Static [manxman]

Conclusion

Near the end of the poems, I felt warm and safe. I felt a little less alone. My eyes had also grown heavier, like I'd actually be able to sleep despite having a hard night. Turning the page, I found a blank sheet. That was where they stopped. He must've wrote the last one, "Just One More," right before he left the last time. All those nights felt like that, though. Everything I did, each time our lips met, I felt like it was a desperate attempt to get him to stay a little longer. It was as though if I did something just right, acted just so, I'd be able to persuade him to stay.

I knew that wasn't how it worked, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me feel as though I wasn't enough each time he packed up to leave again.

Even so, something about reading the poems, understanding his take on it all, I rested a little easier knowing that I didn't cause any of it, knowing that I didn't push him away. I put the book on the coffee table and wrapped the frayed, brown blanket a little tighter around me. Burying my face into my pillow, I closed my eyes and settled in, hoping I'd fall right to sleep for once.

And just as I drifted into the altered consciousness of sleep, I felt a warm hand rest on my shoulder. The sofa cushions dipped with weight that wasn't my own. A calm presence surrounded me. A familiar voice filled my ears like the static of white noise.

"Sleep well, Love."

Lips touched my temple, and the weight on the sofa lifted. I cracked an eye open, catching the glimpse of Wyatt's back as he drifted out of the den. His soft steps shuffled down the hallway, likely to head to his room to shower and change clothes. Closing my eyes again, I breathed in the residual scent of him and felt my world fall back into place.

Perhaps he was home sooner than anticipated, but that was a problem I could deal with the next morning. That night, I could get some decent sleep safe in the knowledge that my soulmate showered in the next room instead of thousands of miles away.

Before I fell back to sleep, the sofa cushions dipped again and the warm presence of Wyatt pressed along my backside. He settled in behind me, wrapping an arm around me and slipping his fingers through my own.

"Glad your back," I mumbled sleepily.

Wyatt kissed my shoulder. "Glad to be back."