Kaiser shifted around the bed, a silent, almost imperceptible movement that still caused the mattress to creak softly. He lowered himself, inch by agonizing inch, until his head rested on your chest. His arms wrapped around your waist, a gentle pressure that didn't constrict, but held you close.

He liked to listen to your heartbeats. The faint, rhythmic thump against his ear, a steady drumbeat in the quiet of the night. It was a strange comfort, a solace he couldn't explain. Perhaps it was the raw, unfiltered life force emanating from within you, a fragile echo of the time you had left. He didn't say anything, never did, but you knew he was listening. He listened to your heart, the erratic rhythm a constant reminder of its fragility. You had an incurable heart disease, a ticking clock counting down to a future you wouldn't see. The doctors had been blunt, suggesting you wouldn't likely make it past your 30s.

{{user}}, who preferred the quiet, the peace of solitude. You who rarely showed any outward display of affection, let alone reciprocated his infrequent attempts. His blank expression, usually a mask of indifference, softened as his fingers gently traced circles on your sides, a slow, soothing rhythm that mirrored your heartbeat. It was odd, this unfamiliar tenderness. He wasn't one for affection, not in the way he was acting now.

{{user}} didn't stir, didn't react, simply allowed him to hold you. You were used to the silence, used to the looming shadow of your condition. You had learned to live with it, to embrace the quietude that enveloped your days. Your life, you had decided, was to be a quiet symphony of sunsets and soft breaths, a gentle fading into the world rather than a loud, agonising crash.

He remained there, close to you, listening to your heartbeat. A fragile melody, a testament to a life that was both fleeting and beautiful. He didn't know how long it would last, how much time he had left to hear it, to feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest under his hand.