Seven
Guess who inspired this one?
She'd been gone for so long, he'd almost come to the horrific conclusion that she was never coming back. Of course, she'd been gone before, and even longer than this, but somehow, that made it worse. She'd been gone before for that entire long, hot summer, and he'd given up hope, had moved on - and then she'd come back into his life as if nothing had happened. He'd played it cool that time, but she'd wormed her way back into his heart, and he knew that if he was honest with himself, she'd never really left it. He'd forgiven her, let himself fall back into the old habit of adoring her. Oh, there were others, there were always others, he knew that. There always had been, and always would be. And it wasn't like she was the only one in his life; he had other loves too. But she was the one, the centre, the focus; she was the one he would always love most, would give up everyone else for. She was the one who made the sun rise in her smile, and when they fell out, when her face darkened and she grew angry with him, the world wept with him for the loss of her love. So when she left, yet again, his heart broke with the longing for her, and when she came back, he could do nothing but forgive her.
She was sleeping now. He spent several minutes just sitting and watching her, listening to her breathing. He loved these moments, when the world was still and it was just the two of them. There were so few times when that was the case; there were nearly always other people around, demanding her attention. She lay there, breathing low, softly snoring, and he sat and watched her, drinking her in. Hold on to these moments, he told himself, to remember, just in case... just in case she does it again. He breathed in deeply, deep enough that when he sighed he could smell her scent on his exhaling breath. No one smelled like she did; it was home and comfort and love and something else unique to her. He loved her scent, and when he missed her, he only had to take an item of her clothing to curl up with to have her with him. He'd always loved her socks.
She rolled over in her sleep, and for a moment her sleepy eyes opened and looked into his. She smiled, and her hand reached out to touch him. A shiver ran down his spine at the feel of her touch, and he leaned into it, letting the weight of his cheek settle into the palm of her hand. She closed her eyes and fell back into sleep, but her fingers rhythmically twitched against his skin a few more times as she did so. It was soothing, that touch - he had always loved that gentle, regular stroke of her fingertips on his cheek, reaching up to his ears, stroking down to his jawline. It was their personal, special touch, shared with no one else. Oh, she mimicked it with others, but it was never the same as with him. With them, with those who fought with him daily for her attention and time, it was a quick tickle, or a light, passing touch, but with him it was more, it was sacred and special. It was the bond formed from the very first day they met.
Could there really have been time before her? Certainly he could not remember it. She was the centre of the world, there was no life without her, even when she wasn't present. The need to be near her was so strong tonight. Even as she slept, he desperately needed to be by her. Perhaps even more so than when she was awake, he needed her presence. Who knew what things had happened to her while she was away. She always came home smelling of sadness, the scent of it underlying everything else she did, no matter how happy she was to be home. He wished he could fix that, could keep her from sorrow, but all he could ever do was sit close and tell her he loved her. Sorrows came with the night, and so he would stay with her.
With a sigh, he lay down. She would not be able to leave without his knowing. Listening to her sleep, he drifted off.
"Good morning."
He awoke to her voice, and the touch of her hand running along his side.
"Have you been guarding me all night?" Her voice was sleepy and amused. He carefully sat up, stretched, and smiled into her face. She stroked him lovingly.
"Making sure I won't go anywhere without you knowing, huh?" Her massaging fingers worked their magic, from his skull down his spine, pausing to scratch at that point over his hips that always itched the moment it was touched. He groaned with pleasure, and turned again to look at her full in the eyes.
"I love you," he told her, willing her to understand. "I love no one better than you. It's always been you before everyone. You are the love of my life."
"I've missed you," she said, sitting up and wrapping her arms around him. He sighed happily as she squeezed, and then shifted to let her get up.
"Ready for breakfast?" she asked.
His tailed thumped a happy reply on the floor.
She'd been gone for so long, he'd almost come to the horrific conclusion that she was never coming back. Of course, she'd been gone before, and even longer than this, but somehow, that made it worse. She'd been gone before for that entire long, hot summer, and he'd given up hope, had moved on - and then she'd come back into his life as if nothing had happened. He'd played it cool that time, but she'd wormed her way back into his heart, and he knew that if he was honest with himself, she'd never really left it. He'd forgiven her, let himself fall back into the old habit of adoring her. Oh, there were others, there were always others, he knew that. There always had been, and always would be. And it wasn't like she was the only one in his life; he had other loves too. But she was the one, the centre, the focus; she was the one he would always love most, would give up everyone else for. She was the one who made the sun rise in her smile, and when they fell out, when her face darkened and she grew angry with him, the world wept with him for the loss of her love. So when she left, yet again, his heart broke with the longing for her, and when she came back, he could do nothing but forgive her.
She was sleeping now. He spent several minutes just sitting and watching her, listening to her breathing. He loved these moments, when the world was still and it was just the two of them. There were so few times when that was the case; there were nearly always other people around, demanding her attention. She lay there, breathing low, softly snoring, and he sat and watched her, drinking her in. Hold on to these moments, he told himself, to remember, just in case... just in case she does it again. He breathed in deeply, deep enough that when he sighed he could smell her scent on his exhaling breath. No one smelled like she did; it was home and comfort and love and something else unique to her. He loved her scent, and when he missed her, he only had to take an item of her clothing to curl up with to have her with him. He'd always loved her socks.
She rolled over in her sleep, and for a moment her sleepy eyes opened and looked into his. She smiled, and her hand reached out to touch him. A shiver ran down his spine at the feel of her touch, and he leaned into it, letting the weight of his cheek settle into the palm of her hand. She closed her eyes and fell back into sleep, but her fingers rhythmically twitched against his skin a few more times as she did so. It was soothing, that touch - he had always loved that gentle, regular stroke of her fingertips on his cheek, reaching up to his ears, stroking down to his jawline. It was their personal, special touch, shared with no one else. Oh, she mimicked it with others, but it was never the same as with him. With them, with those who fought with him daily for her attention and time, it was a quick tickle, or a light, passing touch, but with him it was more, it was sacred and special. It was the bond formed from the very first day they met.
Could there really have been time before her? Certainly he could not remember it. She was the centre of the world, there was no life without her, even when she wasn't present. The need to be near her was so strong tonight. Even as she slept, he desperately needed to be by her. Perhaps even more so than when she was awake, he needed her presence. Who knew what things had happened to her while she was away. She always came home smelling of sadness, the scent of it underlying everything else she did, no matter how happy she was to be home. He wished he could fix that, could keep her from sorrow, but all he could ever do was sit close and tell her he loved her. Sorrows came with the night, and so he would stay with her.
With a sigh, he lay down. She would not be able to leave without his knowing. Listening to her sleep, he drifted off.
"Good morning."
He awoke to her voice, and the touch of her hand running along his side.
"Have you been guarding me all night?" Her voice was sleepy and amused. He carefully sat up, stretched, and smiled into her face. She stroked him lovingly.
"Making sure I won't go anywhere without you knowing, huh?" Her massaging fingers worked their magic, from his skull down his spine, pausing to scratch at that point over his hips that always itched the moment it was touched. He groaned with pleasure, and turned again to look at her full in the eyes.
"I love you," he told her, willing her to understand. "I love no one better than you. It's always been you before everyone. You are the love of my life."
"I've missed you," she said, sitting up and wrapping her arms around him. He sighed happily as she squeezed, and then shifted to let her get up.
"Ready for breakfast?" she asked.
His tailed thumped a happy reply on the floor.