Terrible Things

We sat together, silent, yet it wasn't awkward. It was a contented silence. The way two friends can sit together, not bothered by the lack of conversation, but merely content in one another's company. It was a familiar activity now. We didn't need to speak to convey our thoughts. Most of the time, the other could simply tell what it was we were thinking.

The fire crackled softly, bright orange flames licking at the charred wood in its midst. The fire was lit most nights now. It was nice to return home to, especially when faced with the frost outside, nipping at any exposed skin, and the icy winter wind, gradually building up and chilling you right through to your spine.

Although the seasons had changed and grown colder, our relationship had done quite the opposite. Time hadn't altered my perception of Sean and I'd be lying if I said I think he felt otherwise. He was far from the mere stranger I first thought of him as. I'd spoken to him, assuming that after we met again, it would be the last time and that we'd never cross each other's paths again. Clearly, I was wrong, as we sat cuddled up to one another on the sofa - partly for warmth and partly just because we enjoyed it.

Sean yawned, nuzzling his head further into my shoulder, headbutting me lightly until I moved my arm. He made an appreciative noise when I did, closing his eyes peacefully. He reminded me of a kitten, still ever so dependent on the others around it, content to just snuggle up, yet still a stubborn little bigger. I chuckled, moving my arm at his request, to wrap it around him and pull him closer to me. This was the part of winter I enjoyed the most.

I'd almost dozed off, my eyes half closed, when he spoke. His voice was so weak, so quiet, that I very nearly didn't hear him speak.

"Ian?" he mumbled, his voice slightly gravelly from his brief slumber. He was evidently still very tired.

I, myself, was too tired for a reasonable answer, or anything other than an abrupt 'mhm' in response.

He sighed, closing his eyes again, muttering a quick 'nevermind' and giving up on speech entirely. I wanted to hear what he had to say, but at the same time, the poor soul did deserve a rest and I wasn't going to keep him awake just because I was too impatient to wait a few simple hours. I slumped back, still desperate to know what it was he wanted to tell me, but subdued by my desire for him to sleep.

I was sure he'd drifted off - his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his breathing was level, his eyes were clamped shut, and his entire body seemed relaxed - but barely ten minutes later (yes, I counted), I felt him shift again. I assumed he was merely stirring in his sleep, that he'd settle down in a moment or two, but it soon became clear to me that he was, in fact, awake. Whether he did sleep or not, I don't know.

I pretended I still thought he was sleeping, noticing how he chewed his lip tentatively, as if he was struggling to make a decision. After what looked to me like much hesitation, he lifted his head, eyes opening as he yawned. He turned to face me, his eyes wide as if he really had just woken up.

"Hey, Ian?" he asked again, his voice faltering slightly.

This time, I was able to reply with something more than a curt noise that could easily be mistaken for me plainly clearing my throat.

"Yeah?"

I could see him bite his lip again, which was unlike him. He was never a very shy person. He seemed to conquer whatever fears or apprehensions he had quickly, though, putting on a brave face.

His voice was, once again, rather low, but this time I had no chance of mistaking it. Just three words, softly whispered.

"I love you."