A/N: I will reply to every review. Concrit is treasured.
I'm ready to leave, but I stay for a while yet to watch him sleep. God, he's beautiful like this: sprawled across the bed, with his hair forming a dark crown around his head.
Finally I bend over him and lightly kiss his cheek. "I'm going," I whisper.
He stirs. His hand reaches forward to grab and clutch at my shirt. "Don't."
So I stay—
and when I'm quietly closing the door,
when I'm descending the staircase,
when I'm walking the crowded streets
—I'm sitting at his side, and stroking his hair.