[It may be small, but Benedikta can tell the difference from all the others. It's less empty, and slowly creeps up into the little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. The kind that she had been looking for all this time, and one that brings about that annoying flutter in her chest.]

I don't care about your deadlines.

[And though she plays into the whole thing, the slightest quirk of her lip on her otherwise soft expression, she means every word.]

If I am to choose a life here with you, I don't want to find you with those circles under your eyes, and that awful beard. Never again.

[Her hand caresses said beard.]