Work Text:
There are things that you know. There are constants.
You know that you will watch him. The back of his head slopes to the nape of his neck; his eyes are blue with anxiety; he blushes easily around you; his smile is hesitant and trembles like a filly's legs.
You know that he will see you watching him. He will talk with you, spill his guts, bare his heart. You know that, every time, no matter who you meet, it will be the most important heart you have ever encountered. You know that, as he's speaking, he will look towards you. You know that he will startle, as though he cannot imagine why you're observing him as though he is high art. He mustn't really, though. You know that, in each occurrence, you will never be able to explain it. You will make an attempt, and it will stun him, but there isn't enough time, and there aren't enough languages. You know that there is only music, and even then, there aren't enough symphonies.
You know that you will die. You know, now, that it will hurt him. You know that the hurt is building through every instance. You know that you have done him a great disservice, and you know that you will make promises to him. You will promise this time, and the next, and the next. You know that.
You know his fragility. You know that he will snap like twigs under heels, over and over. You know that you will watch some of it, but not all of it. Some of the snapping you will do yourself. It will happen.
You know that you will wait. And wait. And wait. And wait.
You know that he will be happy. In the end, he will be. You know this, because you'll make sure of it, because you must be sure of it, because it must happen. He will be. You'll wait, and it will end, and he will smile, and it won't tremble. You will find him whatever it is that makes him feel beloved. You'll find his peace of mind. You know.