Chapter Text
It was roughly three in the morning and you were just indulging yourself in a little time. Quiet time, specifically. Something that many people could benefit from but often disregarded. You liked it just fine though.
So there you sat, earbuds in, probably cliche but really nice and slow music playing at a volume slightly louder than some would deem comfortable (but you just did it by habit), leaning back against the pillows you had propped up at the headboard of the bed, and the fingers of your right hand entwined lazily with John's while you wrote haphazardly into a notebook on your lap with your left.
However the notebook wasn't exactly yours, but John's. You had given it to him as a Christmas present many years ago now, when you were still kids. The years had treated the book idly, for lack of a better word. It was obviously well taken care of, but used. The spine was creased, the edges of the deep blue cover scuffed in some places, a few corners of pages visibly torn or crinkled or dog-eared to mark importance. You had opened the book about an hour ago when you originally gave up on getting sleep, and your gaze had lingered on the admittedly cliche and so, so cheesy love note you'd written in the first few blank pages before the lined paper began. A fond smile still lingered on your face when you read it, though. Especially at the end, where right there, at the bottom of the page in your somewhat jagged cursive, were words that you had poured over for ages, before and after you'd written them, and that you still whispered to John to this day.
'So keep that breathless charm, blue-eyed boy, and teach me how to fly. I'll be yours forever, to the ends of the earth and sky.'
You were the master of words, it was official. You are so smooth.
The rest of the pages were lined with music staffs, a good portion of them already filled with notes and scribbles of things John had written and worked on and played whenever he got the chance. You had heard quite a few of them. They were all exquisite, as you listened to the notes thrum through the air around you as you sat beside the wooden stool that John would sit on, leaning your head against it with your eyes closed as you just stayed silent. It was always a nice thing that you were happy John shared with you.
But the book also held mementos kept pressed between the pages. Highlighted first were some slightly faded polaroids, most of which you had taken of John or other things that appeared mundane, but weren't really. There were a total of three hidden in the pages. The first was a close up of John's hands as they laid on the ivory keys, a few pressed down as he played a tune neither of them specifically remembered. The second, was of a bouquet of daisies, kept in a slightly dusty vase on the window sill in the kitchen that you had gotten for John on their third anniversary, despite how the cold of fall had been settling in again and the flowers weren't really in full bloom, you had managed. The final picture was of the two of you together, curling into blankets as you sat on the floor before their television, the bright screen behind you both featuring a hearty game of Wheel of Fortune just as someone had gone bankrupt. But the smiles on your faces made it obvious that you were not so lacking.
Other than that, there wasn't all that much else inside. A few post-it notes where their sticky edges were starting to peel just a little, a bubblegum wrapper with a particularly funny joke on it, and every so often, the notes written on pages were divided by words. You still sometimes wrote little ones inside whenever you found out that the latest piece featured inside was indeed finished, just to make sure you wouldn't put your note in a bad spot if it were to ever be played. So that is what you were doing tonight.
You could almost say it wasn't anything of note, haha, but that would be the opposite because it was a note, but no one else really had to know that because it would ruin your rightfully-shitty-317-am pun. And that certainly wouldn't do.
With this thought in mind, you promptly finish your note, signed with a slightly asymmetrical heart, before clicking the pen with a note of finality before closing the book and replacing it into the drawer in the nightstand where you had retrieved it.
You give a yawn as you turn out the small table lamp, putting the room back into darkness as you shuffle and shift to lay back down on the bed, your fingers still gripping John's loosely. He's laying on his back, and you're now on your side silently watching him as he slowly comes back into focus as your eyes adjust to the dim lighting. He looks beautiful, but he's still delightfully disheveled in rest. His hair is a mess, splaying over his forehead, his ears, and against the pillow, dark strands stark on the white of the pillow case. His chest rises and falls steadily with his breathing, and it hitches slightly with a small snore, his fingers twitching in your grasp to which you smile faintly.
You are eternally drawn to him, so you decide to move a little closer to him to indulge yourself in this as well, draping your free arm over his middle as you curl around him, fingers brushing over the small sliver of exposed skin between the hitched up hem of his t-shirt and his boxers, chasing away sleepy goosebumps while also being the cause of them. Settling your head comfortably by his shoulder until your forehead presses just slightly against it, the warmth of his skin radiating through the thin fabric covering it. Your feet shuffle beneath the blankets as they try to get comfortable with John's, your socks baggy where they've been slipping from your feet in your restlessness until you finally settle with tangling your legs around one of John's.
You give a final content hum against him, a kiss to his bicep before you join him to sleep.