Okay, I finally got it done. Damn you word pad.
She was crying again.
Those soft silent sobs that she thought no one could hear. He could hear them, he always heard them, it didn't matter where he was in the hotel, he could hear it when she started crying. He didn't know why she was crying, and a part of him wondered if even she knew why she was crying. She was crying as if she was getting her heart broken all over again, as if something had come and hurt her so much that all she could was cry. Cry for everything she missed out on, cry for everything she never got the time to grasp onto.
This time she's standing in front of him, her shoulders slightly shaking with the sobs. Her hair is messy as if she'd been in bed all day, her eyes red and puffy, her plaid pajama bottoms and white short sleeved shirt hanging loosely on her body, like they always did. His eyebrow crinkled together in what could be assumed as a frown, sighing softly, he pulled her into his room, shutting the door behind him. She's quiet now, not really knowing what to say. It's funny, how she always rambled on or had something to say, but there were morments like this, where her lips were pursed together in a fine line, her hands fidgeting at her pajama bottoms. Looking around the room as if she had never been in it before.
Pulling her over to his bed, he climbed into it, pulling her to him. It's one of those acts he does, without even thinking twice about it. It's like this a lot. She's crying and he's there to comfort her in any way he can. Because he's in love with her. Has always been in love with her. And will always be in love with her. So as he wraps his arms around her body as she leans back against him, their legs intertwines, he lets out a breath; one of those breaths that vibrated throughout your whole body, the ones that were shaky because of the nerves that were going through your body. He leans over the bed and grabs his brush, brushing through her messy hair, brushing through every tangle and knot, until her hair is silky and smooth as it usually is. Running his fingers through her hair, he takes in the scent of strawberries and cream, closing his eyes, he brushes his fingers down her arms.
She's breathing more calmly, her head resting on his chest, as she listens to what he's saying to her. It's the soft, smooth words that probably didn't make any sense, but he always whispers the same words to her, knowing it calms her down. Twisting her head at a different angle, she looks up to catch a sight of him. He's beautiful. It seems wrong and ironic that after all the years she had with him, at his side, that it was recently now that she realized how beautiful he was. How pretty he was. She smiled slightly, remembering how she had once told him that he was pretty and how he said it wasn't very manly. Her smile faded a bit, as he massaged her scalp, his eyes fixated on her.
Leaning down, he kisses her forehead, moving over in the bed, he pulls the covers down slightly, watching her crawl in the bed. He follows her movement, feeling her warmth against his own body. His arms are wrapped around her body, and he dropped another kiss on the top of her forehead. He never asks her what she's crying over, but he hopes one day she'll talk about it with him. But holding her, being the one she silently seeks comfort in, is enough to hold him off to the day where he can kiss her without the walls of whatever pain she's going through, getting in the way.
*is quite accomplished* :D
Now I want to write an Angel/Fred piece though...
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