His eyebrows were textured and wiry; soft one way and bristly the other, under Scotty's fingertips. In the low light before dawn, they cut contrast across dark skin, made some darker for the summer sunlight.
One year after they met, Harold still took his husband's breath away.
It was a fierce feeling; intense and powerful, so strong that it made him want to laugh and cry all at once. Harold was good at provoking those feelings in Scotty; even before they were together, there were moments where ferocity of emotion reigned inside the Scot's chest, though he had always been more careful to keep them under the surface back then.
He didn't have to anymore, and that still amazed him even now.
Harold slept in the early light before sunrise, face peaceful and relaxed and almost unbearably beautiful; it still surprised Scotty that he could feel so intensely joyful himself that it ached. It wasn't just some fleeting thing that would come and go, but something enduring and incredible, and his. Fought for, treasured, earned.
They'd come so far from that first day. Had defended each other, even to the edge of death. Had fought against all possible and impossible forces for what they were. Had battled and cried and bled for this.
They'd come so far from that first day. Had built on laughter and joy and intimacy, like building a home one stone at a time; placing each one, sometimes having to remove it, often just to place it more properly. Creating something so strong that it could endure anything.
Their reward was this early light and peace. Beauty. Endurance. The intensity and ferocity of love, in all its colors. The joyful knowledge that they lived in a breathing world, and that their ghosts were truly their own, and that their triumphs were as well.
Scotty watched his husband sleep, with a soft breath through his nose that trembled, as he trailed his fingertips down over one of those fine, high cheekbones.
One year. They'd been a part of one another's lives for one year.
For Scotty, it had been near his whole lifetime.
He leaned over and kissed Harold, gently, too softly to wake him, eyes closed tight, his chest aching in joy.
One year after they met, Harold still took his husband's breath away.
It was a fierce feeling; intense and powerful, so strong that it made him want to laugh and cry all at once. Harold was good at provoking those feelings in Scotty; even before they were together, there were moments where ferocity of emotion reigned inside the Scot's chest, though he had always been more careful to keep them under the surface back then.
He didn't have to anymore, and that still amazed him even now.
Harold slept in the early light before sunrise, face peaceful and relaxed and almost unbearably beautiful; it still surprised Scotty that he could feel so intensely joyful himself that it ached. It wasn't just some fleeting thing that would come and go, but something enduring and incredible, and his. Fought for, treasured, earned.
They'd come so far from that first day. Had defended each other, even to the edge of death. Had fought against all possible and impossible forces for what they were. Had battled and cried and bled for this.
They'd come so far from that first day. Had built on laughter and joy and intimacy, like building a home one stone at a time; placing each one, sometimes having to remove it, often just to place it more properly. Creating something so strong that it could endure anything.
Their reward was this early light and peace. Beauty. Endurance. The intensity and ferocity of love, in all its colors. The joyful knowledge that they lived in a breathing world, and that their ghosts were truly their own, and that their triumphs were as well.
Scotty watched his husband sleep, with a soft breath through his nose that trembled, as he trailed his fingertips down over one of those fine, high cheekbones.
One year. They'd been a part of one another's lives for one year.
For Scotty, it had been near his whole lifetime.
He leaned over and kissed Harold, gently, too softly to wake him, eyes closed tight, his chest aching in joy.