Work Text:
sau·da·de
/souˈdädə/
noun
a feeling of longing, melancholy, or nostalgia
“Saudade is a vague and constant desire for something that does not and probably cannot exist, for something other than the present” – Aubrey Bell
“A pleasure you suffer, an ailment you enjoy” – Manuel de Melo
“Saudade for a brother who lives far away.
Saudade for a waterfall from childhood.
Saudade for a son who studies abroad.
Saudade for the taste of a fruit that is no longer available.
Saudade for a father who died, for an imaginary friend who never existed.
Saudade for a city.
Saudade for ourselves, whom time does not forgive.
All these saudades hurt.
But the most painful saudade is the saudade for those we love” – Miguel Falabella
Something about looking at Samira felt almost melodic.
It reminded him of a soft strum of a guitar accompanied by the mournful squeal of an accordion, the intertwined beat skipping like his old heart did whenever she was around. The song was the one Abbot's neighbor was always playing. Even though he couldn't pinpoint the exact language, he couldn't help but be entranced by how the melody and the calm voice that accompanied felt like a warm embrace.
When he asked for the name, it made sense as to why he always related it to her. The title was untranslatable —well, not completely— but the most important word had no equal in the English language. “Quando bate aquela saudade”, something like “when you feel that longing”, but that didn’t mean exactly that.
That word, saudade, spoke to him in such a special way. He carried it with him. This sort of longing that never seemed to leave his side, a melancholy that was etched into his way of loving, a nostalgia for the things and the people that he left behind. She carried it too, and that was the thing that got them together in the first place, saudade.
Laying with her head on his chest, softly tracing the freckles on his shoulders, her eyes looked so huge, those brown orbs that always enchanted him, close to his as they lay entangled on his bed. Her mouth, a mixture of a brown and reddish hue, seemed to call his. He was drawn to her, all of her. Nothing else seemed to matter whenever she was around and, when she wasn’t, her absence was all he could feel.
Now, he had the night off, and she had just left one of those shifts.
She didn’t want to talk about it, but he knew they would, whenever she was ready. So he took her clothes off, bathed her, and worshiped her body in the best way he could, just to take her mind off whatever had happened at the hospital.
They didn’t need to talk, not when their mouths were busy tracing each other’s bodies.
He was glad for the feeling of her body against his. Her soft skin against his hardened one, her cold hands tracing the marks he used to hate as a teenager, her cold feet stealing the heat from his calf.
God, he could die like this. And he’d go gladly, knowing that love had found him once again in this lifetime. He couldn’t even believe he was so damn wary of it happening again.
“Can I be honest for a second?”, he asked, his mouth working faster than his brain, breaking the comfort silence they were in.
“And you're not always?”, she asked back, and they just laughed together for a second. He loved the sound of her laugh so much. Sometimes he wished he could record it in a place that would last longer than his phone just so he could play it whenever things got too hard. Just so he could always feel her by his side.
“To a fault, I'm aware”, he admitted, sitting up a bit so that he could turn them. “If I wasn't we probably wouldn't even be here right now”, Jack joked, inching his head down just to touch her nose with his and give her a quick peck. And those brown eyes kept looking at him just like he hung the moon, that lovely smile growing in her face.
“I'm not saying this to pressure you into anything, but... I want you to be my wife, Samira”, he said, grabbing her hand so he could kiss her ring finger, and she just hummed. She knew, she always did. “I keep daydreaming about you, you know? In white, walking to me at a church altar. In red, meeting me at a Mandap… Christ, I went to the clerk's office last week and the only thing on my mind was having you by my side so that I could take your last name at the nearest city hall.
“I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel like every second I spend not loving you, being devoted to you, is just wasted time", he added, laughing weakly as he still held her hand, that same smile seeming so at odds with the eyes filled with tears. “I wish I could give you every kiss we haven’t had yet, which my therapist says is some sort of anxious attachment, but I just think that I might love you too much. So much that my heart aches whenever you’re out of sight. And I swear it’s not age related.”
“You’re too silly, y’know?”, Samira asked, not even bothering to swipe away the tears that dripped down the sides of her face. She looked so pretty like this, sprawled across his bed, her hair still wet from the shower they had just taken, her face still rosy from the orgasms she just had. “If you asked, you might even like the answer”, she said, intertwining her fingers in the mess she made of his hair.
“I just keep thinking about how we’d do it. If you still want to do a whole week of wedding festivities, if you’d want one to be in our backyard, if you’d want an ice cream machine on the party”, he told her, listing the things a younger, fresher, and not grief-streaked Samira always talked about. And just like that, the warmth of her hand left his body to cover her face.
“My mom told you this?”, she asked, her left eye appearing in the gap between her middle and ring finger. “I can’t believe that woman, oh my…”
“I’d be up for it, baby. Anything you ever wanted, I’d make it our reality. Anything”, he said, his hazel eyes so soft for her. Always for her. “Even if we invite all your cousins and they end up stealing my shoes and demand a million dollar ransom for them. Even if everyone at the hospital makes fun of me for how I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve when it came to you. Even if people think you're wasting your youth on an old man way past salvation. Anything. You’re as close to religion as I’ll ever get in this life, and I want to be devoted to you for as long as I live.”
“Oh… okay”, Samira said, coming to a sitting position and leaving his warmth behind. In a second, she got up and went to his closet, rummaging through the drawer that none of them usually paid attention to. Of course, she knew, she always does. “Then ask me then, properly”, she told him in that cocky tone usually reserved to their bedroom, leaning on the threshold and then throwing the tiny box he thought he had been keeping hidden for a little over a year.
Way before they even kissed, or held hands, or did anything that granted him the sureness that he could ask her one day. Way before he had met his mother and asked her if she’d let him take care of his daughter for the rest of his life. Way before she told him she’d love to have him as a son. And there was the saudade again.
For a second, Jack felt like a teenage boy asking a girl out for the first time.
He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, which was dry as a desert. His hands shook and sweat. Christ, he might be actually having a heart attack.
“We’re doing this then”, he said. “Bare naked. Right now?”
“You said anything.”
“I did.”
“And don’t you dare get on your knees, old man”, she told him, getting closer to where he sat on the edge of the bed.
“You’re so bossy.”
“And you like it.”
“I do”, Jack said. “And I want you to boss me around a little more. For the rest of our lives, maybe”, he added, that crooked smile she loved so much taking over his face.
“Will you marry me, Samira Mohan?”, he asked, the way he pronounced her surname almost perfect.
“Yes, Jack Abbot”, she answered.
not a second later, he already felt saudade of hearing her saying yes for the first time. So she said it again, and again, and again, as he pulled her to his lap. As he kissed her senseless. As he got on top of her. As he left a mark on her neck that definitely wouldn’t be covered by her scrubs. As he made her his, once again. For he was hers, all of him.