âmes pétillantes ~ classic rock imagines

• Him (Again) •

Hello! In case you hadn't guessed, I have no schedule, I can only upload as and when I get inspired. Here's another piece that you can read with anyone you would like - hope you're doing well! :)

--☆--

When he awoke, you weren't beside him. He didn't like that. He'd tossed and turned helplessly in enough empty beds around the world already in his life. The last thing he wanted was to do it in his own, especially on his last night at home before yet another tour. So, he pushed himself out from under the covers, pulled on his slippers, and left the bedroom in search of you.

When he'd bought this large house, he was overjoyed with its prospects - cosy nights, endless parties, vignetted summer dinners, noisy sojourns. He didn't realise until this moment, when all these film reels had ended, just how quiet it was. Empty. Despite the belongings that cluttered it and the memories that warmed it. Lonely and aching. And annually he left you there, sometimes for months on end.

He heard you talking, a bright ray of sunshine in the darkness. At least somewhere in the house wasn't quite so empty.

He moved quickly in that direction, rounded the corner of the mahogany hallway, ran his hands along the textured wallpaper, paced the moonlit shag carpet, stared sullenly out of the exposed bay windows. Then, you spoke quietly again. Pausing momentarily, he spotted the soft light falling from a door left slightly ajar just a few feet in front of him. Shaking his head, he shuffled over and pushed it open easily, slowly revealing the familiar shelves and chairs of the library he had installed for you.

There you were, in your favourite chair, a lukewarm drink on the side table and a blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You were asleep. The record player hummed with power in the corner, a record innocently lying on the turntable with the needle resting by the centre label. The dim lights, decorated with stained glass shades, painted your skin in wavering shades of soft greens, yellows and blues, warm and somnolent. Suddenly, they flickered, and for a moment you disappeared.

There was no book in front of you. He thought that was odd. What on Earth else had you come to the library for?

You had been talking in your sleep, and you fidgeted as you muttered once more. Nonsensical mumblings, indiscernible from the babbling of a baby. He resisted the urge to coo accordingly.

Now, how to wake you up?

He smiled.

It took him seconds to approach you, edging his way to the back of your chair. Feather light, he rested his hands on your shoulders and leant down to whisper your name into your ear. Once. Twice. Three times, until finally you began to stir.

Slowly, your body woke up, finger by finger, limb by limb, like rising out of water. Stretching out in a feline manner, you groaned lowly and batted open your eyes. You felt him, saw him, and smiled up into his blurry eyes.

"Get up, love, it's morning," he whispered urgently. The gravity in his voice didn't register in your drowsy mind, but the grin that illuminated his face as he spoke certainly did. "I've got to go now, the lads are outside."

You knew the time had not already slipped from your grasp. He was an awful liar. The relaxed languidness of your body did not transform into the urgency that rolled from his tongue. "No, they're not," you mumbled. "You silly arse."

He was already laughing, at the smile rising on your face, the hand you lifted to wipe the sleep from your eyes, the twitching of your nose at the sound of his mirth. He pressed a kiss to your cheek before speaking. "Did you believe me?"

You shook your head, grinning. "Not even a little. What time is it?"

"About 3:30. What the hell are you doing in here?"

You shrugged, accidently dislodging his hands from your shoulders. Instead, he rested them on the back of your chair. "I thought I'd come and read for a bit, but I sat down and couldn't be bothered finding a book."

"Oh, and I'm the silly arse?"

"Well, since you're asking." You laughed. "You're sure cocky for someone who just woke up."

"Ain't that the damn truth." He slipped around the chair to bow dramatically before you and reach for your hand. "Come on, let's get back to bed quick, before I declare myself king of the library."

You gladly let him lead you out by the hand, turning off the light as he skipped merrily ahead with his make-believe sheet music crown on his head. Half dragged, you made it back to bed quickly and melded happily into his body. You knew he would be leaving you again in a few hours, and the large house would be a vast expanse of nothingness once more. But he'd come back. He always did. And you'd be right there waiting for him.