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It was his voice.
I didn’t move from where I was, sitting cross-legged on the couch, head held firmly in my hands. The pressure that came from my fingers gave some relief from the sharp pounding in my head. His voice had brought me out of the distant state I had been in for the past few hours. The room had darkened. No longer did the sun try to force its way into the room, lurking behind the blinds and sneaking long spans of light across the floor. Now only the soft glow of a city at night and the partially hidden, yet still stark contrasted of light wafting in from other rooms in the house.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice closer this time. Still I did not move. I did not dare tempt the jolts of pain. I heard him breathe out, a low and quick hum against the silence. “It’s the headaches again, isn’t it?”
A long, drawn out exhale from my nose answered his question. I heard him move in the dark, taking his spot beside me. The couch dipped in from where he sat, a familiar peace settled over me. Him being near always did that.
“Come here,” he said, voice soft. I felt his hands take my head, leading me slowly to his lap. I closed my eyes as his fingers drew circles on my forehead and temples, placing more pressure than I had mustered. His fingers were icy, radiating a cold that soothed my burring head. “When did this come about?”
“This afternoon.”
“Have you been sitting in the dark all this time?”
“Yes.”
He leaned forward, his expensive suit rustling, and kissed my forehead in between his fingers. “You should not have gone through this alone.”
“I didn’t realize…” I stopped as the pin needle sensation washed over my legs. A harsh breath followed by another jolt of pain, my eyes squinted shut as my hands were forced to try to massage it all away. It was not just my hands, though; his fingers joined them, pressuring my legs in just the right way.
Whether it was seconds, minutes, or hours, I could not say. But when we finally worked all pain from my legs, his fingers returned to my head, allowing me to finally say,
“I was lost in my thoughts,” I replied, my words slightly slurred.
He began to hum. It was a slow, melodic tune that dulled my senses. My eyes, having stayed half open for most of the day, finally closed.
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The next time I opened my eyes, I found myself curled up next to him, surrounded by the warmth of our bed. The way his fingers drew circles on my back meant he was awake, longer than I had been, but was not fully ready to face the day. The room was still dark, but I could see pinpricks of sun peaking out from behind the curtains. Daybreak was soon. I thought about readjusting myself, tucking myself closer into him, but at this point in the morning anything was too much effort.
“Good morning,” he whispered. The hum of his voice was so soft, my body threatened to drift off again just at the sound of it.
“Too early,” I muttered back.
His laugh sounded in his chest, rumbling easily. The bed shifted, his body moving to prop itself up on his arm. There was a cold rush of air across my skin from the blankets opening. Goosebumps sprang to life, littering my back with a shiver. The sensation sent my mind rolling, bobbing between consciousness and darkness. The divide between the two blurred even more as his fingers began to trace and twirl slowly in my hair. A physical lullaby, gentle and soothing. The darkness began to draw me beneath the surface.
With one last effort, one last gasp of air before I sunk, I managed out a whisper, “I love you, Hannibal.”
Darkness took me as he let me know the same.