A/N: This is just another one of my pointless, random...things. It's three o'clock in the morning and I can't sleep, so I'm writing this...yeah. Big thanks to everyone who's been favoriting and/or subscribing to my work and I, I really appreciate it! You guys are my inspiration! Also, thanks lots for all of the critique/praise on all of my stuff, it's helps a ton, and, of course, it's always welcome. I'm going to kill myself if I have to apologize one more time for not updating ANYTHING; I am so sorry! I'm terrible... I promise, though, I will try my best to update! I've been working on all of it, I'm just never able to finish it...sigh. Excuses, excuses. Anyway, hope you like this, and I love you guys!
I can feel his heartbeat on my skin as I lie next to him, every inch of my body awake in a way that it's never been before as he sleeps. It's the deep kind of sleep I envy him for, I know; the kind he always falls into. When his mind slowly drifts away into an unconsciousness so complete that if he breathed through his mouth, he'd probably snore. He doesn't, though, but even if he did, I couldn't care less. I'd probably think of it as just another thing about him to love. Another of his simple imperfections; ones that he can't stand but I adore completely. I wish he could see himself through my eyes, as I am seeing him now.
He lies on the pillow above me, his hair spread messily over its fabric. A few strands of it hang over his forehead and eyes, covering them partially. His face is completely relaxed, not strained by a scowl or a smile, but utterly blank. It's something I never get to see, and I almost wish I could more often. The open, vulnerable nothingness that shows in the loose set of his jaw, the careless way his lips part just barely, the ease in his eyebrows. If I knew I wouldn't wake him up, I'd brush my fingers along his cheek, push back his hair from his eyes, but I'm not yet sure how easily he is roused from his sleep.
One of his hands rests at my back, the other hanging over the edge of the bed. I focus on the feel of his one hand on me, the gentle touch and warmth of it. My mind then turns to the rest of him. His warm body, pressed against mine; the immense heat coming off of him and the strange feel of his skin on mine. I take a moment to listen to him breathing and let his chest rise and fall against my own. My eyes shoot to his, which are still closed, and I once again wonder, if I were to touch him, would I disturb him?
I realize how quickly the sun is rising and a slight feeling near disappointment runs through me. I don't want this moment to end. I don't want to leave this room; it's all too perfect, an intoxicating bliss. I pause as he takes in a breath slightly deeper and louder than the other ones. He must be close to waking up. Suddenly, I find that the disappointment is gone, replaced completely by a dizzying rush of excitement, anxiety, and joy. Each and every second prior to this one are lost as I realize it's not just this moment that matters now, but the moments soon to come, and the ones even after that. This won't be the last time I'll see him like this, feel this way; I'm done pining for him. He's mine now. I guess I just need to get used to that now.