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[For Felicity, Jan 1] let me in the walls you've built around
Oliver can't recall the last time he's felt so deeply content. Somehow, he's been granted a chance to be happy, and somehow, he's allowed himself to take that chance. Whatever this city is, Oliver will forever he grateful that it's brought him, brought them to where they are. (There is a sort of guilt that wants to creep its way in, guilt over feeling like he's abandoning Starling, abandoning his mission, but Oliver doesn't allow it to take root. Not now.)
The room is quiet but for their breathing, and as much as he wants to pull a sheet up, Oliver doesn't want to move a single muscle. Felicity's head rests on his chest and he can feel her breathe, her body warm against his. One hand idly runs over her back, feeling the curve of her spine all the way down to her waist, skin smooth under his fingertips. There are probably freckles he has yet to find, parts of Felicity's body he's yet to learn, and he's looking forward to it.
"I don't think," he murmurs, "we ever said Happy New Year."
The room is quiet but for their breathing, and as much as he wants to pull a sheet up, Oliver doesn't want to move a single muscle. Felicity's head rests on his chest and he can feel her breathe, her body warm against his. One hand idly runs over her back, feeling the curve of her spine all the way down to her waist, skin smooth under his fingertips. There are probably freckles he has yet to find, parts of Felicity's body he's yet to learn, and he's looking forward to it.
"I don't think," he murmurs, "we ever said Happy New Year."