#callsignspark

It's the same one that makes his head all sorts of fuzzy when he finds himself dropping onto one knee, trembling fingers doing all they can to not drop that tiny little ring box. He was entirely meaning to follow up with the notion of him getting a tattoo of your initials, but he's right back where he started. Wearing that same wild grin, drowning in the melody of your excited giggling, and again, he can't get a damn word out of his mouth.

He's not thinking about it when you're laying him down in the bench seat of his truck, pulling his shirt over his head, and kissing down his chest. But then your kisses are making a detour, peppering over that odd little lump of fat, and he doesn't quite get what's so special about it. Fusses at you for it, huffs when you tell him that it's only fair if he gets to kiss all of your imperfections, then you should be able to do the same.

A greater part of him expects it to stop after that night. But the next time you find the chance, you're kissing it again and again, and eventually, he's learned to stop questioning it. Squirming at every press of your lips, trying to ignore the way your soft hands hold the sides of his waist.

Then comes a day when his week-long sleepovers finally dissolve into moving in together; it's not a massive change; he practically lived with you as it was, but now you're saving dinner for him on the nights he's late coming home. Royal and Perry aren't around to eat the leftovers in the middle of the night, and all of a sudden, he's nibbling on last night's dinner as he gets ready in the morning. Mindless snacking revives his appetite, and you've got to leave him a note if you want to save the leftovers for yourself because otherwise, it'll be gone when you wake up.

Weekends are the only times they don't disappear before 6AM; where Cecelia would be up and have breakfast over with by the time Rhett woke up, you share a sleep schedule with him. Waking up when he does, snuggling in the sheets until you drag yourselves into the kitchen. Rhett starts the coffee maker, you take charge in what you want to eat, and he tries his best to help. Mixing the eggs, loading the toaster, fetching the plates, but never going beyond turning on the stove. Heaven knows he'll burn everything otherwise.

His cheeks are a smidgen softer now, thick thighs filling out his pajama pants, biceps swollen with new muscle. This new weight he's put on has only added to his build; he's bulky now. Hasn't grown an inch and yet his presence in a room is bigger than it's ever been.

He's got something in his hand. Small enough that you have to walk over for a better look. 

Already, you know what he's holding. A tiny ghost figurine from the Halloween section, an equally tiny cowboy hat perched atop its head. A true ghost cowboy. 

The furrow of Rhett's brow has you reckoning that he's taking offense to its presence. 

"It's a Halloween decoration," you remark, bland as can be, fully aware of the wall of cowboy-themed Halloween decor lurking in the next aisle over. Ranching towns love this sort of thing, Rhett just isn't aware of it yet. 

"Is this how y' viewed me when I was floatin' around?" He's twisting it back and forth as if it will possibly turn into something else. But unlike his past ghostly self, it retains its plastic shape.

Your shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. "It's pretty close." 

His jaw drops. Mock shock. "I can't believe this."

But just behind your head is a matching ghost horse of the same theme, and he's reaching for that, too. Clasping the two of them in his big hands, looking more akin to toys than decor meant to sit prettily on a shelf. He's still figuring out this whole 'real' thing. Always has to squeeze things in his big hands, feeling the way they fit in his palm, what texture they are, and the sound they make when he taps on them. 

So far, plastic seems to be his favorite texture. 

"Are we buying them, or are they too uncanny valley for your taste?" Partially asking out of curiosity, but mostly to get a judgment of whether or not to steer clear of this next aisle. He and his unsteady feet might wind up on the floor. 

"No, I want 'em, I just..." his head tilts, a shred of amusement glinting in his eye, "we didn't have stuff like this when I was 'round."

That's enough for you. "Then put 'em in the cart, old man." 

And when he does discover the Halloween section, you have to leave him to finish your shopping, because he's both amused and horrified by everything. The animatronic toys nearly send him back into the grave, and he really, really doesn't know what to think about the vast array of zombie cowboys. 

Rhett wants to keep them on you, Bobby's fussing about not being able to touch you, and at the same time, you're wanting to touch them, and it's so, so much. The three of you are a blur of excitement and prettily colored lace falling into the sheets.