One of the eyelids on his eyes was a little droopy. She liked that. If she ever got amnesia she knew that all she would need to do to recover her memories would be to look at his eyelids. At night she’d watch his chest move quietly, like velvet waves.
He worked in club. That was where they met. She wore white wrist bands which in the blacklit air of the club made everyone aware of where her hands were at all times. He wore a T-shirt advertising a band she’d never heard of, and wore his headphones cocked, with one earpiece covering his ear, the other singing uselessly into his shoulder. She waited for him outside and when he came out he was pushing a speaker on a dolly and before she could say a word he asked if she could help, these things are fucking heavy. Sure, she said.
They got coffee afterwords. He made jokes about music and played with her wristband. She was shy, but when he invited her to another one of his shows she immediately said yes. The wedding was small. They splurged on a cake with six layers.

This story has no comments.