'Roger?'
'Mimi?'
She tilts her head back to look into his eyes. 'Sing Your Eyes for me?'
Sighing, he looks down at her and places a chaste kiss on the end of her nose. She giggles and shifts off his lap, instead lying on the sofa with her legs over his crossed ones. Absently, he strokes her bare calf.
'Don't you ever get tired of it?'
Giggling again, she nudges his chest with a pointed foot. 'Of course not. Please, Rog.'
He knows when he's defeated.
He reaches over the arm of the sofa, pulls his guitar onto his lap and pushes her legs away to give himself space. He begins to strum, and she tilts her head back and allows his voice to wash over her. For a moment, both can almost forget the overhanging virus; the disease that is slowly gnawing away inside.
Almost forget.
As he plays, Roger sneaks a glance at Mimi. Her eyes are closed, and he silently muses that it defeats the object of the song if he can't see them. Waxy skin, thin hair, ribs showing even through the tank top she wears. The legs over his lap are nothing but skin and bone, so fragile that he fears looking at her for too long could break her.
The song finishes, and her eyes slowly open once again. She hauls herself back into his lap, pushing the guitar to the floor. Roger winces slightly at the crash it makes, but Mimi leans into him instead. His worry melts as her forehead presses against his.
'I love you,' she whispers, her lips a mere fraction of a centimetre away from his.
'I love you too.'
X-X-X-X
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-Kate