Too Much
By: BadMomma
Pairings: 1x2
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Melancholy (if that's a warning) and a touch of sap.
Notes: This one came from deep down inside. It was written for Moments of Rapture's last contest. Thanks to Sharon for much enjoyment and inspiration. Visit the site, there were some amazing fics written.
Disclaimer: Alas, I own them not.
We fight. It's what couples do.
Or so I've been told.
It's frustrating, actually. I never had to think much about that kind of thing when I was younger. I got orders and I did what I was told. If I failed, I was reprimanded, retrained; made to try again. Subsequent failures were not an option. Then, when it was my place to do so, I studied the situation, made a decision and acted.
There was no fighting, no arguing, no discussing. My level of frustration never factored into things. My feelings had no place in the equation. There was only one option, only one solution. Succeed.
Since moving in with him things have been different.
It's not that we never differed in opinion before. Hell, our first meeting was a difference of opinion blown way out of proportion. I wanted to kill her. He thought I was crazy. He shot me. I tanked his mobile suit.
My opinions then were: 'You talk too much.' 'Your hair draws people's attention.' 'You're too flamboyant, you stand out in a crowd.' 'You're too injured to be of any use on a mission, go to school in my place.'
His opinions: 'You scowl too much.' 'Your anti-social behavior makes people wonder what you're hiding.' 'It's not normal for a 15 year old to act like you do.' 'You can't attack that base by yourself and hope to succeed.'
I should have seen it coming.
Several months after we 'got involved' we decided to move in together. It was actually an offhand comment by Trowa that got us both to thinking about it. I think we probably would have moved in together even if we hadn't gotten involved. But the fact remained that once we were involved, we constantly slept over at each others apartments and spent most of our free time together; invading each others lives, wardrobes and refrigerators. We usually spent the weekends at his apartment, mostly because Trowa was living in his building at the time and it was nice having another friend around and spending time with them. The week nights we spent together were usually spent at my apartment, it was much closer to where I worked than his apartment was.
As for the more romantic or intimate part of our relationship, it was still kind of new. I spent a lot of our time apart thinking about what we'd do when we were together again. Thinking of ways for us to spend more time together.
Us. Together. It was very much what I wanted.
And then it happened. The end of his lease came up before mine and he moved in with me. Into my apartment. It was fun. Novel. We'd decided we could live out the remainder of my lease there while we looked for something a little bigger, a little more central.
The newness of the experience and the cramped quarters were also a novelty at first. It made a smudge of jam on my shirtsleeve endearing; the kitchen was too small for both of us to eat breakfast in without some sort of collateral damage. The constant background chatter of the TV or the radio served to remind me that I now had a partner – in more ways than one. The novelty made the increased cost of weekly laundry acceptable; logically another person in the apartment meant there would be more to wash. Not having enough closet or drawer space to accommodate two people made the few piles of clothes in the bedroom and the many pairs of shoes under the bed amusing. Novelty made dirty socks in the corner of the bathroom funny.
Sort of. And that was a problem.
I'll admit that I'm a bit anal retentive; he's always teased me about that and I acknowledge it for the truth it is. The problem was that on some level those things bothered me at the same time that I was enjoying them. I began wondering, not too long after he moved in, if we might not have made a mistake. I wondered if maybe our decision to move in together so soon after the change in our friendship might not have been the right one.
I started to feel overwhelmed.
Don't get me wrong, he is not a slob by any stretch of the imagination. Nor is he clingy or whiny. He didn't smother me every waking moment of the day. He wasn't nosy or overbearing, nor was he the clown that many people mistook him for. Bottom line, it wasn't him. It was me. I'd lived alone – or near to it – for much of my life and this was a very big change for me.
When I was very young, Odin, my mentor and guardian, would sometimes disappear for hours or days at a time. I thought it was normal and I learned to expect it. What time we did spend together was usually spent in silence. We did the normal things that human beings do almost entirely without any commentary; we cooked, cleaned, bathed, ate, slept and never was there more noise attributed to those activities than was necessary. Our verbal interactions more often than not consisted of him briefing me on our cover, teaching me the proper way to wield a weapon, learning how to effectively take down a target and how to manage and maintain the tools of our trade. We were together, but alone. It was a quiet, solitary life.
When I lost Odin and came into Dr. J's custody things would not change that greatly. Even though we spent many hours together going over strategies, tactics and goals, J frequently left me to study or train on my own. He'd give me assignments and set tasks for me to accomplish; but I usually did them by myself. At all times my performance was observed, rarely were there not people watching; but I did not interact with them often. They observed, they evaluated, they corrected my behavior, then left me to carry out the improvements on my own. My progress was reported on and sometimes I was even given feedback directly. The limited interaction I did have with other people was usually very clinical in nature. My blood was taken, my body was examined. I was tested, treated, altered, and enhanced. Meals, specially designed to make my body stronger and better, were brought to me in my quarters. But I never really passed the time with other people 'over coffee and dessert' and I rarely ever saw anyone my own age.
With Duo's moving in things were drastically different, though I'd have to admit that they had been different for a while. The Eve Wars had changed everything in my life. I was still a solitary being, mostly working alone, with no companionship and no friends. But as the war went on, we five, lone Soldiers for Change realized that working together would guarantee us success and we began to form alliances. I can not, in all honesty, say that we were friends from the start. True to my training, I studied the situation and learned that there was strength in numbers and there were strengths which the others possessed that I lacked. The more we worked together, the more I realized that Duo worked well with me. We balanced very specific aspects of each other's personalities and habits. It was what lead to our close friendship during the conflicts and even more so afterwards.
When our friendship became more intimate I think I was ready for it. I had already adjusted my expectations to include frequent interaction with others. I had allowed myself to rely on and expect the benefit of the bonds of friendship and to a lesser degree the benefit of coworkers. What I had not yet adjusted to was including the constant presence of another in my life.
Within weeks of Duo moving in, I was faced with the uncontrollable urge to throttle him. It wasn't any particular thing he did or didn't do and it wasn't so much that he made me angry. I was just overwhelmed. I found myself being surly without reason. The things that amused me, that made me happy because he was an inescapable part of my life, were at the same time wearing on me. He was too much for me to handle; he had too much presence, too much life.
Trowa, being the one friend who knew us best and saw us most frequently, had noticed my behavior and called me on it. As we talked, I came to realize what my problem was and resolved to work on fixing it. I think Duo realized it as well, either that or he and Trowa spoke, because he began encouraging me to do things on my own. He also gave himself things to do that would take him out of my radar for a while. I don't think he realized at first how much I appreciated the effort he was making for me, so I made it a point to tell him when I could. It helped me greatly and I think in the end it made us stronger for it.
Now I find myself in the same situation again. You'd think that after living together for as long as we have that I would have abandoned this immature and irrational behavior. But I haven't and it weighs on me heavily. I know I'm letting him down, letting us down; but sometimes I just can't seem to control it. I've been surly for about three days now and he's approaching his proverbial limit. As I stand here on our porch, getting ready to go back into our house, I know exactly where he is and what he is doing. It is ritual for us now. It's where he always goes and what he always does since that first time, since what he calls the Big One. That's right, it's like a book title or a movie name. The Big One.
The Big One happened about a month after we'd moved into the house we bought together. We were pretty well settled in where it counted. The bedroom, bathroom, guest room/office and kitchen were all stocked, semi-furnished and organized. Some of them to a greater degree than others, but we were settled enough that we could live comfortably in our new home.
The living room, however, was what he called the great black hole because it was almost entirely empty. We had combined our entertainment systems and ended up with more spare parts and extra equipment than the local electronics store had to offer. We were both gadget guys. Still are. But aside from the electronics, which were neatly arranged in his old wall unit, all we had in that room was his old couch. There was nothing else. We'd opted not to put down any rugs because the place had some very nice, well kept, hardwood floors which he still loves to slide around on in his socks. Second only to the bedroom, the living room was his favorite place in the house. But that was because of the window.
Looking back, I think that's what did it for us, what sold it. The window. It is truly something to behold. Our house was not the first place we saw, nor was it the last; but it was definitely the most impressive. Don't get me wrong; we saw a few places that were bigger in terms of square footage, fancier in terms of architecture, nicer in terms of their relative neighborhood, and all well within our price range. But it was the window that stuck in our minds.
When we first started looking for a place to live, after quickly abandoning the idea of leasing another apartment, we had certain criteria that became requisite. We'd made a list based on the information we'd gathered from our friends, coworkers and real estate agent. Price range, geographic boundaries and traffic considerations were all factors that had been well defined. We'd pretty much agreed on all those items with a minimum of haggling between us.
We'd also agreed on what we wanted in the house itself: two bedrooms – one for us and one for guests that could double as an office of sorts, an indoor laundry, a private en-suite bathroom for our use and a second bathroom for our guests to use, an actual dining room - preferably open and adjacent to the kitchen, and a front porch. The porch was Duo's request, he said he'd always wanted a house with nice, wide front porch. A garage and a spacious attic were optional, they were things we would have liked, but did not absolutely have to have. Never, in the course of defining requirements, did windows enter into the conversation. But the third house we saw changed things irrevocably.
The place itself was actually a dump. It had a nice layout but one look at it and we knew it would be a money pit. The only truly redeeming quality that it did have was the huge bay window with built-in seating. It had shutters on the inside and when we first entered the place they were closed. Rick, the real estate agent, opened them to let more light into the place, 'to give you a better feel for the room's dynamic' he'd said. It was then that Duo fell in love. That day, a window box was added to the requisites list.
Rick was very accommodating. He entered our new parameter in the wireless computer he had in his car and began searching for new locations while we were still outside the money pit. That day he showed us three more houses from the newly refined list, but none of them measured up.
It took us three more weeks before we saw the home we now live in. Four more before we made an offer on it. When it was all said and done, Rick's parting words to us were that despite our initially passing it over, he'd kept the file on 'our' house on his desk because he knew that eventually we would buy it. He knew from the moment we saw the window, that it was were we would end up.
The weather in the days leading up to our first big fight had been like my mood. Dark, overcast and altogether unpleasant. There were torrential rains, off and on, for six days straight. I don't think my mood had been affected by the climate, but it might well have been the other way around. Duo often says I have a knack for bringing the dark clouds. Sometimes, I think he's right.
Thinking back I can't really say it was any one thing that had sparked my grumpiness that time around. What was certain, though, was that it was determined to stay a while. I'd been getting poor performance from my advanced class of recruits for over a week. The previous Saturday, his hard-drive had taken a nose dive and he'd stayed home and worked on my computer for two days; in the process he managed to rearrange my icons to his liking. The following Tuesday, he'd forgotten to grab the list before we went grocery shopping. On Wednesday I'd ruined my favorite work shoes by walking through what looked to be a very shallow puddle but turned out to be ankle-deep mud. The fates, if they existed as Trowa claimed, had been conspiring against me.
Let me just say that I know I'm not the easiest person to live with, nor the nicest on the planet. I know that and so does Duo. He doesn't usually let me off the hook when I get in my moods, but he doesn't make too big a deal about them either. It usually only takes a little coaxing and teasing on his part to make me shake free of my surliness; but this particular week I'd been downright unbearable. And I knew it, too. I also knew that it was starting to affect him. Typically he enjoys rainy days, says God invented them to encourage us to get wrapped up in a blanket and fall asleep reading a book. By Thursday, the weather and I had made him miserable.
In the middle of Friday afternoon, Sioban, one of the other instructors, came by my office to deliver a message from Captain Christianssen. She'd perched on the edge of my desk - as was her habit - and attempted to engage me in a discussion about the incoming class of recruits. I managed only grunts and grumbles throughout the course of our conversation. Her parting comment made me realize just how surly I was being.
"Geez, Heero, what the hell's wrong with you this week? We've got a long weekend coming up and you're living with one of the nicest – and sexiest – guys I've ever seen in my life. You can't be hard up. Get out of here and loose your funk before he decides you're not worth the trouble." She threw my jacket at me from across the room before storming out.
I sat there staring after her for several long minutes. My jacket had ricocheted off the side of my desk and lay crumpled on the floor. It had taken with it the report she'd just dropped off, a small stack of midterm evaluations I'd printed earlier and my pencil cup. They were all lying on the floor in disarray, mocking me, when I had my epiphany.
I was an asshole. I'd been behaving like a first class asshole all week - especially toward Duo - and it had to stop. Now.
The next few minutes were spent trying to determine what had put me in this mood. Again there wasn't a single thing that I could point to and say was at the root of my problem. And then it hit me. I was feeling overwhelmed again.
It had been a month since we'd moved into the house. Almost four since we'd started living together. I couldn't think back to a time – outside of work and the drive to and from – that he hadn't either been with me or nearby somewhere, in all of that time.
I was doing it again.
I was trying to put some physical or psychological distance between us. I resolved, for the second time since we'd started living together, to stop doing that. Unfortunately, it's not always the thought that counts.
Firming my resolve I picked up all the things that had fallen to the floor, then made a minor effort to straighten out my desk. I put on my jacket, grabbed my handheld and headed for the elevator. I think, in my haste, I might even have forgotten to lock my office door. But it didn't matter enough to make me want to go back and check because I'd decided I was going to begin making it up to him. Tonight. As soon as I possibly could. The minute I exited the elevator I punched up his number on the cell phone. It went to voice mail. My message was short but concise. Don't get home too late, I want to go out to the lake tonight – I'm gonna call and have them hold us a table. Love you. Bye. Before reaching the car, I'd called the restaurant and spoken to the manager. We were set. It was one of his favorite places to go for dinner.
The Fire on Glass Grill is located in the outskirts of town. It's a smallish restaurant that has a large covered patio area looking out onto the lake. The view is just as nice from the enclosed dining room but there's something to be said about sitting outside. It's where we always sit when we go there. It doesn't hold any romantic meaning for us; we've been eating there since we first moved into this city almost two years ago – when there was nothing even remotely romantic going on between us. It's just that we both found it so quiet, peaceful. Special. Even on warm nights, sitting outside is the only way to truly experience it. The low, repetitive sounds of the water lapping at the shore, the splash of the occasional airborne fish and the chirping of nocturnal insects all contribute to an atmosphere of tranquility that exudes from the place. It is best enjoyed when the firebugs are in season, but even when they are not, it's still worth the drive. The firebugs are what gave the place its name. On the nights when they are in season, they swarm low over the lake causing the glassy surface of the water to reflect their light. It looks like pinpricks of yellow-green flames dancing on and above the surface.
It would be just what we needed. It would be one of the ways I'd tell him how sorry I was. In the end, it was not meant to be.
Four-thirty found me at home cleaning up after Duo. He must have had a client meeting close by that day because it was obvious he'd swung by at lunch time. It was not too unusual for him to do that. Whenever he's anywhere near the house, he almost always stops in for lunch. He's very frugal in that sense and I can't fault him for not taking the time to thoroughly clean up after himself. I knew that if he'd beat me home, he would have cleaned up after himself. I honestly don't mind doing it, really, but I caught myself grumbling nonetheless. About messy boyfriends and teaching them not to leave dirty plates and empty soda cans lying around. Mentally chastising myself, I decided to find something else to keep myself occupied. This attitude wasn't helping any. Strike one.
It occurred to me a little while later, after going through the mail and straightening out the cushions on the couch, that I should hop in the shower before he arrived. It made total and complete sense to me that if I waited until he got home to shower and change, we might never make it to dinner. For some reason, it always takes him longer to get ready than it does me; usually two to three times as long as me. I grumbled about not understanding how it was possible for one man to take so long to get ready. All he had to do was wash, rinse and repeat, throw on some underwear, a shirt and some pants. If it only took me ten minutes, why did it have to take him so much longer? I had to remind myself to stop thinking that way, it wasn't really that big a deal. Strike two.
By the time he arrived at six-forty-five, the storm clouds – both actual and figurative – were gathering. Obviously, he'd not gotten my message. It turned out he'd been out of the office on customer appointments all day, the battery on his phone had died early on and he hadn't had his car charger with him. I took the opportunity to remind him that in the car was where car chargers belonged. Not in a desk at home or at work, not in the top drawer of his dresser and - most definitely - not in the kitchen where it had last been seen. I also informed him that if he hurried we might still make it before the late evening rush. He'd mumbled an apologetic 'I know, I know, I'm sorry' and hurried off to get ready. I rolled my eyes when I heard him open the bathroom door.
I don't think he'd yet turned the shower on when the heavens let loose their fury. When I knocked on the door of the bathroom, I could hear him pulling the shower curtain closed.
"Duo?" I pushed the door open a fragment to listen for his reply.
"Yeah Heero, I swear I'll be out in a minute. I just wanna get some of the grime off, OK? Promise I'll hurry!" He'd already turned the water on.
"Don't bother, take your time. It just started pouring outside and if it doesn't let up soon we won't be making it out there tonight." I was a little angry that my plans might have been ruined.
"Sorry, babe, I wish I'd known. I would've definitely made it home earlier."
I let out a sigh and mumbled under my breath disgustedly. "Yeah, but you didn't." Unfortunately it seems I'd mumbled too loud. As I shut the door behind me I heard him mumble 'shit!'. I hadn't meant it to come out like that and I'd not meant for him to hear it at all. I really was trying to control the raging asshole-beast that had taken over me, I just couldn't seem to control my mouth. I slammed my hand on the doorframe – I was really fucking up and it was time to regroup. Strike three.
Sitting wearily on the edge of our bed, I knew I owed him an even bigger apology than I had earlier in the day. I dropped my head into my hands and seriously considering strangling myself. I was such an ass. There was no excuse for my behavior and apparently I had no ability to make myself stop that day. Then I noticed a subtle change to the sound drifting out from behind the closed bathroom door. It took me a moment to figure it out and when I did my stomach muscles clenched violently. The water from the showerhead was no longer encountering anything before reaching the floor of the tub.
I could see him in my mind's eye, as clearly as if the door had been left open. I'd seen him do it before. Having stepped out of the spray of water, he was surely leaning against the wall of the shower, probably banging his head against it lightly. He always did that what he was frustrated. Nine times out of ten, I was the cause of his frustrations.
I did the only thing I could think to do at the time. I fled. I was sure that if I stayed another minute I would hear the intermittent thump of head meeting tile; sure that the anguished clenching of my stomach muscles would cause me to throw up. I retreated, seeking a haven that was both mental and physical.
I couldn't face him. I didn't know what to say. Everything that had come out of my mouth so far had been detrimental to patching things up between us. I wondered – not for the first time – if maybe I just wasn't cut out for this relationship stuff. I seemed to be wretchedly bad at it.
When the door to the bathroom finally opened and closed, I came back to my senses. I found myself in the office, the computer was on and I was sitting in front of it. The first thought I had was that I needed to look like I was doing something in case he came after me.
The question was, would he come after me? Would he try again to salvage that which I appeared to be subconsciously hell-bent on ruining? I clicked on one of my newly repositioned icons, pulled up a net news service and proceeded to stare at it without reading a damned thing. After staring at the screen for a few minutes I heard his tread in the hallway. I don't honestly know if I hoped he was coming for me or not. I wasn't sure I was ready to deal with him yet. And I was deathly afraid of what might pop out of my mouth if I had to talk to him.
"Heero?" His call was quiet, but not meek.
"Yeah Duo?" I was still trying to control my wayward emotions. I didn't want him to misinterpret my lack of control as being his fault.
"What'cha doing?"
"Checking the news." It came out a little more stern than I would have wanted.
"Oh. Well, the local news is probably over but the sphere-wide news should have just started on KXTV, you wanna come watch it on TV while we wait for the rain to die down?"
"No, thanks." Better. I hadn't turned to look at him yet because I wasn't sure that I had the guts to do so. "I'd rather get it off the net. More comprehensive." I needed just a little more time to settle down before I could go to him.
"Oh OK. I'll let you know if there's anything interesting?" It sounded like he was considering retreat.
"I doubt there will be."
"They're sure to cover the summit in Brussels today." He was hopeful.
"To be honest I'm not all that interested in finding out who they took pictures of or how many hands the American ESUN Senator shook."
"Come on, you know they'll cover more than that! There were some interesting topics scheduled for today." He was still trying.
"Yeah, like which designer's suit the Senator's husband was wearing. I think I'll stay here for now." Gods, but I needed to shut my mouth. I still hadn't turned to face him; but mentally I begged him to just give me a few more minutes.
"OK, well, I…" he heaved a breath and I could almost hear him tensing up. I held my breath for a beat, this could be bad. "You know you don't have to act this way Heero. I've told you before that if you want me to go away and leave you alone, you just need to say so, damnit!" He turned and slammed the door before anything even crossed my mind on how to respond.
There is no fourth strike. I was sure I'd just lost the game.
As if to mirror what was happening inside the house, the intensity of the storm outside increased. I heard the soft click of the entertainment system starting up and I knew what would come next. Not the hard drums and bass of his beloved rock music nor the enticing beat of his really good dance music. No. What I knew came next would be his rain music. Moody and somber, rising and falling in pitch and in passion. Its purpose was to distract, to move you on a level so deep that your soul could get caught up and swept away in it. Washed clean like the rain that fell outside.
And suddenly it was swirling around me despite the anger drawn door.
For the first time in my life I wanted to cry out of despair and the music was not helping any. How long I sat there with my eyes closed and my heart and gut clenching, I can't really say. I did finally cry; silent tears trailed down from closed eyes without my blessing. I made not a sound, still they fell like the rain outside. When my silent, angry passion had spent itself with the climax of the music, I resolved again to try to make things right between us.
Still sitting there, I thought back to something Relena had once told me. She said her stepmother had claimed there were three simple rules to maintaining a successful and loving relationship. 'Never go to bed angry with the one you love. Never sleep with regret. And never pass up the chance to say I'm sorry when you are, even if you that's all you can say.' It had made sense to me and I had applied it to my relationship with Duo on more than one occasion. For the most part it had worked and I knew, in that moment, it was time to apply it again. Quietly, I left the hole I'd made my sanctuary, heading for what should have been my sanctuary all along.
I didn't deserve his forgiveness for what I'd done and a simple 'I'm sorry' was nowhere near enough to cover it. But I had to do something and if I didn't do it right then, I didn't know that I'd have the courage to do it later. I couldn't even think about leaving it until the next day.
I found him sitting at the damned window.
His back was leaning on the right-hand sill, head bent sideways against the glass, eyes closed. He had one foot up on the sill next to him, the other foot resting on the cushions just below. I would have thought him asleep if not for the death grip he had on the mug that rested on his bent knee and the regimented, even breaths he was taking. He was either trying to remain calm or trying to regain it. I broke the near silence without coming too close. It wasn't that I thought he would lash out at me; I just feared my words would not be enough and I couldn't bear the scrutiny of his disappointed gaze.
"I am sorry. That I keep hurting you. That I've been such an ass. I wish I could tell you why, what makes me act this way, but I can't. And I'm afraid that if I say too much, I'll screw it up even worse."
He took a deep breath and lifted his head away from the glass but did not look at me, so I bulled ahead. "I know, my love, I know that 'I'm sorry' is not near enough, but it's all I can offer you right now. I hurt you and I don't know how to fix it. I… I don't want to lose you, Duo. I love you. I really do. It's just I…"
His movement stopped me. His left hand lifted away from where it had rested on his thigh; extended, palm down, toward me. His hand flexed open and shut, telling me to approach him. He'd not opened his eyes yet.
I went to his side as quickly as my rebelling body would allow and reached out for him with a desperation I could not explain. I can't honestly say if I was afraid that he'd retract the offer or if I'd been afraid that it might already have been too late. I did not want to miss this one last chance.
Finally by his side, with the reassuring warmth of his hand in mine, he opened his eyes and looked at me. "Love you too." He said the words and waited until I nodded my acceptance. "This isn't entirely your fault-"
"It is!" I rebuked; but he pulled my hand closer and, in turn, me with it.
"Listen to me Heero. This is not entirely your fault! It's not just you, it's me too. Neither you nor I have anything to go by where this kind of stuff is concerned. We nearly botched it before we ever got started. It's only natural that we're gonna botch a shit-load more of what's ahead of us. But, please, you can't give up. And I promise you I won't give up either. It ain't easy," he huffed out a self-deprecating breath, "but I think we can make it work. Just don't shut me out, OK? Please!"
I knew in that moment that he'd forgiven me even before I'd said the words. And he was right. Neither one of us were equipped for this kind of stuff, we had nothing to base our behaviors on. Healthy, long-term relationships were uncharted waters for us, and we'd have to map them ourselves if we were going to make it through to the end. I grabbed his face with both hands and tried to convey with my touch and my look what I was reluctant to say out loud for fear of messing up again.
He meant more to me than anything else in this world and so many things could have gone so very badly for me if it hadn't been for his presence in my life.
A sad smile appeared on his face and he nodded. "I know, my love, I know." Then he slipped his free hand up my arm, over my shoulder, to the back of my neck. With just the hint of pressure he lured me to him. I pressed my advantage, took my chance, and with my lips I promised that I would not give up.
We never did make it out to the lake that night, we just sat in our window box and held onto each other with the music still swirling around us. It was many hours later that we left that haven and moved to our bedroom, where we kissed, touched and whispered fears and reassurances until the early morning hours.
And so I know where he will be when I open the front door, and I know what will happen. He will wait for me to come to him. He will keep his eyes closed and his breathing calm. And when I reach for his touch he will accept it and the apology that will follow. Then we will kiss and beg each other's forgiveness. And we will move on. Together. Stronger.
Because, you see, although sometimes he is too much for me; being without him will never be enough.
Fini.
BM_11/18/03