They were sitting alone. Just the two of them. Stripped down to their under wear. That's the way they liked it. Wrapped up in the sheets. Tonight, there was also the music.
"Sing anything you'd like. Whatever you want." She didn't care what he sang. She just wanted to listen. Immerse herself in him.
He strummed the guitar. She watched his hands. He didn't notice.
Chords resonated. Filled the apartment. But no singing. Not yet.
He strummed the guitar. She watched his hands. He still didn't notice.
"Alright, I'm gonna sing for you." He said it strangely. Like he was trying to convince himself that he might really do it. Maybe.
His hands moved faster. The guitar grew louder. She sensed that it was coming.
And then he sang. Loud and clear and strong. He sang to her, for her.
She avoided his eyes at first. She watched his hands. He still didn't notice.
He made the song his own. Turned into something new, different.
And then it was over. He stopped. The apartment grew still and quiet. Neither of them spoke.
A minute went by. It felt like an hour. She basked in the recent memory of his voice. He smiled.
"Just give me a kiss." And she did. He'd sung for her. And she'd loved it.
The bed was warm and the guitar was cold on his bare skin. He put it down and lay down beside her. He touched her arm.
She watched his hands. This time, he noticed.
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