Whispers

 
 

tiptoes

Rogue is quiet after she gets off the phone with the mansion, having told them when to come. She's too quiet. Her whisper is like walking on tiptoes around the house, looking at everything, fingers touching, hands lingering. They linger the longest on their sleeping children in the middle of the night.

Her hand finds his. "I'll miss this," she says softly.

"We'll find a way for y' to touch them, chère."

She nods and slides into his arms. Rogue fits perfectly against him, head tucked beneath his chin, standing on tiptoes for a brief instant to kiss him there.
 


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