They’d been talking about nothing.
Not even a meaningful nothing—just fast food orders, old cartoons, how the moon that night looked more like a bloated sea urchin than anything romantic. The conversation had meandered like waves, brushing at deeper waters, never quite diving in. Martin had started rambling. Again.
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It wasn’t bad rambling. Just his kind. Disjointed, cerebral, oddly emotional, in a roundabout way. Jumping from thought to thought like turbulence no one could see coming. Glykós didn’t always understand it & sometimes it exhausted her, but she listened. She does because she wants to. Even though she's aware that he, at times, forgets the things she'd tell him. Forget her birthday, forget the details that she holds dear to her heart.
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She was snoozing now, her head resting against the cushiony part of his jacket. He hadn’t moved. Not once. His scarf had slipped halfway down his shoulder, & his tea had gone cold in his hands.
Martin glanced sideways. She was asleep. Just like that. Mid-rant about planes & mango smoothies & his grudge against Bluetooth. He didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended.
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"Guess I wore you out, huh?" he thought to himself. Her breathing was soft, uneven like the tide. She twitched a little, brows furrowing like she was still thinking even in her dreams. Martin looked at her for a long time. She always said "yes" too easily. She always showed up even when she was running on empty. She smiled too wide when someone needed cheering up, & made jokes just to avoid being seen too seriously.
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She gave so much.
Now, in this moment, she was quiet. Finally still. For the first time, he's certain. He didn’t feel like flying away. He reached down, gently adjusted his scarf to rest over her shoulder. Then he whispered, almost afraid of the sound, slightly hoping she was present to hear it:
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"I know I’m hard to deal with."
"But I think if anyone can fly with me, it’s you."
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