If there was a word to describe the way her heart soared at the feeling of cupping Anna’s face with her hands, thumbs brushing over the constellation of freckles on her cheeks as warm breath ghosted over hers, Elsa desperately wanted to know. She wanted to pore over its definition until each letter, each symbol, was imprinted onto the back of her eyelids; until she was its sole, undisputed expert; armed with every degree, every title, every honor that came with its mastery.

“Do you trust me?” Elsa rasped into the space between them, searching Anna’s gaze for any sign of doubt, any lack of faith, and finding none. Instead, teal eyes shone with determination, steady and true as Anna whispered her response, lips nearly brushing hers from that alone.



“Always.”

