Work Text:
The snow fell quietly onto the pavement. No fanfare. No excited children screaming with the sort of joy about weather only an innocent being may hold.
Maybe the silence only speaks for itself. Perhaps some may argue that love carries itself in the silence. Love is in the noticing; in the way he grabs your coat because you didn’t know it was still snowing – maybe you were too consumed by his presence – and then the way you come home to a mug of honey and lemon tea and a warm bath to soothe the chill in your bones.
Maybe the silence reminds you of that argument. The way you had stood in the snow and the snowflakes marred the curls in your hair and the soft satin silk of your dress. How you’d forgotten your jacket in your haste to get out of the suddenly suffocating apartment and how the cool late November air prickled your skin and left gentle bumps in their wake.
And maybe the silence reminds you of the way the snow marred his hair and the tailored material of his suit jacket and slacks. How his usually uniform state now looked rumpled and tired like him, the grooves under his eyes more prominent after so many late nights staring at screens in a bleak office or fighting those curses.
More overtime and another date missed.
Although this time it was in your own apartment instead of a restaurant, the humiliation of waiting alone for so long still stung, propelling you to leave and find comfort in the biting wind outside instead of putting everything away and waiting for him in bed, as was the recent routine.
Maybe the snow and the now deafening silence reminds you of how his face fell when he saw your eyes, usually hazel and bright, now dimmed of their usual light and swollen and rosy. Salt tracks from tears that had now begun to dry resurface at his pained expression yet don’t fall – as if by some cruel joke of fate you had been barred from showing emotion due to your ducts running dry.
Maybe you are reminded of your shelter from the snow, his insistence on you wearing his jacket because he would curse himself even more if you refused again – like you were the one who deserved a punishment instead of him. Like you hated yourself for how selfish you felt for not considering how tired he must be, how he must hate having to work, all for him to come back to an empty house and an even emptier partner.
Ever the gentleman, even when faced with tears – whether that be his own or yours.
Maybe the snow reminded you of how it felt as he stopped to truly look at you for what felt like the first time in weeks.
His realisation that his work shifted his focus from you.
Maybe the snow reminded you of the sight of his own teary eyes. A trembling hand of his reaching to cup your face, painfully hesitant like he felt that he didn’t even deserve this contact.
Maybe it reminded you of the ever so gentle kiss placed upon your forehead and the way his thumb moved to smooth the gentle crease in your brows.
Maybe the snow and silence reminds you of the warmth you’d felt when he’d guided you to the apartment that was slowly beginning to feel like a home again.
Maybe it reminded you of the emollient hand that stayed on your lower back before he finally broke the silence with a small sob and a crushing embrace.
A tender hand came to rest in your hair before he looked down at you again and mumbled some passing comment about how your roots had begun to show more, natural against the gentle colour of your highlights – like he was reminding himself of how much of you he had let pass - before you flush slightly, as if him finally noticing you after so many long and sleepless nights brought a mixture of embarrassment and love.
It reminds you of the furrow in his brow when you’d sheepishly murmured something about booking an appointment with your hairdresser to get it dyed again.
It reminds you of the tears in both of your eyes when he let the silence linger for a moment before whispering with a hoarse and quiet tone - like he was hesitant to crumble before you again – about how you shouldn’t because it reminded him of how the seasons bled into each other. About how the brown roots sinking into the blonde of the highlights was akin to how the brown leaves fell onto the white snow.
He held you as the soft satin silk slipped from your shoulders and the salt tracks on your cheeks dried again. He held you as he lifted you into his arms and let you curl against his chest like it was the only place you could currently feel safe. He held you as your fingers began to fumble with his tie and the buttons on his shirt like you were impatient for the sort of comfort only he could bring.
He continued to hold you as he gently placed you atop the covers, holding himself up with his forearms to keep his weight off of you whilst his eyes roamed over your features, admiring the gentle slope of your nose and the flutter of your lashes against your cheeks.
He continued to hold you as your clothes were shed and you laid bare before each other, and he continued to hold you whilst you and your souls entwined in the act of devotion so sacred to you two.
He held you afterwards, whilst the lamp on the table flickered and he let the warm cloth lave over your skin, the dull ache in the apex of your thighs evincing that only became present in the aftermath of such a hallowed act.
He held you as you watched the snow fall against the windowpane. No fanfare. No excited children screaming with the sort of joy about weather only an innocent being may hold. It was too early for such a celebration. The only thing acceptable at this hour was to cherish the warmth of his embrace, to let the rumble of his endless apologies settle at your ear and wash over you, to allow your form to become lax in his arms like you had finally found peace in forgiveness.
He always made good on his apologies. You knew that. And you saw that in the ways he would come home earlier for the rest of his days with small bouquets because he ‘thought of you’. In the way he’d booked spontaneous days off to spend more time with you when he felt that you needed it – even if you didn’t know it yourself. In the ways he held you higher than he did himself.
Because when it came to you, he knew you were not someone he was willing to lose.