Afterlight

4:51

4:51 AM

"What are you thinking?"

She asked him.

He let the tips of her words fused with the midnight air he's breathing – trapped them inside his lungs and let them flow like a current on his circulation. Until they become a part of him.

"A hot-fudge sundae."

She giggled like a five-year-old. A giggle that is so contagious, it would be a sin not to return the expression.

Warm breath on the side of his neck. She's breathing, alright. She's beside him.

She stayed and that mattered.

"What are you thinking?"

He asked her this time.

He can't see her face but can feel and taste the sweetness of her breath – can imagine her eyes closed. Her presence lulling him to sleep.

"McCartney."

"Great."

"He's singing."

"Can I guess?"

"Hmm."

He's not good with this. Unlike her, he's not a Beatlephilia.

"Okay, I give up. Tell me."

"A-hot-fudge-sundae-on-a-Sunday song."

He gave a good laugh with that one, "That's my song!"

"Poor McCartney."

"Yeah."

"Hey."

It took him few seconds before turning to her. He's right – her eyes were closed. Just like the first time he saw her.

"Hmm."

"It's after midnight, right?"

"Close to morning."

"Right."

He moved his arm just above her head and watched her sleep in the little amount of light.

"Hey."

"Sorry. I'm just resting my arm."

"No, don't put that away."

She's referring to his arm above her head, touching the soft strands of her hair.

"Can you stay 'til the morning?"

"Sure."

"That would be very lovely."

And in a long sigh she gave in into sleep.

"You're lovely."

He whispered before falling into deep with her.