[ WP ] I feel like there is a lack of love on this subreddit . Write a Love Story !

`` Where are those pliers, dammit?'' 
 
 `` By your left elbow.'' 
 
 `` Where?'' 
 
 `` Over there.'' 
 
 `` Hmpf.'' 
 
 This was the usual exchange they had, and quite a long one at that. Mostly, they just kept silent and kept out of each other's way. It was the winter, that's what it was - the thick snow that covered the house and the forest, the inescapable barrier that was soft and light, and yet as sharp and merciless as any sword. He berated himself for going through with it in winter, for forcing himself to stay at home with her and endure her presence. Had it been any other season, he'd be out there, everywhere, anywhere but here. 
 
 She knew he felt that way, or at least she suspected. The dark look in his eyes when he'd enter the room and see her already there, sewing or darning or embroidering - because what else would she do? - when he realised he'd have to sit down next to her and spend hours upon hours in her presence. He'd throw down his tools on the table with exaggerated force, to fill the silence with the jingling of metal rings, the thud of leather scraps, the cacophony of... well, everything. She knew a bit about these things, but not much. It was male work. 
 
 So they'd sit together, in silence, resenting the other one for intruding upon a peaceful day of manual work by the big fireplace. Little by little, they got used to it, though, and the other's presence was not as grating as it used to be. She found herself raising her eyes from the needlework, watching his hands wrestle with the leather or bend the metal into submission. It was hard work, but he never angered over it, he was always calm and collected. Once or twice, she noticed him look up from the table and glance at her, and she hid her face in her hair, shining in the firelight. 
 
 It was an arranged marriage, she reminded herself, an affair of business meant to bring money to her impoverished parents. The man was a complete stranger, and he'd shown no intention of changing that. He wanted no closeness between them. 
 
 And yet, even that fact had an underlying... gesture. She tore her eyes with some difficulty from his forearms and adjusted her dress, too warm to sit in front of the roaring fire. They have been married for some time now, and the marriage remained unconsummated. She would never share the thought with anyone, but she had a deep suspicion that it was out of... consideration. For her. That he did n't want to force her into something she did n't want. 
 
 He found the pliers and attacked the metal plates with more ferocity than they called for. What was she thinking of? She just sat there, with a strange look in her eyes, and then, just as he was about to speak, she undid the laces of her dress and slid the neckline lower. He turned his head away quickly, trying to think of other things. She was a good housekeeper, she performed her duties satisfactorily, and that was what he had wanted, was n't it? 
 
 Well, that was certainly the plan. Reality has turned out to be more complicated, as it was wont to do. The metal was stubborn, the tools imprecise in his hands. He looked her way once more, and saw her frown over the hastily darned shirt. 
 
 `` Made a hash of it, did you?'' 
 
 `` What? Oh... yes. I did. It's like the needle wants to spite me today.'' 
 
 `` Same here.'' 
 
 With a strange, jerky movement, she stood up, fabric and threads sliding down her skirt to the floor. She approached him in three hasty strides, as if afraid he'd get away. 
 
 `` Then leave it,'' she said. She stood over him, chest heaving as if in effort. `` Leave it, and...'' 
 
 `` And what?'' 
 
 `` Oh, I do n't know! Just come sit by the fire with me. Relax.'' 
 
 Now he stood up, still holding her gaze. She had to lift her head to look into his eyes, and he had to lower his. They stood there, in silence broken only by the crackling of the flame, and wondered if it was even possible. If it could happen that way. 
 
 He raised his hand and, with fingers that could grasp a sword like they were iron themselves, with a hand that could rein in a rearing horse and yet now was trembling, tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. She closed her eyes and leaned into his fingers. 
 
 In the fireplace, the large log that was put in to keep the flames up all night, finally caught fire.
