I scoff, popping a strawberry into my mouth. “Her Tatus? Hate him. I only tolerate him to spend timewith her.”
This time, he doesn’t laugh it off. He leans closer, stealing the taste of the berry in a kiss, sweet and tart, shared at the edges, quick but charged. We dare not let it linger, not when we both know where it would go.
Zosia barrels back, triumphant with her rock collection, plopping it between us like treasure. For a moment I think we’ve gotten away with it, until she declares, “That’s not howTatakisses. You do it like this.” She seizes his face in her sticky, dirt-covered hands and plants a kiss on his forehead.
Dominik grins. “Tatus got confused, thank you for helping me.”
We both chuckle as she proceeds with her demonstration on me, the late May sun wrapping us in gold. My heart feels impossibly full, my world rewritten in the space of an afternoon. How did I ever live without these eyes on mine? Without sticky kisses pressed to my forehead?
Dominik is still asleep when I slip from the bed, his arm thudding softly to the sheets. The morning smells like freshly cut grass from some stubborn neighbor doing yard work at an ungodly hour, and Dominik’s skin pressed against mine. Yesterday still clings to me in fragments, the picnic, the wine, Zosia’s face as she proudly displayed her rocks.
Last night swims up with it too, the way things almost went too far, how my back arched into him before he caught himself and laughed under his breath, saying Piotr would actually kill him if he didn’t takeme out properly first. A real date, dinner, just the two of us, before we tumbled the rest of the way. It took everything in us to stop, but he was insistent and so damn earnest I couldn’t help but find it adorable. It all feels like a cloud I don’t want to step off of.
I grab my phone more out of habit than need. No alerts from the clinic, nothing urgent. Just one text glowing on the screen, timestamped hours ago.Unknown Number.
watch the cover tonight.
I think you’ll appreciate it.
This morning is his final appointment, two weeks since his fall, justone more interactionand then he won’t be my patient. I thought maybe he’d gotten bored once the messages stopped. I thought maybetodaywould be the silent end of whatever this is.
Apparently not.
I shouldn’t watch. IknowI shouldn’t, but I slip into the bathroom anyway, close the door, press my back against it, and open my usual page for fan videos. There it is, already uploaded, a fresh account watermark pulsing in the corner. I press play.
He’s already onstage, hair damp, leather vest shining with sweat, the edge of his veil catching the light. The crowd noise is a living thing, a thousand throats letting him know they are there forThe Riven Altar,for him,for Obelus. He raises a hand behind his piano, and the room hushes like a held breath.
“This next song…” His voice is low, steady. “It’s a cover, a Polish song Ifell in love with.Let’s visit my version ofThe Weight of Silence,together.”
The camera swings, the band members shift and my stomach twists. My mouth actually falls open. The crowd erupts, screams, whistles, a rising chant. Comments flash over the video:
"THE WEIGHT OF SILENCE?? who tf is ghosting this god?!"
"this is the darkest, sexiest thing he’s ever done"
"this is a RELIGIOUS experience!!!"
He drops his gaze to the mic and starts. The first notes are slow, low, the entire song turned into something dark but full of lust, the guitars droning like a pulse.
It feels like you’ve been in me for years, a melody I can’t silence.
I clap a hand over my mouth, my heart is hammering. He leans into the chorus, voice tearing just enough at the edges:
I… I’ve forgotten how to live, don’t know who I am without you.
I scroll down, other fans are losing their minds:
"he’s singing to someone. he’s in love. who is she???"
"to be the one he’s singing this to… i’d sell my limbs!!!!!!!!"
"WHO BROKE HIS HEART?!?!"
The bridge builds, his voice a raw thread over the soft piano:
One more sunrise, or a thousand winters,
I would wait if your hand was in mine.
