‘Tis nearly daylight. Her satiny cheek rests upon my chest, her hair tumbling o’er my shoulders, her breaths coming in time with my heartbeat. God’s truth, I would stay forever, but a moment later, she opens her eyes and recollects our whereabouts. She bolts to her feet, inadvertently using my rib cage as a springboard. I utter a strangled “ummph!” and clutch my middle. Rosaline has gone pale, nearly as pale as I, who am struggling for a blessed breath. I attempt to calm her with a word but can manage only an airless grunt, which she ignores, unaware that she has pounded the wind from my lungs. “O, Benvolio! What have we done?” “We have slept,” I manage, rolling over onto my knees and standing slowly. “Prior to that, we but talked. I swear to thee, nothing more.” She frowns in confusion. “Art thou certain?” I grin at her. “Art thou not?” Rosaline ponders a moment. “I remember … falling.” “As do I,” I tell her. In love, I add silently. With you. “We found the moss most comfortable, so we remained there upon it, looking up through the leaves and twigs at the stars.”
