Silent Love
His hand unsteadily traced over the features of my face. Cold fingers grazed against my forehead and down to my chin. Each touch, small as it was, sent warmth through my body. He lay so close to me I felt his body heat against my skin. I pictured his wide eyes staring at me in amusement. He probably has a content smile spread on his lips.

This was my favorite part of the morning. The part where he thought I was asleep and he silently caressed my features. Even when he thought I wasn't aware he still loved me.

Right before the alarm went off he drew his hand away from my face, pulling it back under the covers. The blaring sound came only a minute later. I pretended to wake up, opening my eyes to greet him.

"Morning, beautiful," My voice was raspy and a tad bit more nasally as I spoke the greeting.

His green eyes stayed focused on my blue ones. The bags under his eyes told me he had been awake much longer than I had thought. I have known him long enough to realize that he wasn't healthy. His cheekbones from malnutrition poked through his skin. His eyes were sad and sunken in even though he had that daring grin on his face.

"Says the beautiful one," He responds with a forced smile.

Yes, he has never considered himself worthy of being called beautiful. Everything has a problem with him. He has problems. Nothing can be perfect in his eyes.

But in my eyes he is perfect. He is beautiful. I have known him my entire life and have seen him struggle. I cared for him at his weakest. I loved him at his best. He is my Tweek Tweak.

He is a paranoid mess full of anxiety and depression. Nothing I can fix, I know. But he is still such a wonderful creature. He has never given up. Even with me. He never once told me I was worthless. He only told me what I could fix, and it was all in a reasonable way. He brought up my attitude and my anger issues. He showed me my flaws and told me they were beautiful. His flaws are just as beautiful. But I hate to see him wither away in front of me.

Drugs will be the death of him.

I know he's suffering. He's trying to quit. But I know he'll go right back to the release. He needs to stay awake, he says. Or else bad things happen. No. Bad things happen to those who don't trust. He doesn't trust me. He thinks I will run off in the middle of the night. Six years and I've never thought of it.

His shaky fingers search for mine under the sheets. He latches around my hand and I pull him closer. He's gotten so thin. Much thinner than I remember. His mind must be a mess. All the nights he stays awake I'm sure it haunts him. The invisible creatures that he sees, and the bugs crawling through his skin are all figments of his imagination. Figments that he has deemed real. But the only thing that is real is me, and I make sure he knows that. Three years of being on and off drugs has taken a toll on him. It worries me.

It scares me.

"How long have you been up?" I ask him.

He kisses my chest, acting as if he is just trying to scoot closer. "Not long," He lies.

I can tell when he lies. He never shows his face when he lies. It's just like when he tells me he's not going out to his dealer. He will usually say that he's going grocery shopping, but comes home without a single bag. But I know his pockets are full of his supplies. He doesn't go anywhere without them. He needs his uppers. He needs his fix.

I know he just came home from a long night of fighting his addiction. He gave in and is just coming down on his high. His eyes told me the story before he covered his face.

He's fought so hard. And he's trying to keep me even though I'm not going anywhere. That's why he watches me sleep in the morning. If he does lose me then he will remember that he did once have me. I only know that because he told me once before. Sure, he was high off his ass but I took it to heart. I always take what he says to heart. He is my world. My beautiful destructive world.

I run my fingers through his tangled hair. "It's Saturday," I tell him.

Saturday's are laundry days. They are the days I love. I get to spend all day with my love lounging around in our underwear. It's so boring.

I love it.

He looks up at me, "I'm hungry."

I smile down at him. He is grinning back up at me. It's that same mischievous grin that says he's been out all night. I am a deep sleeper so it isn't hard for him to sneak out. I've only ever caught him once. It made me feel like a terrible lover. But I try my hardest. He just has an addiction. And maybe I do too. No, I do have an addiction. I'm addicted to Tweek. He lies and steals, he is a druggie, and he has serious mental issues. But he loves me. And I love him.

For the past six years I have loved him. And for the past three I have loved him even more. I feel guilty for getting him into the drug scene and not getting him out. But we are slowly working at it.

"French toast or pancakes?" I ask. I cook breakfast since it's usually quick and easy. He is in charge with dinner. We usually don't eat lunch. I offer the sweeter meals to hopefully add some meat to his bone.

He hums while thinking. His face is all scrunched up in serious thought. It's the cutest thing I have ever seen. "Pancakes," He finally says.

I kiss his forehead and roll out of bed. I feel him tug at the back of my sweat pants. I turn my head to see his face half hidden by the pillow.

"I messed up," His voice was soft, but spoke in volumes.

I pull my legs back up into bed, pulling him closer to my chest. He is on the verge of tears. I can understand why. He barely managed a week being clean.

"How?" I humor him.

He wraps his lanky arms around my torso. "I went out again," I know he did, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he repeated.

I hushed him, rubbing the back of his head, "I know," I whisper. And I know he has been out all night. I know how sorry he is.

"There's this place," He began, taking a long pause leaving nothing but silence in the room. "To help people like me."

I pulled him away from my chest to look at his face, "Rehab?" I asked in surprise.

Hesitantly, he nods. "It's in Denver."

I bite down on my lower lip. This is something he has never brought up. His green eyes are focused on me. He's waiting for a response.

"Yes," I finally manage out, "Yes." He wants help.

If it's more than I can provide then so be it. I will be his support. I will be there for him through his highs and his lows. I will take care of him. I will love him. Because he has always loved me. Six years and nothing has changed except for our maturity. We have grown together. We spend nights awake when he's shivering and scared. And we spend days laying around as if it is just us in the world. We go out and fight like any normal couple.

I am Craig Tucker and he is Tweek Tweak. I have fallen in love with a him. He has fallen for me. I will take care of him and if it's help he wants then help he will get. Rehab doesn't sound too bad. Expensive, maybe, but it's what he wants. It's what he deserves.

I bring my hand to his cheek and caress it. I run my fingers over his skin. I trace over his features just as gently as he did only moments before. It is this silent love that keeps me going. It will be this silent love that keeps him strong.