'I am worse.'
Ethea felt the thought solidify in her chest like lead, heavier and more piercing than the morning cold. Her heart clenched at the sudden, sharp realization of her own hypocrisy.
Soren had at least been honest about his past shortcomings and was now actively moving to bridge the distance between them. He was thinking of her constantly, navigating her moods and learning her preferences as if they were the most important facts in the world. He was trying, with a quiet and stubborn sincerity, to be a good husband.
But what about her?
What had she done?
She had remained a passenger in her own life, tucked safely behind her walls while he did all the heavy lifting. She realized with a sting of shame that just as he had been ignorant of her likes and dislikes, she was equally blind to his. She had accepted his care as if it were her due, yet she hadn't bothered to look past the man pushing her chair to see the person underneath.
"..."
It was a lopsided, selfish silence.
Her fingers curled tightly into the wool of the blanket, the fabric bunching beneath her knuckles as she fought back the urge to retreat into her usual numbness.
But then doubt crept in.
Her jaw tightened.
What if she opened herself up and he turned out like the others? What if she trusted him and he proved her trust was misplaced? What if he...
'No... I...'
'I should trust him...'
'Give him a chance at least.'
No...
This was a chance for herself. To trust one more time. Her only hope was that this wouldn't be the last.
'Alright... Here it goes...'
Ethea took a deep breath and forced the words past the lump in her throat.
"What... What about you?"
Soren tilted his head, looking down at her from behind the handles. "What do you mean?"
"I mean... What do you like?" Ethea spoke, her voice quiet but serious. "Your favorite color. Favorite food. Movies."
She paused, the air between them suddenly feeling very thin as she mustered the courage to finish.
"I... I want to know too."
Soren blinked.
The wheelchair came to a gradual halt as his hands went still on the handles. He looked genuinely confused, a faint, boyish flush creeping up his neck as he processed the weight of her words.
"You... want to know about me?"
"...Mmm." Ethea hummed softly. She didn't look back, but a tiny spark of secret satisfaction flickered in her chest. She could hear the cracks in his usual easy confidence, and for once, she was the one who had wreaked havoc on his composure.
"O-ok, I guess it's fair," he stammered, shifting his weight. He let out a nervous, airy laugh. "But are you sure? I'm not exactly that interesting."
In truth, Soren was caught off guard. He had never expected the focus to shift back.
"Mmm," Ethea urged again, her voice a gentle tether.
"Well, in that case, I..." Soren cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "I can try. Just... do not expect anything interesting."
He paused, gathering his thoughts.
"I suppose I like the color white," he started, his voice gaining a bit of traction. "It reminds me of the clouds on a clear day. Or fresh snow before anyone has stepped on it. There is something... peaceful about it."
He began to push the chair again, but his movements were slower, almost rhythmic, as if he were carefully pulling these details from a place he hadn't visited in years.
"As for food," he continued, and Ethea could hear the slight smile in his tone now, "my favorite is probably steamed dumplings. And kebabs. Especially when they are charred just right. They leave a specific kind of taste in your mouth, you know? One that lingers long after you're done eating."
Ethea listened, the information settling into the quiet spaces of her mind.
Her lips curled up faintly without her or Soren noticing.
She was building a map of him now, too, piece by piece.
"And movies?" she prompted when he fell silent.
Soren hesitated. The wheels of the chair crunched over a stray pebble, the sound loud in the morning stillness. He then cleared his throat, looking everywhere but at her.
"Well... this is a bit embarrassing," he admitted, his voice dropping an octave. "But I actually like animated movies. I've watched them since I was a child. And I guess I never really grew out of them."
He let out a short, self-deprecating laugh, waiting for her reaction. To a man who usually projected such a grounded, stoic presence, admitting to a love for cartoons felt like exposing a hidden, softer part of himself he hadn't planned on sharing.
"I know it's a bit childish," he added, his voice dropping into a quiet, almost sheepish confession. "But even so, I still enjoy them. The colors, the stories, the way everything works out in the end. It is nice to believe that things can turn out well, you know?"
He let out a small breath.
"You can laugh if you want. I know it is strange for a grown man to admit something like that."
"..."
'Hmm?'
Soren tilted his head in confusion.
After all, the laughter he invited never came.
Ethea didn't laugh; she didn't even crack a smile at his expense.
Instead, she leaned her head back slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of him. The judgment he expected was nowhere to be found; her expression remained thoughtful, even a little soft.
"What is your favorite?"
Soren blinked again.
"My... favorite?"
"Mm. Which one do you like the most?"
He stared at the back of her head for a moment, surprised. Then a slow, relieved smile spread across his face. Guess he worried too much.
"It's an old one about a boy and a dragon," he replied, his voice losing its hesitant edge and filling with warmth. "I've probably seen it a hundred times, but I still love the way the story progresses from the beginning to the end."
Ethea observed how his face changed when he discussed something he genuinely loved. It suited him well and made the "map" she was creating seem more vibrant and real. Suddenly, she remembered something from earlier, and her eyes lit up.
"Let's... watch it today, then."
The words were simple, but they carried the weight of a bridge being built from her side of the chasm. And, once again, she managed to catch Soren off guard.
"...Sure," He whispered after recovering himself. "I'd like that very much."