suggested listening: 'the bed song' by amanda palmer.
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part a;
Their bed was warmer back then, even if it was half the size it should have been with barely enough blanket to share. But it was more than enough, with his lips against her golden hair and his arms wound tight around her chest. And yes, their lumpy pillow smelt, and their blankets were paper-thin, but she was happy, and he was happy, and that was all that mattered. Nights were filled with laughter and soft whispers, his breath sending goose bumps along her neck. With the moon caught in his silver hair he'd turn her around to face him, a wide smile on his face as he brushed his nose against hers.
Then, he'd say that she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and she would believe him with all her heart. She could not doubt his late-night confessions, could not question his feelings. What was the point? It was blissful, to lay there with his heart beating against her back.
Nothing had ever mattered during those long, starry nights in their frankly decrepit home in the less-savoury part of the district. Shivering nightmares did not wrack through her; she did not toss and turn as agitated dreams attacked her defenceless mind. Protected in his arms, she slept soundly, a smile gracing her soft lips as his deep, even breathing lulled her eyes to slowly close.
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part b;
Things were changing. The snow clouds gathering up ahead were swirling dangerously and she couldn't see the moon anymore. The nights they shared were few and far between, and his side of their futon was growing strangely cold and empty. I had duties, he'd say, as he crawled under the rag they called a cover. He was tired and he needed to sleep. No hugging or tight embraces tonight.
She'd feel a chill run down her spine as his turned away from her.
What's the matter? She wanted to ask, as her fingers reached towards his shoulder. But they'd freeze an inch from his cold skin as he unconsciously tugged the blanket away from her. Tell me what's wrong.
He'd leave early in the morning, long before she had woken up; it was already getting hard to remember the way the sun would cast yellow light across the bridge of his nose.
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part c;
Life had already begun to take them down very different paths by the time they'd finally bought a big enough bed for the both of them. Their shared house in the centre of the Seireitei, paid for by their hard-earned wages, was warmly decorated by her arty hands - he'd watched, nodding with amusement as she desperately wished for him to wrap his long, long arms around her again.
The feeling of skin on skin was one that had long since left her behind in the dry dust.
But, her heart shrivelled when she saw the new mattress he'd purchased with the money left from his promotion. It was huge, and the most comfortable thing she'd ever seen - miles away from their dirty futon in their Rukongai shack. Now, there were enough pillows for him, her and ten others. Yet, even with all of the blankets to keep her warm in the cold winter nights, she didn't think she had never shivered so much. Miles and miles of bed sheets kept them far enough apart so an arm flung across the mattress from a fitful sleep would never reach him.
And he wouldn't be able to hear her cries or her confused questions, as she half-heartedly threw them across the room with a furiously beating heart. His sleeping state would not register them - just like he would not open his eyes to see her arms reaching across to try and touch his arm. But the distance was too great. Her cold fingers barely made it past the second pillow.
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part d;
He'd left and taken her heart with him.
There was no longer a cool body to think about reaching out to, now - no faraway breathing to send her to sleep. Unlike the early days, her dreams were dark, lonely and filled with an aching longing to feel his heart beating underneath his chest. Questions plagued her thoughts, daydreams of better days long since replaced with nightmares of a cold future without him.
What's the matter? She wanted to scream, as her fingers reached towards the empty space across the vast and endless bed sheets leading to the place where he used to lie. Tell me what's wrong.
And her tears would flow and he would not see them. She wondered if it felt that better to live without her, wherever he was; she wondered if he'd finally put enough space between them so that he could feel comfortable. His stupid queen-sized mattress had obviously never been big enough.
And to think she had thought that she'd been enough.
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part e;
It was after the battle, and she'd found him sleeping peacefully on a slab of concrete as blood dribbled from his parted lips. Her heart was frozen, barely beating as she flew towards him, screaming his name over and over again. This time, as her arms reached out to hold him, they did. There was no strength in him to shuffle away from her, but there was enough to open his eyes.
This bed made of rubble was hardly ideal, but it would do for now. He was content enough, with being able to finally face her, with her finally wrapping his arms around his cold, cold body.
What was the matter? She asked, choking on her words as tears splashed down onto his pale cheeks. Why didn't you tell me what was wrong?
And despite everything, they were warmer than they'd been for years. The sun was playing off of his silver hair, and she was sobbing so hard she thought that her heart was going to shatter into tiny pieces. However, his shallow breath was not as comforting as it used to be - his heartbeat was slow and irregular.
But her body froze when his hands reached up to touch her. His smile was softer than it had been in years, and he was wrapping his arms around her waist.
I would have told you, he said, if only you'd asked me.
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