Page 44 of All That Remains
"I missed you..." he muttered against my temple.
"Missed you too. I was worried."
"M'okay, babe. What'd you bois do without me?"
"Uh...just sort of messed around in town a little. Filmed a few bits here and there—"
"The crew's gone?"
"Mm-hm. They said they'll catch up with you tomorrow though."
"Tomorrow's the last day, innit?"
"Yep," I said, cold with regret.
"Your mum was great, babe. I wanted to thank her before she left. She's a doll."
"Yeah, she is. And it's ok, she knows how grateful you always are."
I lay atop him from head to toe, propping my chin against his chest. Then I realized it was the first time he’d called mebabe. The thought of him addressing me that way in private was a delight too wicked to bear. When we were around others, I knew he'd go back to calling me things that were suitable. But this only made his decision to call mebabeall the more heartfelt.
"Am I your babe?" I muttered against his chin.
"Of course."
"Are you mine?"
"If you want me to be. Wanna try it out?"
"Babe..." I said, but it wasn't nearly as good as his. Mine would take some practice to deliver the same impact. "Baby..." I tried instead. Softly like he’d done.
"Even better,” he chuckled.
I smelled the fabric softener on the sheets because my mum had washed all our linen. It lent the moment a strange serenity.
"Baby..." I whispered again, playing with his lips.
I meditated on the rise and fall of his chest against mine. Blaze's "If I Could Only Fly" scored the moment.
"You hungry?" I wondered. He shook his head. "You sure? You haven't eaten since, uh, what? Yesterday?" I pulled away to look him in the eye. "You've gotta be starving, Rome."
"No appetite, really."
"Here..." I reached and opened the ginger ale. He took a few sips and gave me a taste before setting it down and curling on his side. I fell over in front of him.
"Rafe?" he hesitated, before shutting his eyes.
"Hm?"
"…I love you, okay?"
My heart sped. I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat, glad he couldn't see. After a while I found the courage to respond.
"Hey, uh...I love you too, ok?" He crushed me closer. As we rested in the evening quiet, Van Morrison's, "I'll Be Your Lover, Too" filled the room.
Despite him being the first to say it, I had no idea what was in store for me. Those three little words cemented whatever we’d discovered in reality. Yet, we had no idea it would be succeeded by so many pettytakebacks. So much vitriol. So many nights spent alone out of spite, pride, jealousy, and anger. So often denying our feelings to save face. Fronting that it was only a lukewarm attraction we indulged with the utmost apathy. Neither of us wanted to confess the scale of our desperation, or the depth of our need, or our levels of devotion to the idea ofus.
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