Bahhh, I can't sleep either. XD
The apartment is quiet, bathed in pale blue light. A chilly breeze sweeps in through the half open window, gently strumming the translucent curtains as it enters the room. He is sitting upright by the edge of the bed, looking past the midnight moon, gazing indefinitely into the night sky. A sea of stars blinks back at him but he is unfazed by the enormity behind their gaze.
He finds it hard to sleep at night. The night offers him no solace, just the insomnia of thought, his never-ending, frantic and nightmarish anxieties pulling him in and out of consciousness. Even with her in bed next to him, he is unable to sleep. And, on night such as this, the quiet ones, the silent and still ones, the ones where the air is stale and stagnant, that his mind feels like it is slowly suffocating, a sluggish, lugubrious death march into permanent wakefulness.
Sheets stir behind him. "Can't sleep?"
He shakes his head in responses. Her arms outstretched, she pats some pillows next to her and beckons, "Come over here."
He obeys, falling into bed with his back toward her, eyes still fixated on the night sky looming outside their bedroom window. Propping her head up with one hand, her other reaches around his waist to play with the buttons of his pajamas. "What's the matter?" she asks, dipping her lips into the crook of his neck and kissing his tender flesh.
She closes her eyes and waits for a response. It is not an easy question for him to answer. She is almost asleep again when his voice wakes her, "When I close my eyes," a pause followed by a restless sigh, "it feels like I'm spiraling into an abyss. I can hear my own thoughts so clearly, so loudly. There is still so much left to be done. It's been two years and I have barely made any progress. I have the entirely military at my disposal, practically under my thumb and yet, yet I still—"
"Shh, shh, shh," she softly interrupts him, gently stroking his forehead. Anticipating what he is going to say, she adds, "You're a good man, Roy." She pulls her body closer to his, resting her forehead against the back of his head, she hugs him from behind. "You're a good man."
"I hope that you are right, somehow." She can feel his heart, a strained and thunderous muscle beating inside his ribcage, a flame burning with the same kindness and hope that she had felt all those years ago. His goals, his dreams, his demons are different from what they were then, but he is still the same. His restless and confident eyes, seeing everything and past everything, always trying to carry so much by all by himself; tonight, his eyes are weary, burdened and troubled.
"I paid for my vision with their lives," His body tenses, "and I swore by their lives that I would right all of these wrongs." His voice cracks, "and I'm afraid that I'm going to wake up alone in that helpless darkness and their lives would have meant nothing."
Slowly, gently, she brings her hand to his and intertwines her fingers between his. "You won't be helpless. You won't be helpless at all. I'll watch your back and your front. I'll be your eyes and your guide." Bring their clasped hands to his heart, she whispers in his ear, "And, I'll be here. Right here with you. And you'll never be alone."
His fingers tighten painfully around hers. He turns around to face her, to hold her, to see her. His eyes studying, memorizing the contours of her face, every wrinkle, every freckle, every hair, he wants to remember it all. He wants to see everything. He wants to see his guilt washed away like blood in the rain, he wants to see his naïve dreams blossom into reality, he wants to see this country take on a new shape, and most of all, most selfishly of all, he wants to see her. He wants to see her years from now, decades from now, lifetimes from now. He wants to see her forever as he does now, lying next to him, veiled in the silence of night, a soft breeze whispering through her loose locks of golden hair.
He moves to kiss her but hesitates and instead leaves a soft, almost furtive kiss on her lips, as if any sudden movement might jolt him from this fantasy. And he does it again and again, leaving tentative and hesitant kisses on her lips. She pulls him close and responds with her own kiss, bold and reassuring. I'll be right here with you.
"Riza," he breathes.
"Roy," she replies. She clasps her hand in his and rests her forehead against his. Then, she begins to sing.
The song starts out low, barely audible as she hums the tune. The wind carries her voice across the empty space above their bed, across their wooden floor checkered with moonlight, lifting the notes from her lips across the non-existent space between their bodies to his ears. Each note peels back layer upon layer of his incessant, rambling worries, like ice cubes dissolving in hot water. His breath mingles with her voice as she sings and without realizing it, he is already drifting off to sleep, his mind pulled towards the oasis of her voice, her song, her comfort, her lullaby.