Starlight

XXII: The Word Of Your Body

Holding her hand like some little tease
Haven't you heard the word of my wanting?
Oh, I'm gonna be wounded
Oh, I'm gonna be your wound

- 'The Word Of Your Body,' Spring Awakening

xx.xx

The last few notes floated into the ether, leaving a pause in their wake.

"And that," Henry murmured, gazing down at his partner with a smile, "Was Hadestown."

The past week had been more dreamlike than anything he'd experienced before. In these moments with her, his world became hazy, slow-moving: syrupy sweet mouthfuls of something he never imagined he'd be able to try a taste of. Love.

But with that syrup came sickliness. It wasn't that he was sick of the time he spent with her, of course. He had pined after her for months now; he believed that for her to even want to spend time with him was some kind of cruel trick the Universe was playing before it snuffed itself out.

That was just it, though. It was his growing sense that everything would soon come to an end that caused the taste to catch in his throat, to choke him.

What if he fucked up and she left him?

That wouldn't be so bad in itself, of course, for he still hadn't quite let go of the notion that she deserved someone more than himself, someone brighter, handsomer, better.

The problem, really, would be that if they broke things off and the world fell apart soon after, she might not come here. He knew that his house was a safe place: physically, nothing would be able to harm her here if things became dangerous. At least when they were just friends, he believed that she would turn to him in a time of crisis.

But what if he pushed her away from here with his eccentricities, his inexperience...?

And even if she did stay here - what if something bad happened to her, and he couldn't stop it? What if something bad happened to him, and she was left behind, marooned here alone just as he had been for decades? What if, when he actually faced the end times, he made some impulsive, fear-driven decision and--

Stop it. She's here now.

You're distracting yourself because you're afraid of the future.

You're afraid of what might... happen tonight.

Breathe, Henry.

Focus on her, not on your theories.

He listened to his own advice; he knew that it would work to put his anxieties at rest, even for a little while. He loved to see her like this: her eyes closed, the ghost of a smile on her lips as she listened intently to the music he loved, entirely at peace.

"What did you think?"

"I liked it," Robbie smiled, eyes opening a crack, lazily reaching up to touch his cheek: a clumsy caress of his cheekbone.

Henry held her small hand against his face, chuckling. "Are you tired?"

She had to admit, her eyelids were beginning to grow a little heavy. "Not at all."

"I don't believe you. Maybe you should get to bed." She felt him shift in his seat, gently coaxing her to sit up. "Do you want me to - um-" He grew flushed again, his nervous energy returning in spades. "I'm just going to..."

He gestured vaguely down the hall; she raised an eyebrow.

"I mean my bedroom is untidy, so." He was standing now, pacing a little about the small lounge, staccato and tense. "It's covered in half-written papers so I'm just going to tidy it before you go in- Unless you'd prefer to stay in one of the spare rooms? I mean there's several to choose from, all fully-furnished. You'd probably quite like the room next to mine, I'm n-not a great interior designer by any stretch but I-I-I..." He stopped in his tracks, shuffling on the spot, his focus fluttering all over the room but never quite landing upon her face.