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"i love you."
he whispers it like a promise. like an in between. like the wind off a shore, so strong it nearly knocks you off your feet. like a cup of coffee shared as the sun rises over the horizon. like he means it.
the words are there, in their mouth, dancing on their tongue, but always stepping just out of reach when they part their lips to let them out. all that comes out instead is a drawn out noise, low and unsteady.
they want to say it. to give him the same promise, to show him they mean it too, they love him too.
but the moment is gone. he snorts at them, and sits up, eyes drifting away towards the window where the lavender sky of dawn is visible over the city. he starts to speak, his voice rich like honey and soothing over their shame and embarrassment like a balm. he doesn't mention how they've failed to say those four words for the nth time.
they wonder if his patience is limited. surely the well he fetches from will dry up at some point? will they still be stuck behind their embarrassingly high mental wall when he does? they're afraid of the answer, so they never bother asking. they just hope he won't stop giving them chances to break down the wall, to say those words, to show him how much he means to them.
his eyes are on them again. deep brown depths they're sure they could drown in given the chance. his hair frames his face, and runs down his back, wild and messy from sleep, yet likely as soft to touch as it always is. he's looking at them quietly, and they wonder if he's expecting them to respond. they hope he isn't, they hadn't picked up a single word spoken, too lost in their head as they often are.
he's just so beautiful. they've seen him ragged and dirty, covered in blood and alien guts, with matted hair, unkempt beard and tired, tired eyes. they've seen him in an extravagant gown, hair pulled into an elaborate braid, face freshly trimmed and painted with expertly done makeup. and they're seeing him now, in a faded t-shirt and sweats, eyes still slightly clouded from sleep and hair going every which way. to them, he never once was anything less than perfect. how could any one man be so humanly perfect?
they blink, the haze of their wandering thoughts clearing like clouds parting to let the sun shine through. the sun is him.
because he's smiling at them, a tug of the lips that likely reads more as a smirk than anything else. it's a smile that means they've done something he finds equal parts endearing and exasperating. it's a smile meant only for them, and it makes their heart race every time he directs it their way. like now.
they smile back, unable to keep themself from doing so. he's radiant, his smiles an infection.
"what are you thinking about?" he asks, and his voice is lilting and playful, as if he already knows the answer. and he probably does. there isn't much else that takes up their mind the way he does.
"you." they simply reply.
his cheeks grow dark, and his smile widens, becomes something more genuine and a little lovestruck. he doesn't say anything in response, choosing instead to lean in for a kiss. it's soft, and chaste, and speaks of a million promises, of emotions deeper than can be put to words, of memories and hurts and joys and of… of love.
they think they understand why he never seemed upset that they couldn't verbalize their true feelings to him. he already knows they love him. he'll wait as long as he needs to for them to say it, and even if they never do, they realize… that would be okay too.