Chapter Text
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Chapter Eight: Afflicted For Life
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Several years later, Hunter wakes to find the space beside him cold and empty, remnants of jasmine and honeysuckle clinging to a small indent in the pillow next to his own. He lets out a long, slow, theatrically wistful sigh, rolling over onto his back and blinking blearily against the far too cheerful sunlight spilling through his bedroom window, mourning the loss of his starless night sky. He's grown so used to waking up with his nose buried in her sea of wild, midnight waves, soft as silk and fragrant as a wildflower meadow, that the absence of it — today of all days — is especially jarring. God, how he misses her.
"I've only been gone fifteen minutes," comes Willow's chiding laughter from the doorway, bustling into the room with a tray full of delicious breakfast food. Today is Hunter's birthday, and so naturally, Willow decided to wake up a little extra early this morning to fix him a breakfast fit for a prince.
"Seventeen and a half," Hunter corrects her with a dramatic pout. "And it's been absolute torture."
"Well, hopefully this will make up for it," she chuckles, rolling her eyes in fond amusement as she tilts the tray to give him a better look.
"I couldn't decide between flapjacks and waffles, so I made both," she adds, glancing pointedly between the side-by-side stacks of buttery chocolate chip pancakes topped with strawberries and maple syrup, and the diner-sized waffles bedecked with blueberries and whipped cream.
"That's perfect, I love them both," he tells her, eyes crinkling around the edges as he fixes her with a radiant smile. "This looks amazing. Thank you so much, Will—oh."
Hunter falters, mouth falling open in a comically cartoonish O of pure shock. It's in this moment that he finally notices what Willow is wearing — his favorite worn-in college sweatshirt, faded embroidery spelling out the letters UWM in a bold-faced scrawl across the front — the very same one he'd been wearing last night when they…ahem. He's so much taller than her that the waistline hem falls to about her mid-thighs, the deep scarlet a lovely contrast against her skin, and when she lifts her arms to set the breakfast tray atop his dresser, it quickly becomes very apparent that his sweatshirt is the only thing she's wearing.
Something visceral and primal stirs inside Hunter's chest at the sight of it.
"Is that—" he swallows thickly, all thoughts of breakfast driven completely out of his mind as his gaze lingers on something far more appealing. "Is that my sweatshirt?"
"Hmm?" Willow says absentmindedly, spinning around to face him, oblivious to the sudden shift in mood. His question finishes processing and she quickly looks down, eyebrows arching in surprise like she's only just noticed.
"Oh! Yeah, I borrowed it to make breakfast. Couldn't find any of my clothes — I think you might've accidentally kicked them all under the bed in your, uh…enthusiasm last night," she tells him, a mischievous grin dimpling her cheeks at the memory. "Yours was the first thing I grabbed off the floor. I hope you don't mind."
Hunter stares at her for a moment, self-restraint like sellotape over a crack in an aquarium tank.
"Please come here," he says in a low voice that's simultaneously soft and rough at the same time, fully aware of how pitifully desperate he sounds, but not caring in the slightest.
"Why?" Willow's eyebrows pull together in concern, softly padding across the room to stand beside him. "What's wrong?"
"Oh, it's incurable," he says, pulling her down onto the bed in one swift, fluid motion and delighting in the way she giggles and squirms under his barrage of rapid-fire kisses. "Seems we're both suffering from a distinct lack of my mouth all over your body. I need to kiss you everywhere, immediately."
"Well, if you think it'll keep the curse at bay," Willow sighs, tilting her head to give him better access to her neck and letting out a high-pitched squeal when his five o'clock shadow tickles the underside of her chin.
Hunter lets out a sound that's somewhere between a satisfied hum and a breathless chuckle, nosing at her collarbones before chasing the curved trail with his lips. "I'm afflicted for life, I'm afraid," he laments with a heavy, put-upon sigh, adopting the air of a melodramatic martyr graciously accepting his lot in life. "That's just the nature of lovesickness. It's insatiable. Might need a daily dose."
"Your health is my top priority," Willow teases, head tipping back in a soft whimper as he starts to work his way south, pressing eager kisses against every visible patch of skin along the way.
"But—" she falters, brows furrowing in concern. "Are you sure this is how you want to spend your birthday? Doing something for me?"
"Oh, sweetheart," Hunter lets out an incredulous huff of laughter, gazing up at her with a quirked eyebrow. "You say that like this isn't the best present you could possibly give me."
"Look at you, gift-wrapped and everything," he chuckles, careful hands skimming the hem of his sweatshirt where it rests at the top of her thighs.
"Well, if you insist," Willow giggles, melting into his touch with a soft, contented sigh. "But after this, I'm doing something just for you."
"Make it something for both of us and you have a deal," he counters with a roguish grin that only grows wider as her whole body shakes with laughter beneath him.
Giddy giggles turn to soft, stuttered sighs as Hunter plants fevered kisses from her stomach down to the apex of her thighs, midnight hair spilling across the sheets as her eyes flutter closed and her head falls back against the pillows, trio of emeralds inlaid in a hand-carved engagement ring glittering in the soft golden glow of the early morning sunlight as she reaches across the space between them and gently threads her fingers with his.
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