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His heart’s hair was the color of flame. Cinder pulled it up when she was away from him somewhere far, lest one of her flasks of fire or lightning she used in combat go awry. That was how the pinkish scar on the side of her face came about. She was in the lab, tempering with fire when the flask broke and sent fire and glass everywhere. She disliked the scar sometimes. It only made her more beautiful in his eye. But it was part of the reason why she didn’t usually like wearing her flame colored hair up. The scar was more visible. So when she was home, she took the pins down from the coronet and allowed it to fall to her shoulders.Cullen loved her hair the color of flame, pulled up or down. In her room, near Cullen, she took it down. It was part of her ritual, part of the way she let everyone know that she was home. She was home, and she was safe. She was with him. He loved every part of her. But Maker, it had been a long time since their last ritual. It was never easy, but he felt that the more times she left, the more slowly time moved. Someday time would move slowly when they were together rather than it fly by. He savored the time he had with her. Sometimes, he thought he was even greedy. She wanted him to be greedy.He had a bath drawn in her quarters before her arrival, the hot coals underneath ensuring the water would remain warm. She sunk into the water, sighing at the heat. The water smelled of lavender and roses, some strange concoction purchased in Val Royeux. She always sought a bath when she arrived back, another part of their ritual. She also sought his arms around her, and she sought his hands to knead away the knots, the stress and the anxiety that came with being so far apart. His hands reminded her that no matter how far or wide she traveled, he would always take care of her.“My soul.”It was so easy for her to call him that, sometimes Cullen didn’t feel worthy. Again she whispered it, my soul, when he slipped into the tub to join her and his he began to work out the knots in her shoulder and back. When she was gone, he always missed hearing her say that, my soul. It was a name she called him as if she had bestowed it a long time ago, in another life even, and at last able to call him that, she was do it every chance she got.She was bereft of the opportunity to call him that in their gap of time apart, so in the bath and in his arms, she indulged in the term of endearment. Likewise, he indulged in touching her. It was all so thrilling, to hear it bestowed upon him again. My soul. Not hard Commander, or even Cullen, but something sweeter. But as he began the second part of their ritual, washing her long flame colored hair for her, he asked her why.“Why what?” she asked, Cullen careful as he took a pitcher of water and poured it softly against her hair.“Well, I was wondering why you call me that name,” he said, lathering up the rose shampoo in his palms and working it through her scalp. “Out of all the names and terms of endearment, you chose ‘my soul,’ to call me.”“Oh.”She was silent for a moment. He stopped his ministrations. He asked if he offended when he asked.“No, of course not,” she assured, reaching around to caress his stubbled cheek, resting her back against his chest, and leaving a kiss on his jaw. “The reason is silly. That’s all.”“It doesn’t matter. I love it.”She kissed him again, softly against his scar, surrendering. She told him that she remembered reading it in a book a long time ago, about how part of people’s souls could be found in someone else.“And when I look at you,” she said, “I see that part of me. I know it’s silly, but—”“Do you know why I call you what I call you?”“Why?”He chuckled at the turning the conversation as he motioned for her to rise continuing to lather and wash her hair. “Well,” he said, relishing the soft moans she made, “I didn’t know it or realize it at the time, but before I met you, I think I lost that part of me that knew there was more to life. More than duty, more than a routine. More than living and waiting for something. Before I met you, I wasn’t sure if I knew I was more.”“Cullen,” she said as he rinsed out her hair. “You are more.”“You are my heart. When I met you, I felt it beat again.”She wasn’t merely content to have his hands through her hair anymore, or on her back or shoulders to knead away the stress and anxiety from being away. She wanted his hands everywhere all at once, wanted his lips to kiss the same placed. He wanted to indulge because she was made to be indulged, but more than that he wanted to tell her without words that he meant what he said. She was his beating heart. He wanted to give and continue to give, and not take that a part of her soul while she took his heart, but selfishly, he relished that gift that she so willingly gave.It wasn’t the only gift either. Along with his heart, she gave him a beautiful beginning.He would give her a thousand more things, a thousand things for the thousands of gifts she gave every day if he could. He started with that night.“No matter what happens,” she said, laying on his chest after. Her flame colored hair had long since dried, and it pooled against his chest. “It’s true. You are my soul.”“I can’t live without my heart.”They kissed. She promised he would never have to.