Hozier Imagines - V

His and mine are the same

You were fuming. Andrew had finally pissed you off to a point where words couldn't describe how frustrated you were. For years he had fought to bring you to the public eye to love you without shame and now that you had agreed he tipped the scale in the opposite direction.
"I don't think it's a good idea anymore," he had said. His album had just come out and opened a whole new fanbase and stream of attention, but that is not why you wanted to be seen with him. You just felt you could trust this wasn't going to end. But hearing him say that opened a new floodgate of doubt and anger into your pounding head.

You paced the house, unsure of where to go. Andrew was coming home tonight and your previous conversation had been over the phone, but you weren't sure you could see him in the flesh. Your family lived a good 7,000 miles away though and the closest friends in town were also in the media industry and not home. You had cleaned the house and made dinner before the call and now like your heart, it went cold. You had just made it upstairs when you heard the front door beep. Quickly you ran to the bedroom and locked the door before hearing steps move up in your direction.

"Love," he said from outside of the door.

"Go eat I don't want to talk," you snapped.

"Come out," he asked.

You did not give him the satisfaction of a response.

"Now," he commanded.

"Fuck off," you yelled.

His fists pounded the door and you heard him slump to the floor.

"Come out," he said lowly, "I can hear your thoughts honey for you were brought to me for a reason. I decide when you can leave and stay, and right now I am telling you to stay and listen. I am at your altar begging sins I never committed to be forgiven and to be promised even in death that you will stand by me. I do not want to share you with the world because I have doubts. I won't share you because you are mine."

He let out a long breath, "You are my sanctuary, my obsession, the thought that consumes more than my mind."

You got up off the floor and opened the door to reveal the man lying bare in front of you. His eyes locked with yours and every ounce of selfish anger drained from your soul as you collapsed around him and he held you. You began to sob.

He stroked your hair, "I consider myself a poet," he started, "but Bronte said it better, whatever our souls are made of yours and mine are the same. I will never part from such a divine connection."