Work Text:
I can't sleep.
If I was home, maybe I would have.
I look at the clock, 03.45 am.
Tomorrow it'll be a harder day, I have at least to rest or I'll be wandering around like a ghost all day, I have to sleep.
I stare at the ceiling, I want to sleep.
So I decide, getting up from my messy bed, to go to his room. It's the one on the other side of the corridor, so I just have to exit mine and knock at his door.
One time.
Two times.
Three times.
Is he sleeping? No, that's impossible.
Is he hurt? Did he do something stupid?
As I get paranoid, I remember the spare key I asked for his room, just in case.
So I return to my room and take the key from the left pocket of my coat, his coat, the one he decided to lend me since mine was "too casual for a situation like this".
I get to his door again and I open it.
No one is in bed, and the room is as cold as a winter night could be.
Before I get to the bathroom to check if he's there, I notice the balcony door is open.
I slowly move the curtain to look outside.
He still has the jeans from the previous evening on, but he's wearing an old black sweatshirt, which it's surely not keeping him warm.
The soft lights of the city contours his slim silhouette.
I open the glass door.
"Ermal?" I whisper.
He doesn't turn around, maybe he didn't hear me.
I get closer to him and I slowly put a hand on his cold back, ready to get away if he wants me to.
He doesn't move, so I look at his face.
He cried, his eyes are red and his cheeks are wet.
He's smoking a cigarette with his left hand, resting the right arm on the railing.
He's so beautiful, I even doubt he really exists sometimes.
But it's not his height that proves me he's real, neither his hands or his voice or anything from his physical appearance.
It's that soft light I always find in the depth of his eyes.
When I see it, I remember why I asked him to write with me, I remember his strength.
My thoughts get interrupted when he moves his head towards me, looking at my tattooed hand also resting on the railing.
"I'd like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony, Fabbrì, a song of peace that echoes on and never goes away"
I stare at him, understanding that kind of feeling.
His expression darkens.
"Why they're not letting us do it?"
I cover his shoulders with my arm, hugging him as I place a kiss through his soft curls. "Erma', you have to do what you want to do, not what others want you to do- learn to don't give a fuck about what others think, you're perfect as you are and your music is better than the one they acclaim."
He buries his head in my neck, holding tight onto my shirt, and for some minute we stay like this.
"I can't do this alone" he murmurs.
"I'm not letting you- I respond -even if you're capable of facing the world by yourself, I'm not letting you."
I caress his hair, kissing his head some time.
I do love him, on what level I still don't know (or maybe I don't want to admit it yet), but I need him more than I need oxygen.
I see him lifting his head to look at me, and I drown in his eyes.
He has the look of a warrior, someone who has fought all his life and is now tired, but doesn't give up.
I feel the heat rising to my cheeks as his hand, the one with the cigarette, gets on top of mine, holding it.
As I look at our hands, he takes the opportunity to move closer to my face and place a kiss on the corner of my mouth.
I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest like fireworks, almost bursting out.
He untangles himself from my hug, returning in his initial position.
I watch him finishing his rolled cigarette, and when he throws it away he murmurs "I'm so-"
"I love you"
He stares at me as I let my mouth speak without my consent.
He blushes intensely and raise an eyebrow "You wh-"
I cup his cheeks with both my hands and kiss him before he gets to finish the question.
I try to be rational and simple, without going further.
Until he opens his mouth and ammazza oh what a great sensation it is.
He tastes of cigarette, toothbrush and lemon candy. I know he doesn't like when he has a bad taste in his mouth. He must had vomited.
But to be this connected to him... it's like he perfectly fills the voids I have.
And he actually does it, it's not the illusion of drug or alcohol.
He's real, he heals my wounds and accepts my scars, without asking for anything in return.
It's like I belong to him and he belongs to me, and we always knew it, we were always together, and now that we physically are, the world didn't have so much sense before we met.
But, as we part, I get overcomed by fear.
This won't last.
Another week and we'll never see each other this often.
This is going to ruin everything.
I'm going to ruin everything.
I'm surely not enough.
It's going to be-
He turns his head to kiss my palm, which was still on his cheek.
"I can see you thinking" he says.
I look at him, his eyes now closed.
"I'm only afraid this is going to hurt you. I will, you know how disappointing I am-"
"The only thing I know- he says -is that you're everything I could ever ask for. It's like I finally understand that great feeling that everyone sing about. You stand by me, you comfort me. You care for me, like no one did, and that's more than enough. I love you."
He smiles, and the world doesn't exist anymore.
No critics, no wars, no hate.
It's just us.
I stare into his eyes, shining brighter than I have ever seen, and I'm safe.
I'm home.