ACHES

13. thunder

"Working hard, baby?" I asked, serious but giggly. I loitered in the doorway to the bedroom, where he had temporarily crammed a desk, laptop, and a few loose instruments. His office.

"Listen to this, darling," he murmured, playing a recording of acoustic strumming, washed away by reverb and noise. I listened, quietly, watching his hands illustrate the music. I liked watching the soundwaves scroll on the screen. "Fucking gorgeous, that is."

I nodded, "I like it."

"That's all me, by the way," he pointed to the screen, raising his eyebrows. "Little solo project. Don't tell anyone."

I smiled, "Who would I tell?"

"I'm on a roll today, sweetheart." He leaned far back in the chair, reaching his hands above his head. He yawned and groaned, revealing his inky hips as he stretched. "You having a nice day?"

I was grinning at his question, "Very nice."

"Mm," he hummed, glad. He relaxed, his hands slapping into his thighs. "I have noticed the time, if that's why you're lurking."

"I'm not lurking," I rolled my eyes, "This is my apartment."

"My office," he sat forward in his chair, knees touching the edge of my bed.

"Pretty small office," I shrugged, "For such a big-time-hit-song writer."

"I try to keep my ego in check."

"It's pretty big, isn't it?" I bit my cheek, half-hiding behind the door frame.

"Are you about to make a dick joke?" His mouth was open in a smile, laughter catching in his throat. He got up from his chair, clambering around the bed, resting his hands on my hips.

"Well, now you'll never know," I tucked my head into his chest, eagerly listening for his heartbeat. I found it, ear pressed to the familiar percussive sound. I found comfort in imagining his heart, wet and beating, constant and working, touching all his blood and breathing oxygen into it. I wished I could project the visceral image of his beating heart onto a screen, and watch it slop and work. It could put me to sleep, I thought. "You ruined the moment."

"I could never ruin the moment, darling." He spread his hand over the small of my back, pressing my body against his. He kissed my cheek, my neck, my forehead.

"Since your workday is done," I looked up, "Right?" I whispered for approval. He gave me a quick nod, eyes closed. "Since your workday is done, can I ask you a favor?"

"Anything," he said into my hair, kissing at my temple. "I'd even give you three wishes, if you rub–"

"Not very original," I critiqued, earning an understanding shrug.

"What do you need?" Serious again, his thumbs turning little circles against my skin.

"It's just my back, I–" I was quiet, nervous to ask.

"Say no more, my dear," he stepped away, dramatically ripping the covers off the bed. Trying to get me to laugh. "Lay here a minute, and just close your eyes. Let me get a few things ready."

"It doesn't have to be–"

"Lay down, will you?"

I didn't feel the urge to argue. I sat on the edge of the bed, watching him stumble around the bedroom, hopping over clutter and stepping around the edges of my furniture.

"You lie down weird," he quipped, lighting a few candles around the room. I sighed, laying flat on my back as he shut the blinds. The room flickered gently.

"Darling, you want a glass of water?" he asked from the kitchen.

"I'm alright," I replied, closing my eyes. The room was quiet, the sound of the small fan in the corner rustling his notebook pages the only noticeable noise.