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It's hard to say I love you when I'd spent so long hiding it.
Sometimes, with trained eyes following his hands as they butter his morning toast, all my mind can round around in words is “I love you”. But, despite such an internal dialogue, it's so hard to spit the them out. They gather in my chest, knotting there and making my other phrases come out muddled in comparison to what I actually want to say.
I love you, Simon Snow.
Burying it does little use, given how it'd be best if I did say it now, especially since we are boyfriends . Nonetheless, only rarely do I actually let the words slip. Early morning showers when he's both snogging me and washing my hair before we head to our respective 7:00 and 7:30 courses. Late Friday nights after a nice dinner date and I stay the night at his flat. When we kiss ourselves tired and share a blanket for warmth. The moments that happen to be ones I give myself the satisfaction of even uttering my thoughts.
There are times that I should say it, but I never can quite find the means to let them spill out.
There used to be nights that he’d only rest for a few hours, then wake with a shock of twitching wings and panicked gasps for air. He’d stay up until the sun broke.
Those nights, when nightmares turn into hand holding or silent cuddling and his face face turned towards nothing at all as silent tears streaked down still cheeks.
I think I've learned the trick to calming him; to telling him I love him without saying it out loud; a single part to the 1000 piece puzzle that is Simon Snow (I’m not even sure if I'm halfway through with solving it).
I'd gotten in late, violin in tow and in a hurry to just eat dinner and get to sleep. Ever since about mid first semester, Snow had admitted that he has a difficulty sleeping without the sound of my breathing.
Thankfully, the feeling was mutual.
Since then, I’ve been staying at his flat at least four nights a week, just so I can fall asleep without having to phone him for an hour first. I'd never admit it, but sometimes I just need to convince myself that he's real to be able to relax.
On that very night, even with his chin tucked into my neck and arms heavy around my waist, I knew we wouldn't make it through the night peacefully.
1 in the morning proved me right.
The twisting and turning of Snow's body, the contorted gasps for air and heartbreaking, whimpering cries that escaped his lips unknowingly filled the air with what would’ve been his magick, if it were years ago. Now, instead, it was just broken nightmares.
With a smoothing hand to his forehead and lips peppering his sweating face, I pulled him back to reality; back into my arms; the ones that he clutched. The ones he quietly cried into with breathless apologies.
That night, after he's calmed his sobbing enough to a trickling of the occasional tear, I'd taken it upon myself to soothe him a different way; to play him to sleep.
I couldn't quite think of a proper, serenading song. It was late, and I was tired. Any song that took effort beyond simple, time-repeated movements felt like a mountain's worth of effort, so my mind settled on something I'd learned long ago.
I think back to I was about 12, playing the very song in my room. I was alone, teaching myself it over and over following the lesson I'd just learnt it in. The melody was simple and grounding. It sounded like the memory of ghosts walking the halls that looked a bit like me, standing much taller and sounding just like my mother. She'd live in my dreams, and then, when I was old enough, in heavy bow drags and the scent of rosin.
As I was setting up my instrument, sliding the chin rest into place before holding in with my jaw, my eyes caught Snow's across the room. He just stared with a confused, open gaze that followed the fluid motions of my preparing hands. I knew I'd played for him a few times, and he'd seen me prepare each time, so it wasn't the process he was unsure about, but more the actions themselves.
Yet, as I settled sitting upright at the foot of his bed, he cautiously approached and settled his head onto my lap. Eyes falling shut and sniffling out a few times, he layed with eyes closed as my left arm dropped, chin holding the instrument tightly in place as my hand dragged through his knotted curls. In compliant silence, he just tilted his head back to kiss my palm.
Following a stroke of my thumb to his cheek and a clearing of his forehead later, I'd raised my hand up and settled my shoulder before exhaling and resting the bow to the strings.
As the sound started, it'd hit me that it was my way to tell him; that if I couldn't say it out loud, I'd show him. At half past one in the morning, after a full day of classes and with another early morning, I’d have all the excuses in the world to just cuddle him until I fall back to sleep and leave him to stare blankly at a wall. But, instead, I take up upon myself to soothe him, no matter what. I’d found a way to calm his unsteady mind and tell him that I love him as wordlessly as I can.
Because I do love him; I love him tremendously.
I love him a song's worth; a concert worth. Operas worth. A world tour.
To play him to sleep every night, so long as it would lull him to sleep.
The song came out almost automatically as my bow danced on the rosin-brushed strings. Even through the soft haze of sleepiness, my fingers fell into place as my elbow’s sway followed in tune. It's not a long song, nor is it difficult in the slightest, so I went through it twice for good measure and slowed down my playing enough to let it drag for a few good minutes. In return, I got the most beautiful sound in the world; Snow's even breathing.
A calmed rise and fall of his chest drew my attention as his eyes stayed shut and mouth hung open. Even in the moments after I'd lowered my bow and violin to the bed, he'd remained still and relaxed against me, nose buried into the soft leg of my cotton sweats.
The moment my hand touched his hair, his eyes fluttered half open before sinking back closed and lips pulling outward into a smile.
I didn't quite have the heart to shake him from my lap, so I settled my violin on the bed bench before curling up with him on the bed diagonally.
For the first time in months, he'd fell back asleep after a nightmare.