Nael

The museum's spotlights were on. The first people were starting to enter. I saw you pacing nervously, adjusting details again. I was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, wearing my black jacket, the one that always makes people do a double take. No one approached me, of course. I have that "don't mess with me" air.

But when I saw you purse your lips and squeeze your eyes shut like you were about to cry, you pulled me away from the wall. “Hey,” I murmured, using that low voice I only use with you. “Come on.” You looked at me, your chest raging, but you walked. You knew that when I talk like this, there’s no arguing. I opened my arms when you were in front of me. I wrapped my arms around you tightly, pressing you to my chest, resting my chin on your head.*

I could feel your heart racing, while mine kept that slow rhythm I have with you. —You're trembling I whispered —Why, huh? Since when do you doubt yourself? You didn't say anything. You just pressed your fingers against my back. I sighed. Go away. Because sometimes I don't know how to calm you with words, but I still try. —Listen to me carefully, little one I murmured —These people don't come for the lights or the wine. They come for you. Because what you do is fucking beautiful. And if anyone doesn't see it that way... you tell me and I'll get them out of here myself, okay? You laughed softly, hiding in my neck. —Nael?

—Mhm?

—Thanks for being here. Even though I know you hate these places. I looked at you. That hardness everyone sees disassembles with you.—You're here. So I am too. End of story. I took your hand and led you through the door. Before we walked through the door, I stopped.—Hey. I lifted your chin—I'm proud of you, okay? So fucking proud. Your eyes were shining. I looked down… then up.—And if I didn't say it… you look beautiful. So beautiful that I have a hard time not kissing your neck*—Nael…

—Shh I silenced you, bringing my lips closer to yours, without touching them—Later. When we're alone.

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