01-05-2020

the candle is barely beginning to gutter, the flame drowning in softened wax, and in that flickering light something in his eye catches your attention. it draws you in - hook, line, sinker - and you can see him shiver when his eyes meet with yours, locked there, fixed in place. 

silence. then, softly, his voice. “my love?”

there’s a thrill that runs through you at that - love, the two of you so honest, open with one another about it that the fear cannot touch you in these late-night meetings, dalliances. you love him and he loves you and these two things are truth as much as two-plus-two-makes-four. 

“you’re beautiful,” you say, which are not the words you meant to let leave your mouth but they make his cheeks colour and his gaze dart away as he coughs, clears his throat, caught off-guard and suddenly flustered in two words. “i mean it, you know. you’re breathtaking.”

“charmer.”

“only for you.”

the candle flickers again and you glance down at it, frowning, noticing his eyes

tracing the soft edges of your silhouette against the strings of lights on the wall behind you. the sharp smell of the smoke catches your throat immediately after you bend to blow it out. the room suddenly seems so much darker, despite the fact the small pillar had barely provided any illumination, silver spirals making their way to the ceiling and into the cool night air through the cracked-open window.

“smells like a birthday,” he says, bouncing one leg, soft pyjama pants over his scabbed knee from where he’d stumbled the day before. “you know what i mean?”

“i do,” you say, because it’s the truth. “happy birthday.”

“it’s not for another six weeks.”

“happy early birthday, then,” you say, grinning, laughing when he reaches across to take your hand in his and hold it gently, bridging the small gap between the two of you.

blue ink snakes its way up and around his arm, the letters and shapes so smudged you can’t make them out anymore, but the patterns are almost a kaleidoscope, up almost to his elbow, an insight into his mind, the smallest glimpse into his innermost soul. it’s intimate, in the strangest way.

“do you want a drink before bed?” he asks, glancing down as he brushes his thumb over the backs of your knuckles. “got that hot chocolate you like.”

“yes please, then,” said with a smile. “you’re so thoughtful.”

“i try.”

he does. you know he does - really, truly. you help him to his feet and set the candle on the window ledge before you follow him to the kitchen, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and pressing your lips against his hair as he measures the milk out for the pot. he laughs, and his hair tickles your nose, so you spin him around to kiss him properly.

“i can’t wait to live together properly,” he says, an admission against your chest, forehead pressed against your shirt. the faded edges of a graphic catch his words, embrace the secret, brand it into the muscle of your heart and you don’t bother fighting the smile.

“neither can i,” you say and then, just because you can. “i love you.”