Seize the Day - NaNoWriMo Attempt - Chapter 21
Okay, so I lied. I finished this chapter yesterday, and started the next one, but that one isn't finished yet. So I'm officially caught up on here, now, with posting chapters. Yay me? Anyway, please enjoy. <3
Previous Chapters:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20
Despite Jazz saying he was ready to talk, he couldn’t quite get the words to come as he and Savin stepped back inside his private apartment at the Palace. Instead, he found himself enthralled with watching Savin as he flitted around the kitchen, apparently on autopilot. As Savin began to chop up vegetables with a speed and precision one could come to expect from a master chef, Jazz settled in one of the chairs at the kitchen table and ran his fingers through his hair.
The whole day seemed to have passed by him in an uncomfortable blur. First the Council meeting and then his meeting with Mitchel. Then his conversation with his father. Even his little shopping date with Savin had felt a little awkward, towards the end. While Savin certainly wasn’t stingy with his affection, it still seemed guarded, somehow. Uncertain.
“So what is it that got you so upset, earlier?” Savin asked, his voice cutting through Jazz’s thoughts just like how Savin’s knife obliterated the onion in his hand. There was a note of curiosity, as well as a harder one -- maybe anger? -- hidden underneath the surface.
Jazz sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he rested his back against the chair, watching Savin as he continued through the motions of making dinner. “He --” Jazz stopped himself and chewed his lip, tears already threatening to form in the corners of his eyes. “Remember when I went to the Western colonies to work out an issue with them?” he asked instead. Maybe, if he gave some background to the conversation, Savin would have an easier time following Jazz’s particular dilemma.
“That was right after your dad got shot, right?” Savin asked, glancing up as he gathered the chopped vegetables into a small bowl. He raised an eyebrow at Jazz as Jazz nodded his head in response. “Yeah, I remember that. What about it?”
“Well, when I went there -- I met up with this woman. She’s in charge of that particular cluster of colonies,” Jazz continued to explain, his tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth. He forced himself to swallow. “She’s apparently expressed an -- interest -- in me, to my father.”
Savin paused, his brow furrowing as he then moved to begin slicing up the meat he had purchased. Once again, Jazz found himself lost in the motions of Savin’s hands, noticing the precision with which they moved. “An interest in you how?” he asked finally, his jaw clenching. “Like, romantically?”
Jazz’s eyes stung as he grabbed a fistful of his hair, nails digging into his scalp. “I guess you could put it that way, yeah,” he murmured, his voice shaking. He looked away from Savin, his eyes turning toward the stove, which was to his left. “He -- wants me to marry her. She wants me to marry her. Political marriage. Not -- not the real deal.”
Savin’s frown deepened. “Did you tell your father no?”
“Yes,” Jazz answered, sounding almost breathless. “Of course I did.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about, right?” Savin asked, taking the small cubes of meat and moving towards the pot. He didn’t look Jazz in the eye as he spoke, instead focusing all of his attention on the creation of their meal. “It’s not like your dad can force the two of you to marry.”
“See, that’s the thing -- I don’t know whether or not he really can. And apparently, if I don’t accept Laquesha’s offer in the next few months -- something might happen.”
“Like what?” Savin prompted, his voice gaining that hard edge to it yet again.
“Dad didn’t -- Dad didn’t say,” Jazz answered, his voice wavering slightly. He closed his eyes and tried to will his tears away. “But -- the implication there is that something bad for the Empire might happen, if I refuse, and -- I don’t even know.”
Jazz opened his eyes and looked towards Savin, waiting for a response. Savin nodded, remaining silent as he kept his back to Jazz. He held himself up by his arms, hands resting on the stove, away from the hot burners. His shoulders tensed, bunching together and Savin hung his head, just slightly. “So you don’t feel as if you have a choice?” he asked finally, that hard edge softening, somewhat, as he spoke.
“Not really, no,” Jazz said, rubbing his forehead with his thumb. “I mean, I can refuse her offer. And then what if something truly awful happens? I mean, Mitchel seems to think that the Resistance is based out in the Western Colonies -- and what if they are? What if Laquesha knows about it, and is hiding the information of their whereabouts, their plans from the Empire? What if they try to assassinate Dad again? What if they try to assassinate me, for not doing what she wanted?”
“You’re not going to know exactly what’ll happen unless you refuse, Jazz,” Savin said, pushing himself away from the stove. He turned on his heel and rested his hip against the counter, folding his arms over his chest. He frowned to himself and continued to avoid Jazz’s eyes. “I mean, you can either accept this fake, arranged marriage like your father wants you to, and never be happy and always live the life of a lie, or -- you can refuse, and accept whatever happens as a result as a hazard of being true to yourself.”
“If only there was some sort of way out of it,” Jazz said, shaking his head. “Like, I told Dad I had a boyfriend. And then, of course, he told me to break it off with you -- and just accept Laquesha’s offer, just like that. As if it were that fucking simple.”
Savin shook his head, his frown deepening as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “How is lying to yourself, your ‘wife,’ and your Empire going to do anyone any good, anyway?” he muttered to himself, shaking his head yet again. He then finally looked back over at Jazz, his bright green eyes darkening, somewhat. “You’re not -- going to break things off with me, are you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke. Jazz could have sworn he heard it waver and crack, too, just before Savin cleared his throat. “I mean -- I know we’ve only been dating for a few weeks, but --”
“I don’t want to break things off with you, no,” Jazz said, shaking his head and swallowing his own tears. “Savin -- I wouldn’t do that to you. I can’t. I --” He managed a tearful smile, cutting himself off as words he never thought he’d say so soon wanted to escape his lips. “You mean a lot to me,” he decided on, compromising with himself as he met Savin’s gaze. “I don’t want to marry this woman. I really don’t.”
Savin nodded, pursing his own lips together in thought before offering Jazz a slight smile, in return. “You mean a lot to me, too,” he said, pushing himself away from the counter and walking over to the kitchen table. He settled in the seat beside Jazz’s and draped an arm over Jazz’s shoulders, leaning in close to brush his lips against the other man’s. “How long do you have to ‘accept’ this offer?” he asked as he pulled away, trepidation lacing his voice.
“Six months,” Jazz answered, tapping his fingers against the table top. “I have six months to cave into my father’s demands, and then who knows what will happen.”
“Six months is better than nothing, I guess,” Savin muttered, giving a slight shrug of his shoulder. He removed his arm from around Jazz’s shoulder, instead rubbing Jazz’s back. “I mean, who knows. Maybe we’ll do something crazy like get married, just so that your dad can’t try and marry you off to whoever he fucking wants.”
Jazz laughed, letting out a quiet snort as he shook his head. “Yeah, that would be pretty fucking crazy,” he said, wishing he didn’t feel so close to tears. He looked over at Savin and offered the older man a smile, brushing Savin’s hair off his forehead. “But...”
“But...?” Savin prompted, raising an eyebrow.
“What if that worked?” Jazz asked, feeling his own eyes grow wide as he looked away from Savin. “I mean -- my dad can’t make me marry anyone, if I’m already married, right?”
“Jazz -- we’ve only known each other for a couple of months at the most,” Savin said, sounding hesitant as he spoke. “Not to mention, six months isn’t even a lot of time to properly plan a wedding, and --”
“How would you know?” Jazz asked, his brow furrowing together. “You haven’t been married before, have you? And it’s not like we’d have to do all of the planning ourselves -- I am the Prince, after all. I have the money and the influence to get something like that done in less time than most people.”
“Because I’ve tried to plan a wedding before?” Savin offered, frowning and crossing his arms over his chest. He leaned back in his seat and shook his head. “And we shouldn’t rush into marriage like that, anyway. We hardly know each other -- what if it doesn’t work out?”
Jazz opened his mouth to respond and then paused, clamping his jaw tightly shut for a moment. He then sighed and looked away from Savin. “You’re right,” he said, putting his head in his hands and raking his fingers through his hair. “You’re absolutely right. We shouldn’t rush into things, just so I can avoid marrying someone else.” He shook his head, pulling his hands away from his face as the rest of Savin’s words registered in his brain. “You -- tried to plan a wedding before?” he asked.
Savin tensed, his frown deepening as he looked away from Jazz, avoiding his probing eyes. “Yeah,” he answered, clearing his throat. “Remember my friend Mari?” Jazz furrowed his brow, but nodded his head in response. “She and I -- back when we were in medical school together, we dated. And I asked her to marry me. And -- it didn’t work out.” He tapped his fingers on the table top, still avoiding Jazz’s eyes.
“But -- the two of you are still friends, aren’t you? I mean, she tried to set you up with me, back at the bar -- she encouraged you to take me home with you,” Jazz said, every word sounding more and more confused than the one before it. He studied Savin for a moment and shook his head. “How long ago did you two date?”
“It’s been --” Savin paused, pursing his lips together in thought. “I think we’ve been broken up for like, four years now?” he answered finally, sounding unsure of himself. He then gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s not like it really matters -- that was years and years ago, and we’ve both since realized that we’re better off as friends, anyway.”
Jazz nodded, ignoring the uneasy twisting of his stomach as he looked away from Savin. “I guess it doesn’t,” he said, shifting his weight in his chair. “Why didn’t it work out?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
“She wanted kids,” Savin answered, as if it were that simple. “I knew I didn’t, and she thought she’d one day change my mind, but -- here I am, years later, and I still don’t want them.” Savin then got up from his seat and made his way back over to the stove. “How spicy can you handle things?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.
Jazz took a moment to think about it. “Not that spicy?” he said after a while, getting up from his seat as well. He followed Savin over to the stove and wrapped his arms around the other man. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he whispered against Savin’s shoulder, noticing how Savin felt tense in his arms.
“I’m not -- uncomfortable,” Savin murmured, continuing to make dinner. The way he hesitated caused Jazz to raise an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he didn’t loosen his arms around the other man, and nuzzled Savin’s shoulder as he fought back another wave of tears. He felt Savin take in a deep breath. “This is just -- it’s a lot, okay? It’s hard, sometimes, dating the Prince.”
“Well, I never said this was gonna be easy,” Jazz whispered as he gave Savin one last squeeze. “You really don’t want kids?” he asked a moment later as he pulled away. He stood beside Savin, leaning against the open part of his kitchen counter.
“Nope,” Savin said, flicking his eyes over to Jazz before returning his attention on the food in front of him. “Why, do you?”
“I’m -- undecided,” Jazz answered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, as the Prince, I’m almost obligated to have children -- to continue the family line, to keep the Empire in my family’s hands, but -- adopting and raising a child that isn’t biologically mine unsettles me a bit.”
“Does it really matter if the Empire stays in the family?” Savin asked, raising an eyebrow. He picked up the ladle he was using to stir the pot, tasting a bit of what he had been concentrating on. He made a thoughtful expression, then reached for one of the spices he had bought on their shopping trip. “I mean, okay -- let’s say we were crazy and we got married. And we also decided that we weren’t going to adopt children. What then?”
“Next of kin gets the throne,” Jazz said, standing up straight. “I have a few cousins -- one of them would get the throne.”
“If you have cousins, then you have aunts and uncles, right?” Savin pressed, tasting their dinner again.
“Yes, but -- I’m of age. The current Emperor’s child inherits the Empire, no matter how many siblings the current Emperor might have, once the Prince or Princess is of age -- and I have two aunts. The Empire’s supposed to go down male-family lines.”
“So -- continuing with the idea of us getting hitched, of course -- if we don’t have children, who gets the throne?”
“We would have to designate the next person in line. Typically, the Emperor -- which would be me, by birthright -- picks a member of their Council to succeed them, if something were to happen to the both of us. If something just happened to me, and not you, you’d be Emperor. If you have any brothers or sisters, they’d be next in line -- but only if I pass away before you do,” Jazz explained, frowning. “Why?”
“Nothing -- just was curious,” Savin said, giving Jazz a smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but his expression softened somewhat as he took another taste of their dinner. His eyes widened, a true smile breaking across his lips. “Here, try this -- tell me if that’s spicy enough for you.”
Jazz raised an eyebrow, but welcomed the change in topic all the same. Savin held the spoon tightly in one hand, the other cupped underneath it as he brought the instrument to Jazz’s lips. As Jazz met Savin’s gaze, he felt his heart pause in his chest.
He wished it wouldn’t do that. He also wished he didn’t hope that maybe Savin would change his mind about getting married, sooner rather than later.
He’d just have to wait and see.
Previous Chapters:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20
Despite Jazz saying he was ready to talk, he couldn’t quite get the words to come as he and Savin stepped back inside his private apartment at the Palace. Instead, he found himself enthralled with watching Savin as he flitted around the kitchen, apparently on autopilot. As Savin began to chop up vegetables with a speed and precision one could come to expect from a master chef, Jazz settled in one of the chairs at the kitchen table and ran his fingers through his hair.
The whole day seemed to have passed by him in an uncomfortable blur. First the Council meeting and then his meeting with Mitchel. Then his conversation with his father. Even his little shopping date with Savin had felt a little awkward, towards the end. While Savin certainly wasn’t stingy with his affection, it still seemed guarded, somehow. Uncertain.
“So what is it that got you so upset, earlier?” Savin asked, his voice cutting through Jazz’s thoughts just like how Savin’s knife obliterated the onion in his hand. There was a note of curiosity, as well as a harder one -- maybe anger? -- hidden underneath the surface.
Jazz sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he rested his back against the chair, watching Savin as he continued through the motions of making dinner. “He --” Jazz stopped himself and chewed his lip, tears already threatening to form in the corners of his eyes. “Remember when I went to the Western colonies to work out an issue with them?” he asked instead. Maybe, if he gave some background to the conversation, Savin would have an easier time following Jazz’s particular dilemma.
“That was right after your dad got shot, right?” Savin asked, glancing up as he gathered the chopped vegetables into a small bowl. He raised an eyebrow at Jazz as Jazz nodded his head in response. “Yeah, I remember that. What about it?”
“Well, when I went there -- I met up with this woman. She’s in charge of that particular cluster of colonies,” Jazz continued to explain, his tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth. He forced himself to swallow. “She’s apparently expressed an -- interest -- in me, to my father.”
Savin paused, his brow furrowing as he then moved to begin slicing up the meat he had purchased. Once again, Jazz found himself lost in the motions of Savin’s hands, noticing the precision with which they moved. “An interest in you how?” he asked finally, his jaw clenching. “Like, romantically?”
Jazz’s eyes stung as he grabbed a fistful of his hair, nails digging into his scalp. “I guess you could put it that way, yeah,” he murmured, his voice shaking. He looked away from Savin, his eyes turning toward the stove, which was to his left. “He -- wants me to marry her. She wants me to marry her. Political marriage. Not -- not the real deal.”
Savin’s frown deepened. “Did you tell your father no?”
“Yes,” Jazz answered, sounding almost breathless. “Of course I did.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about, right?” Savin asked, taking the small cubes of meat and moving towards the pot. He didn’t look Jazz in the eye as he spoke, instead focusing all of his attention on the creation of their meal. “It’s not like your dad can force the two of you to marry.”
“See, that’s the thing -- I don’t know whether or not he really can. And apparently, if I don’t accept Laquesha’s offer in the next few months -- something might happen.”
“Like what?” Savin prompted, his voice gaining that hard edge to it yet again.
“Dad didn’t -- Dad didn’t say,” Jazz answered, his voice wavering slightly. He closed his eyes and tried to will his tears away. “But -- the implication there is that something bad for the Empire might happen, if I refuse, and -- I don’t even know.”
Jazz opened his eyes and looked towards Savin, waiting for a response. Savin nodded, remaining silent as he kept his back to Jazz. He held himself up by his arms, hands resting on the stove, away from the hot burners. His shoulders tensed, bunching together and Savin hung his head, just slightly. “So you don’t feel as if you have a choice?” he asked finally, that hard edge softening, somewhat, as he spoke.
“Not really, no,” Jazz said, rubbing his forehead with his thumb. “I mean, I can refuse her offer. And then what if something truly awful happens? I mean, Mitchel seems to think that the Resistance is based out in the Western Colonies -- and what if they are? What if Laquesha knows about it, and is hiding the information of their whereabouts, their plans from the Empire? What if they try to assassinate Dad again? What if they try to assassinate me, for not doing what she wanted?”
“You’re not going to know exactly what’ll happen unless you refuse, Jazz,” Savin said, pushing himself away from the stove. He turned on his heel and rested his hip against the counter, folding his arms over his chest. He frowned to himself and continued to avoid Jazz’s eyes. “I mean, you can either accept this fake, arranged marriage like your father wants you to, and never be happy and always live the life of a lie, or -- you can refuse, and accept whatever happens as a result as a hazard of being true to yourself.”
“If only there was some sort of way out of it,” Jazz said, shaking his head. “Like, I told Dad I had a boyfriend. And then, of course, he told me to break it off with you -- and just accept Laquesha’s offer, just like that. As if it were that fucking simple.”
Savin shook his head, his frown deepening as he pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “How is lying to yourself, your ‘wife,’ and your Empire going to do anyone any good, anyway?” he muttered to himself, shaking his head yet again. He then finally looked back over at Jazz, his bright green eyes darkening, somewhat. “You’re not -- going to break things off with me, are you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke. Jazz could have sworn he heard it waver and crack, too, just before Savin cleared his throat. “I mean -- I know we’ve only been dating for a few weeks, but --”
“I don’t want to break things off with you, no,” Jazz said, shaking his head and swallowing his own tears. “Savin -- I wouldn’t do that to you. I can’t. I --” He managed a tearful smile, cutting himself off as words he never thought he’d say so soon wanted to escape his lips. “You mean a lot to me,” he decided on, compromising with himself as he met Savin’s gaze. “I don’t want to marry this woman. I really don’t.”
Savin nodded, pursing his own lips together in thought before offering Jazz a slight smile, in return. “You mean a lot to me, too,” he said, pushing himself away from the counter and walking over to the kitchen table. He settled in the seat beside Jazz’s and draped an arm over Jazz’s shoulders, leaning in close to brush his lips against the other man’s. “How long do you have to ‘accept’ this offer?” he asked as he pulled away, trepidation lacing his voice.
“Six months,” Jazz answered, tapping his fingers against the table top. “I have six months to cave into my father’s demands, and then who knows what will happen.”
“Six months is better than nothing, I guess,” Savin muttered, giving a slight shrug of his shoulder. He removed his arm from around Jazz’s shoulder, instead rubbing Jazz’s back. “I mean, who knows. Maybe we’ll do something crazy like get married, just so that your dad can’t try and marry you off to whoever he fucking wants.”
Jazz laughed, letting out a quiet snort as he shook his head. “Yeah, that would be pretty fucking crazy,” he said, wishing he didn’t feel so close to tears. He looked over at Savin and offered the older man a smile, brushing Savin’s hair off his forehead. “But...”
“But...?” Savin prompted, raising an eyebrow.
“What if that worked?” Jazz asked, feeling his own eyes grow wide as he looked away from Savin. “I mean -- my dad can’t make me marry anyone, if I’m already married, right?”
“Jazz -- we’ve only known each other for a couple of months at the most,” Savin said, sounding hesitant as he spoke. “Not to mention, six months isn’t even a lot of time to properly plan a wedding, and --”
“How would you know?” Jazz asked, his brow furrowing together. “You haven’t been married before, have you? And it’s not like we’d have to do all of the planning ourselves -- I am the Prince, after all. I have the money and the influence to get something like that done in less time than most people.”
“Because I’ve tried to plan a wedding before?” Savin offered, frowning and crossing his arms over his chest. He leaned back in his seat and shook his head. “And we shouldn’t rush into marriage like that, anyway. We hardly know each other -- what if it doesn’t work out?”
Jazz opened his mouth to respond and then paused, clamping his jaw tightly shut for a moment. He then sighed and looked away from Savin. “You’re right,” he said, putting his head in his hands and raking his fingers through his hair. “You’re absolutely right. We shouldn’t rush into things, just so I can avoid marrying someone else.” He shook his head, pulling his hands away from his face as the rest of Savin’s words registered in his brain. “You -- tried to plan a wedding before?” he asked.
Savin tensed, his frown deepening as he looked away from Jazz, avoiding his probing eyes. “Yeah,” he answered, clearing his throat. “Remember my friend Mari?” Jazz furrowed his brow, but nodded his head in response. “She and I -- back when we were in medical school together, we dated. And I asked her to marry me. And -- it didn’t work out.” He tapped his fingers on the table top, still avoiding Jazz’s eyes.
“But -- the two of you are still friends, aren’t you? I mean, she tried to set you up with me, back at the bar -- she encouraged you to take me home with you,” Jazz said, every word sounding more and more confused than the one before it. He studied Savin for a moment and shook his head. “How long ago did you two date?”
“It’s been --” Savin paused, pursing his lips together in thought. “I think we’ve been broken up for like, four years now?” he answered finally, sounding unsure of himself. He then gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s not like it really matters -- that was years and years ago, and we’ve both since realized that we’re better off as friends, anyway.”
Jazz nodded, ignoring the uneasy twisting of his stomach as he looked away from Savin. “I guess it doesn’t,” he said, shifting his weight in his chair. “Why didn’t it work out?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
“She wanted kids,” Savin answered, as if it were that simple. “I knew I didn’t, and she thought she’d one day change my mind, but -- here I am, years later, and I still don’t want them.” Savin then got up from his seat and made his way back over to the stove. “How spicy can you handle things?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.
Jazz took a moment to think about it. “Not that spicy?” he said after a while, getting up from his seat as well. He followed Savin over to the stove and wrapped his arms around the other man. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he whispered against Savin’s shoulder, noticing how Savin felt tense in his arms.
“I’m not -- uncomfortable,” Savin murmured, continuing to make dinner. The way he hesitated caused Jazz to raise an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he didn’t loosen his arms around the other man, and nuzzled Savin’s shoulder as he fought back another wave of tears. He felt Savin take in a deep breath. “This is just -- it’s a lot, okay? It’s hard, sometimes, dating the Prince.”
“Well, I never said this was gonna be easy,” Jazz whispered as he gave Savin one last squeeze. “You really don’t want kids?” he asked a moment later as he pulled away. He stood beside Savin, leaning against the open part of his kitchen counter.
“Nope,” Savin said, flicking his eyes over to Jazz before returning his attention on the food in front of him. “Why, do you?”
“I’m -- undecided,” Jazz answered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, as the Prince, I’m almost obligated to have children -- to continue the family line, to keep the Empire in my family’s hands, but -- adopting and raising a child that isn’t biologically mine unsettles me a bit.”
“Does it really matter if the Empire stays in the family?” Savin asked, raising an eyebrow. He picked up the ladle he was using to stir the pot, tasting a bit of what he had been concentrating on. He made a thoughtful expression, then reached for one of the spices he had bought on their shopping trip. “I mean, okay -- let’s say we were crazy and we got married. And we also decided that we weren’t going to adopt children. What then?”
“Next of kin gets the throne,” Jazz said, standing up straight. “I have a few cousins -- one of them would get the throne.”
“If you have cousins, then you have aunts and uncles, right?” Savin pressed, tasting their dinner again.
“Yes, but -- I’m of age. The current Emperor’s child inherits the Empire, no matter how many siblings the current Emperor might have, once the Prince or Princess is of age -- and I have two aunts. The Empire’s supposed to go down male-family lines.”
“So -- continuing with the idea of us getting hitched, of course -- if we don’t have children, who gets the throne?”
“We would have to designate the next person in line. Typically, the Emperor -- which would be me, by birthright -- picks a member of their Council to succeed them, if something were to happen to the both of us. If something just happened to me, and not you, you’d be Emperor. If you have any brothers or sisters, they’d be next in line -- but only if I pass away before you do,” Jazz explained, frowning. “Why?”
“Nothing -- just was curious,” Savin said, giving Jazz a smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but his expression softened somewhat as he took another taste of their dinner. His eyes widened, a true smile breaking across his lips. “Here, try this -- tell me if that’s spicy enough for you.”
Jazz raised an eyebrow, but welcomed the change in topic all the same. Savin held the spoon tightly in one hand, the other cupped underneath it as he brought the instrument to Jazz’s lips. As Jazz met Savin’s gaze, he felt his heart pause in his chest.
He wished it wouldn’t do that. He also wished he didn’t hope that maybe Savin would change his mind about getting married, sooner rather than later.
He’d just have to wait and see.