Michael loves being like this, Lee wrapped all around him so he can feel her heartbeat in his back and her breath in his hair. It eases him deep down, at a level where he’s rarely easy. He lays one of his arms over hers and rests the other on her leg instead so she can still grab her wine when she wants. He sighs and closes his eyes again, more relaxed than he’s been in a while. Every time he can’t have this, he finds out how unbearable life would be without it. Without Lee. It’s a dangerous way to live. The thought keeps him up sometimes, creates nightmares when he sleeps.
“I love you,” he says, in his frank way. “Really, I mean it.”
Normally he waits for a prompt—hanging up the phone, leaving the apartment, having sex, going to sleep, Lee saying it first, etcetera—but today he’s already said it out of nowhere over breakfast, and now this. He can’t help it, he can’t keep it in. He’d been so lonely, he’s been so worried.