One day, when they're laying on Herms plastic covered couch watching tv, when Grandma is in bed and the house is quiet. When Robert is curled into a damp chest and closing his eyes, arms wrapped around a thin waist and humming contently as he smells soap and linen. As the cats paw at his outstretched legs for treats and Herm brushes his hair back with long, slender fingers.
One day when its slow and quiet and just...nice. comfortable.
But he doesn't say it in the way Robert expected. He knew he would say it first. He knew he was so emotionally constipated that him say it first would be a miracle in and of itself. So Herm saying it in a quite domestic moment when the moon is high and car insurance ads play on the tv, makes sense. It's expected.
What wasn't expected is him not saying I love you.
And Robert just freezes. Tenses up and lifts his head.
He blinks at him. And Herm shrinks.
"I-I did. Sorry if-did I say it wrong? I've been practising and it's hard but-but I'm trying so-"
He's pulling away, thinking he did something wrong that he's said something offensive or used the wrong formality. He's scared and embarrassed and Robert can see the spiral of his own making forming. Being pushed off his comfortable chest by self doubt and nerves.
And Robert wants to stay put. So he grips Herm's jaw and pulls him into a kiss. Soft and sweet and slow. Caressing his cheeks and jaw until the nerves go away. Until he sinks back down and Robert is back in his comfy spot, his safe spot, so he can say...
And it's Herms turn to blink. To freeze and blush. A goofy smile filling his face. Rubbing a thumb under Robert's cheekbone and scanning his face. Finding nothing but a soft feeling of admiration.
And Robert could cry. He could curl up here, against Herm's chest, and sob with happiness until he overpowered Herm's water. Mixed with it and was consumed by it. But he just smiles, tilts his head and kisses Herm's palm.
Because he loves him too.
