remmie and roan // writing exercise

I haven’t written anything in forever, so excuse me if it’s short. Critique alwayyssss welcome. Here goes nothing:

When was the last time they’d sat like this, just enjoying each other’s presence. 

The lush grass fell to the wind’s playful pushing, and the smallest leaves kissed her as they flew by. She had missed this field, all its mice, and she had missed the way the plains seemed to hold her close, but more than all of that she’d missed him. 

The soil sat cool and softened, being this close to a river left the earth gentle like that. Not muddy, not quite clay, and soft enough to fall without truly hurting yourself. This earth, these plains, were made for loving, and you knew it every time the soil held you. 

She looked at him, his perfect face, that perfect smile, those perfect teeth. He was rugged, but that was perfect. He fit into their background like he was painted in, the subject of a dedicated artist's portraiture. He had curls, curls like winding vines, and they fell around his face like a darkened veil. He always kept his hair so long, and she always brushed it away to see those eyes. Earthen, soft, and doe-like, glimmering with trouble. He always had the best bad ideas. Like this one, the best bad idea. 

“What are we doing here, Roan?” She sighed hopelessly, and for the first time he’d noticed how her smile was almost sad. She’d never looked at him like that before.
She was the flowers that decorated these grasslands, not a tulip there that could outdo her. Her eyes were bright, cat-like, motherly. She was motherly, but he’d never let her mother him. There was something more majestic in when she finally settled down, all the tension would seep out of her, wildflowers making way so she could rest on what had been their spot for decades. Nature bowed to her, the universe blessed her. There wasn’t beauty in a world where there wasn’t her. She made everything look complimentary, as if the wind knew how to play in her hair just right, or how to dishevel her dress strap just enough. She’d always been a beacon of everything right in this world, but now, somehow, this beacon glowed blue. 

“We’re learning the world.” 

They’d been saying that to each other since the then five-year-old, Remmie first picked up a worm and called it a ‘dangler’-completely making up facts about it to educate six-year-old Roan about the world. Every time they came, even as they got older, and knew better, they’d learn the world this way-- their way.

“We’re too old for this now. We both have college applications and packing to do. What more is there to learn in this silly field.” She’d said it with such finality that his resolve broke a little.
They were parting ways for college and, while it left her heart sore, she’d been happy he got to see the world he worked so hard for. She sat sullenly for a moment, then got up to leave when a hand caught the edge of her fingertips. She looked back, poised to scold. 

There, in her rearview, kneeled Roan with a beautiful amethyst cradled in white gold.

“This,” He hesitated for a beat, “This is a ring. And people our age usually use it to ask for forever.”
He looked at the ground ahead of him, one hand grasping her own, the next holding the ring out as an offering. He’d never been good with words, never been suave like all the guys she liked on TV, but she liked him so maybe this much was enough. He hoped this much was enough.
A small sniffle fell into his ears and he looked up, panicked. Before he could apologize, she spoke.

“This is a happy tear, girls my age usually shed these when they’re too overwhelmed to just,” She choked the last words out, “Just say yes.”
They fell into each other, eager and relieved. They’d never wanted to leave each other for that new world, and they wouldn’t. They’d keep learning this world, their world, together.