“Simon,” you mumble, sitting up in bed and flicking on the bedside lamp. He doesn’t move or shift, just sits there like a brick wall, his hands moving in the same rhythmic side to side motion. The sound of metal on the hand-held knife sharpener ringing loudly through the room.
"Simon, come on," you whisper. "Are you mad?"
He stilled for a moment, going more rigid than before. "No," He begins, "..'m not mad.."
"Right...so sharpening knives at 2 AM is a normal hobby-?"
He huffs, setting the knife down a little to hard on the bedside. "..'m not mad at you." his voice is gruff and snappy. Like he's teetering on the edge of fully exploding. He wouldn't, though, not around you...never at you either. He made that clear.
"So then, will you tell me what's wrong? Who your mad at?" Your voice is calm and soothing. Your body moves before your mind realizes, and you're behind him, arms wrapping around his torso. You nuzzle your nose into his neck, taking a breath and placing a small kiss there. "Whatever it is..you can tell me.." you pause "...you know that baby."
He lets out another huff, "Yeah...I do know that," he starts. "But this is different. This isn't..normal."
That makes your brows frown, and stomach drop a little bit. The room is quiet while you wait for him to talk again, but when he doesn't, you pull back slightly. "Simon, look at me," you say firmly. He moves back onto the bed fully, back up against the headboard, and hands clasped in his lap like he was waiting for a blow. Waiting for something to happen, but when nothing did, he relaxed slightly, and looked up at you. "..'m sorry..." He says quietly.
"No, no...shh...don't do that. Nothing is 'not normal' to be mad about, and there is nothing to be sorry about," you whisper gently. You move back to sit against the headboard next to him.
"come 'ere" you whisper, your arms open and inviting.
He moves without a thought. His arms wrap around your torso, and his head rests on your chest. He lets out a long breath, and you feel him relax.
"You don't have to tell me, but at least let me hold you. Okay?"
He only nods. Your hands run through his hair gently, and every once in a while, you kiss the top of his head. You whisper sweet words. Repeating that you love him no matter what, and that he's not alone.
You choose to ignore the warm wetness soaking into your shirt.