fact that it doesn't need saying.

Instead, she leans over and kisses him again.