The sun lit the dust motes hanging in the air, creating tiny sparks of light that shifted, appeared and disappeared at will. In direct contrast, voices lifted, increasing in pitch and volume. The stillness stirred, whirling the in passing of the smaller of the two people in the kitchen. The larger walked by, but paused, letting the sun shine on his head and shoulders, both bent over the window sill. His knuckles whitened as he increased his pressure on the shelf holding a dozen tiny pots. They needed watering, again.
Turning his back on the other, the one still yelling, he filled a pitcher and began spilling a small amount in each, careful that none received too much at once, watching the drips pool on the wood around the base of each pot. He stopped before the water could run. Several of the dark green plants had blooms - yellow, pink, coral. They weren’t fragrant and the plants themselves were armed with spikes, but that only made them more beautiful, just like the other person in the room.
“Well?” the smaller one asked.
“If I hug you, will you prick me?”
“I’ll give you a prick.”
He hugged her anyway.
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