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Laying beside him was always a delight. He often smelt sweet like vanilla, but husky like bark at the same time. His skin was smooth and his breaths fell in such a steady rhythm. Looking at his face you noticed his lips were agape, pink and pouty, as he took shallow inhales. Then, you noticed his eyes. Long eyelashes that kissed his cheeks and puffy eyelids that were red from his tears. You reached out to cup his cheek. He was warm as you caressed his face; eyes searching for that typical twitch in his brow as he stirred into consciousness.
Surprisingly, he snuggled in deeper to your palm—sheets shifting as his large body settled in closer—with a deep exhale through his nose. His chest expanded slowly, somehow deeper, against you. Your hand moved from his cheek to brush back the tufts of pink hair that laid against his forehead. They were soft and silky as they slid through your fingertips. His eyebrows did scrunch at this, eyes fluttering open and meeting yours with a gorgeous sea of dark brown. Those plush, pink, pouty lips turned upwards in a sleepy smile.
“Hey.” He said, arm coming down to squeeze your body close.
You laughed softly, “Hey.”
“How come you’re up?”
“Just thinking.”
He frowned a little before rubbing a small circle into your back with his thumb, “What about?”
However, you did not answer except for a small shrug. You gave him a chaste kiss on his lips, treasuring the surprised little jump he gave. He squeezed even tighter. And the two of you laid in silence for a while longer.
When he dozed back off, you were alone again with his warmth and the silence of your shared room and his slow breathing meeting your skin. The buzzing of the heater blowing in the background was dizzying to say the least. You could not speak the thoughts that scrambled through your mind.
They were all of him.
Were you selfish to keep them to yourself? Maybe a little bit. His heart was beating strongly right against yours—almost in time with yours. You closed your eyes and unknowingly fell asleep yourself. In your dreams, he smiled as he held your hands, walking in line with you in the middle of the night. It was a memory the two of you shared. Waking up at two in the morning, you called him yearning to meet. No hesitation he appeared to whisk you away to walk the lonely pathway of the local park. The leaves crunched under your boots as you shivered under his jacket that hugged your shoulders.
Those brown eyes would take small glances at you from time to time. His thumb rubbed against the backside of your hand. It was a cute habit he had. Whether it was rubbing circles or not, his thumbs always seemed to be his way of expressing his feelings. His eyes crinkled in a grin when you laughed.
“What’s so funny?” He said.
“I’m happy.”
“You’re happy?”
You laughed again, this time facing him fully under the starlight. He was beautiful and raw—no powder or eyeshadow, no lip tints or lipstick, no contour or anything of the sort; he was yours purely and honestly. You loved how his mouth spread wide when he smiled and how his eye smile formed crescent moons that glittered in any lighting.
He brought you in for a hug and your dream ended with an abrupt feeling. There was more to the memory, but you could not remember. When you woke up, he was gone, but the sheets still lingered of his scent. His pajamas were folded neatly on the edge of the bed and there was a note on the bedside table. It read of a deep sorrow, a burden that could not, or rather, would not be shared with whom he loved the most. Your eyes shook as you read, unsure of what to think, heart racing a mile a minute as his sleek penmanship was scribbled wildly across the page. You assumed he was lost in his thoughts, afraid to express the tears you knew he hid from you.
The feeling of fear set in then. Questions spiralling throughout your head like constant word vomit that was swept up into a neat pile in the corner of your brain before setting it ablaze in a sea of yellows and reds and oranges. You felt cold and warm all at once as your heart clambered loudly in your ears. You wondered where he went. It was then you considered calling him or at the very least texting him, but something in you was bothered by that idea. Maybe if you had reached out...you would actually push him further away?
Was there a pointlessness in worrying? What if he never came home to you? What if he was happier that way? Isn’t that enough to satisfy your heart? Knowing he was happy?
Of course not.
Yes, it was selfish. You understood that quite well. You longed to hear his rambles about the crazy day he has had, or to see his frequent reminders to be strong and eat well. Mostly, you missed hearing his sweet voice whether he was talking or singing and especially when he laughed. But what could you do but wait?
So you carried on living, for his sake and your own, with hope in your heart. The time passed on by slowly.
It’s been more than sixty days without him.