He loved them in secret, when they wouldn't notice. But he loved them.
He watched at them when they smiled, watched how their eyes filled with light for the first time in ages. He listened when they laughed, the pealing bells of their voice pitched in such loud, ungraceful ways... it was beautiful. It was always, always beautiful. He stole longing, loving looks when he could, eyes hungry and mournful — and perhaps afraid. Not of them, but of what they meant to him.
He watched them when they talked. How much they moved, hands never staying or lingering anywhere, almost always trembling. How he wanted to hold those hands so tightly and tell them it was okay. He wanted to learn how those hands felt within his, how they would find his skin to be. Would they think him to be wiry and unpleasant, or would they think him to be warm and steady? He wanted to know.
He studied the lines of their face at each possible moment, finding the curves and angles to be soothing to follow in the way he traced them with his eyes. A dozen times over, a hundred, a thousand. He drew them in secret, from memory, or on the nearest surface with the lightest touch of a nail. Never seeing the day of light. His mind always lingered on their mouth. How they cracked like the earth to show a grin that showed the greatest of joys, blinding and luminous. How they pursed in their contemplation and studious looks. Oh, how he wanted to know how they felt against his, what they might taste like. How soft they must be.
He was silent in his love. But it was deeply, impossibly profound, and with each passing day he fell in love with ever-growing fondness all over again. From start to present and then some. It took root and festered there like a fungus, but this one is so irrevocably soft and beautiful he dared not to chip it away. Every brush of contact, he treasured. Every conversation memorised just so he could play their voice on repeat when he can't sleep, finding comfort in their warm tones and gentle accent.
He loved them in secret, when they wouldn't notice. But he loved them.
YOU ARE READING
When You Aren't Looking
RomanceFrom one person's eyes, love isn't obvious. From another's, it is drowning. A very short one-shot, but one that is memorable in more ways than one.
