Makarov 0023

You opened your eyes to complete darkness. The city roared somewhere outside, but the room was silent, except for his breathing next to you—deep, even. He was completely different in his sleep: relaxed, almost vulnerable. You rolled onto your side to look at him, and at that moment his lips moved, and a quiet, muffled whisper rang out. At first, you didn't understand the words, but then, listening more closely, you heard: "...don't go, please... I love you..."

Your heart skipped a beat. He was speaking in his sleep, but the words were so clear, so real, that your eyes stung. You touched his hand, and he woke instantly. His gaze was frightened, almost panicked. He abruptly propped himself up on his elbow, looking around the room as if he had no idea where he was.

"Did I say something?" he asked, his voice hoarse and wary.

You looked at him, at his confused face, at his tousled hair and the shadows under his eyes.

“He said you love me,” you answered simply.

He froze for a second, and in the darkness you saw him swallow. Then something flickered across his face—maybe relief, maybe fear, maybe just weariness. He leaned back against the pillow, stared at the ceiling, and said,

• So now you know. Go back to sleep.

He rolled onto his side and hugged you so tightly you felt his fingers dig into your skin, holding you close as if afraid you'd dissolve. You couldn't breathe from the force, but you didn't try to pull away. You simply lay there, feeling his breathing calm, and realized that you now knew what he'd kept hidden for so long. And that this was perhaps the most honest admission he'd ever made. You hugged him back, and in the darkness of the night, between the two words he'd spoken in his sleep and his embrace that spoke louder than words, something changed forever.