“I’m counting.” One seventy-five, one seventy-six, one seventy-seven, one seventy-eight, beats of a steady heart only he could hear with arms wrapped tightly around Robb’s waist and an ear pressed to his chest. The counting had begun several minutes ago once solar-powered LED lanterns kicked on to cut through the waning sunset. Orbs of man-made white light muted the garden’s natural beauty with sterile lumens, took away something of great importance from the comforting serenity that Jon, try as he might to analyse and digest his sudden detest of wee path lamps, simply couldn’t identify.
One seventy-nine, one eighty, one eighty one...
Before his mind had been a hive. Buzzing with thoughts of what-ifs and scenarios capped by varied and distressing endings, worries transcribed in dead ends and loss of love till he verged on a quiet sort of madness, spiraling ever inward as the swarm circled his head, stinging and biting at the attack. But then the sky had dimmed and the lights emerged, one at a time beacons glowing at the end of his hellish tunnel giving him a focal object outside imagined hurts to come. A point at which to unburden his emotions, a tangible offense lifting the veil of confusion just long enough for Jon to pick up on that faint pitter-patter inside lover’s chest.
Reliable and comforting and sure, that bass rhythm. The muscle which gave coveted boyfriend life, gave Jon’s life meaning. It beats for me, it beats for me, it beats for me, he’d intoned over and over until Robb’s words broke the silence.
He felt strangely calm now. Not that the visual and audio distractions had brought peace of mind - Nothing really can till it’s all over and done and he’s still by my side - perhaps instead a numbness by which Jon could survive the weekend. Resigned to his fate, the tangle of thoughts, feelings, physical or otherwise, was simply too big a nest to attempt unweaving at the moment.
To just be together was more important.
Shifting bearded chin upwards, Jon caught baby blues but for his own uncertainties, remained blind to lover’s doubts.
“Tell me you love me?” The request was barely a whisper. “I don’t even care it’s prompted-” Liar, liar, pants on fire. “-I just need to hear it.”