#3

I feel my heart pound against my chest. I know it is most foolish of one to utter but I found myself saying it anyway. Despite the expression on his face being most unreadable I know what I’ve said has left him feeling most bewildered. “I’m sorry.” It’s nothing more than a whisper but I hope it still comes off as the same. I glance down at his hands and the book he holds, too chagrined to look him in the eyes. I’m weary of the fact that he wears fingerless gloves, ashamed of the calluses that decorate his palms. He seems to of recently busied himself with painting as I come to notice the remnants of his work under his fingernails. There’s something about his hands that give off a sense of comfort, I find it too ineffable to describe. I feel safe. I find that quite odd to think when the cuff on his jacket has a lose thread and a hem in desperate need of restitching, but there’s something about him that just emulates contentment.
I swallow thickly before returning my gaze back upon his face. Something feels wrong. Knowing his pragmatic nature I had expected him to leave in a huff, but I suppose this time is different for he is smiling at me. It’s not his usual sly grin but instead a soft smile, perhaps full of affection. I feel myself going red, I truly am an utter idiot. Yet, I hear myself hearing the same words.
“I love you too.”