The house is quieter than usual. Evening has settled in, warm and heavy. The television is on but muted—just flickering shapes on the screen. He’s sitting across from you on the sofa, one knee bouncing, fingers idly tapping his thigh like he can’t quite unwind.
He looks over at you, and his expression softens in a way that always undoes you a little. He rubs his jaw, takes a breath.
“Y’know…I been sittin’ here tryin’ to figure out how to say this without soundin’ like a fool.”
His voice is rough around the edges, tired from the day but steady.
“I keep thinkin’ maybe you don’t really…maybe you don’t really know how much I mean it.”
He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees, rings glinting in the lamplight. His hair is a little mussed, the way it always gets when he’s been running his hand through it.
“I love you.”
He lets the words hang there. He doesn’t blink.
“I mean…I love you. Not the way I love singin’, or the way I love bein’ up on that stage. That’s…that’s somethin’ else. That’s—” He shakes his head, lips curving in a tired half-smile. “—that’s noise. This…this here is quiet. Feels real.”
He sits back slowly, hand sliding up to rub the back of his neck. He watches you, and something flickers across his face—like he’s bracing for you not to believe him.
“I know I got a lotta faults. Lotta things I oughta be better at. But…I swear to God, I ain’t never loved anybody like this. I ain’t never wanted to.”
He glances down at the carpet, then back up, meeting your eyes again like he’s trying to pin this moment in place.
“You’re the best thing I ever done right. Don’t care what anybody says.”
He clears his throat, a little hoarse. His voice drops softer.
“I love you.”