tuna

Elliott wakes up to the soft embrace of the morning sunshine, its glowing rays gifting a sweet warmth to his face. He stirs, the golden sunlight coaxing him awake. Looking to the side, he notices that his beloved farmer is not resting next to him, and just as he starts wondering what has become of them, he hears a commotion happening outside. He jolts out of his slumbering state and sprints to the front door. "Darling, are you alright!?" He shouts in panic as he swings the front door open.

"...ahh?" He stares at you, baffled, even blinking a few times as if trying to process the sight before him. "What? They got out. " You say with a smile, knowing why he's giving you that 'what-am-I-even-looking-at' look. You have one chicken tucked in your shirt and two other wriggly chickens under each arm.

"I thought you were in trouble," he sighs in relief while wiping the sweat off his brow, eyes flicking from the wriggling chickens to your amused expression. "I mean, I guess I am egg-speriencing some trouble," you say, trying to hold back your laugh. "You never fail to charm me, my love." He smiles, your smile contagious as it spreads to him.

Elliott steps toward you and gives you a comforting kiss on your forehead. His warm lips against your skin stir a feeling so indescribable that you can’t help but look away, a rosy hue spreading across your cheeks. "I'll handle it from here. Why don't you take some time for yourself today? You certainly deserve to rest every now and then. You're always so occupied with improving and looking after the farm—the least I can do is this."

Elliott offers to take on the job of rounding up all the chickens and returning them to their coop, his enthusiasm evident as he steps forward.

"Are you sure you'll be okay on your own?" you ask, your worry clear in your tone.

"Of course, darling! Chasing chickens is really no trouble at all for me," he reassured you. You entrust him with the role of the chicken herder and make your way inside your medieval-style home. You walk over to the kitchen to grab a quick bite. On the wooden kitchen table sits a bowl of freshly picked fruit that you gathered the day before. You grab a pomegranate, then plop yourself onto the cloud-like sofa and sink into relaxation. Just as you started taking pleasure in doing nothing for a brief moment, you hear Elliott exclaim, "Oh no!" followed by a big SPLASH.

Your head jerks up just in time to see him floundering in the pond, his arms flailing as he tries to regain his balance.

"Well, this is certainly not how I planned to spend my afternoon!" he calls out, his voice muffled by the water, before he emerges with a look of bewildered amusement. As he emerges, a crab is found in his pocket.

"Oh wow! This is quite a formidable crab--" "We should eat it," you said quickly.

Elliott looks at you with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape and eyebrows furrowed, as he couldn't believe what you just said.

"Don't look at me like that. I was thinking about turning it into crab cakes. You love crab cakes, don't you?" you ask, already knowing the definite answer while smirking.

Elliott takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting between the crab and the thought of a delicious crab cake. He looks at the crab, then at you, then back at the crab. His internal struggle is obvious, but as his stomach growls, he gives a reluctant sigh. "...I do love crab cakes." "I knew it; you can't refuse crab cakes. Especially not the ones that your lovely wife is about to cook for you," you say as you chuckle.

Elliott gently presses his lips up against yours. A mere gentle brush that feels warm and sincere. "How could I ever refuse your cooking, my love?" he says with a warm smile.