Imagine Person A of your OTP serenading Person B on their anniversary, and yet Person A is not the best singer, Person B doesn't care, because it is still a sweet gesture.
He is certain that he would rather listen to Cora's soft, honeyed voice than be forced to endure the sound of his own; his voice is rougher, and unable to hit the notes that pass through her lips so easily. But on the night of their anniversary, celebrating six years, two children, and a near-perfect life together, he promised to give her whatever she wanted.
Song was not on the list he'd mentally drawn of all the things she might ask for. When he'd entered their bedroom after finally extricating himself from the nursery—having been coerced into reading not one but three bedtime stories to their charming daughters—he'd arrived with images of silken nightwear and requests for things of a far more adult nature.
Cora, though, had been stood at the window, gazing out and basking in the cool night air. When she beckoned him over, pointing at the beautifully clear sky and bright moon he could look only at the dreamy expression on her face, not the twinkling stars in the sky. And so when she finally turned to face him, wearing a peaceful smile, and asked softly if he might sing to her like he used to, well, how could he refuse?
It was, he knew, utterly impossible to refuse her anything. So drawing her into his arms, her head nestled into the hollow below his chin, he began to hum verses of long-forgotten tunes, eventually interspersing his hums with soft words.
He sung only her favorites, songs they'd hummed together during tentative walks in the early days of their marriage and then later on to soothe their newborn daughters. He'd grown as fond of them as Cora, over time, but would be loath to admit just how much raw affection their melodies could stir in him. But he was not unwilling to admit that, again, Cora seemed to know exactly what they both needed. For as he held his wife securely in his arms, Robert was perfectly happy to let their blissful union float along on the words of others, leaving them nothing else to do beyond sway along in quiet contentment.
Oh, promise me that someday you and I
Will take our love together to some sky
Where we may be alone and faith renew,
And find the hollows where those flowers grew,
Those first sweet violets of early spring,
Which come in whispers, thrill us both, and sing
Of love unspeakable that is to be;
Oh, promise me! Oh, promise me!
A/N: The lyrics are from the 1889 song "Oh Promise Me" by Clement Scott.