you huffed as you tugged on some clothes, the bed sheets wrinkled and thrown all over the place, still warm where he’d been. still carrying the heat of two bodies and the echo of a night that felt like it meant something. originally you had woken up, waiting for jeff to come back and give you attention, that lazy, soft kind that made mornings feel holy. the kind that made you feel chosen even in the quiet hours. but he never came back.

you wrapped the blankets around your bare self, waiting and waiting in drowsiness for him to come back to bed, watching the ceiling as the morning light slowly washed it pale. the light creeping in through the curtains, turning dust into floating stars. it was ten in the morning, and every minute that passed felt heavier, like it was testing how long you were willing to believe in him. the quiet too loud. you figured he wasn’t going to come back and shower you with affection when you heard the guitar, soft and distant, low and gentle threading its way through the apartment. oh, fuck jeff buckley, you thought, half fond, half annoyed. 

you sat up, groaning and tugging some shorts and his t-shirt on, the fabric loose and familiar, like a borrowed piece of his skin. the hallway smelled faintly of coffee and last night’s incense. you glanced at him on the couch, sitting on the arm rest as he played guitar, humming softly, eyes half closed, head tilted and completely folded into the music as if it were the only thing that knew how to hold him together. he looked peaceful in a way that made you ache, like he belonged more to the song than to you. . you cleared your throat softly, finally speaking to say, “just think about this, you sit around playing guitar all day but you have a beautiful naked woman in your bed.”

he paused for a few seconds, fingers still on the strings, the note hanging in the air like a held breath. before he spoke it felt like the whole room was listening, that stupid small grin spread across his face as he looked up at you, all tenderness and trouble wrapped into one man. eyes soft, a little guilty, a little in love. 

“that’s true, i do.”