He seemed so at peace here.
Usually when I looked at him, he seemed to be lost. Like he had simply opened his eyes and found himself wherever he was with no idea how he got there.
His eyes sparkled in the soft lighting and he had a vacant look, completely at odds with the rapt attention he was paying.
His hand had gone limp in mine, his mind far away from the place he now sat. It was mesmerising to see. His lips moved soundlessly with the words being sung towards us from the stage and with each peak of the music he moved closer and closer in his seat.
I am not a vain man but standing next to him I wonder often what the point of me is. Maybe I only exist to gaze upon him, but then again that is far to philosophical for my tastes.
He belonged in the stories that were played out on that stage, something ethereal and magical. He was far too beautiful to exist in this world. I had never had a need to own a camera but I had bought myself one purely so that I could preserve the existence of Tim should he suddenly vanish from my life.
Over the past few months Tim had domesticated me to the point that my flat now possessed comfy pillows, photo frames and other things that I had never considered owning before. My kitchen had a cupboard dedicated specifically to biscuits and I woke up each morning to little notes left on the kettle, toaster and fridge from Tim the night before.
He makes everything seem brighter and sweeter. I didn't even mind when he broke the washing machine and flooded the kitchen, or that he constantly steals my socks and jumpers. Seeing him now, like this, makes me see just how much I need him.
I leaned across and kissed him on the cheek, aware of the scandalised older women behind me but uncaring. He gave a smile and blushed, holding my hand tighter and moving closer to me.
"Thank you," he whispered as the aria drew to a finish.
I squeezed his hand in mine and pulled it to my lips to kiss it gently.
"You're welcome."