Lullabye

Billie was quite beautiful, in his own way. He had hooded eyes, but they framed his green irises perfectly. He had stained teeth, but his smile was so bright and beautiful you could hardly notice. He had acne scars, but Mike had found that his skin was so soft to the touch that it was like a newborn. His hair was kinky and dyed a plethora of old and new colors, plus grown in roots - but in the light, it shined.

Billie’s personality was rough and soft, at the same time. He was a snotty punk to anyone over the age of 25, kind to small children, guarded to anyone his own age, and judgmental of absolutely everyone. He was very well known for the sneer of his upper lip and the arch of his left eyebrow as he looked a person up and down, down and up. But he was also very well known for his voice, a gravelly kind of silk with undertones of rose petals and thorns, a beautiful kind of paradox.

Mike was quite beautiful, in every conventional way. He had deep blue eyes, not quite like pools, not quite like oceans, more like the early evening sky. His hair was a chocolate brown, smooth and silky, like feather down. He sometimes forgot to shave, but Billie had found that the stubble scratched his face in exactly the right way. His teeth were straight and white, and his smile could warm you down to your toes.

Mike’s personality was that of a standard prince charming. He was carved out of the Disney mold, deep voiced and polite. He treated everyone the same, with grace and kindness. He wasn’t a saint, but he wasn’t a sinner. He was simply a man who did his very best to do what his mother taught him, when she was around, at least.

Billie and Mike fit together like they were made to lay in the same bed, constructed to have their lips touch, molded to have their fingers entwined. They wore matching necklaces with tiny hearts dangling from them - Billie’s was silver, Mike’s was gold. At night, before they fell asleep, they would clink the hearts together, the tinny noise resonating in the darkness.

Billie was a writer. He wrote songs, little lullabies, and he sung them to Mike at night. They were just baby rhymes, simple quatrains and couplets, and they always melted Mike’s heart.

Baby, baby, you’re the only one for me
Baby, baby, oh, can’t you see
I love you, I love you
I need you, I need you.

I’m trying so hard to make you see
Just how much you mean to me

Billie’s little lullabies were special. Whether they made sense or not, they were still Mike’s and only Mike’s, and it meant something to have something. Sometimes, Billie sang the little lullabies in a little voice into Mike’s ear late at night, giving them tunes he invented, hearing them with the backups of a full band, when really they were only whispered words in the dark… tiny lullabies.

They shared a big love with tiny intimacies, because those were the things that made what they shared so special, so bright, so intense. Billie’s creative mind and Mike’s mathematical brain clashed like the hue of their hair, but at the end of the day, they never went to bed without kissing each other goodnight.

I don’t have much to say
Because you take my breath away
And there’s not much I can do
All I can is sit here and love you

You’re beautiful, unbelievably so
You make these words flow