Oliver (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
latermaybe) wrote2026-03-25 02:12 pm
latermaybe) wrote2026-03-25 02:12 pm
For Elio
Our furniture, which had seemed so large crammed into our tiny apartment, was now scattered about a space that seemed too large for only two. Open air and light, built in shelves, study space and a music room, and a kitchen one could actually cook in. It was beautiful, and after months of negotiating and planning and overseeing every detail, I had to hope that it was everything Elio wanted it to be.
It was everything to me, because it was ours.
Because of scheduling, the piano had been one of the first things to be moved over, and now, I carefully arranged boxes around it, knowing that it would likely need to be tuned from the move, but not wanted to make it any worse. The boxes contained journals and sheet music, various files and scribbled notes, bits of Elio's genius and madness.
I sat down on the piano bench, flipping through one of the notebooks and scanning the fragments of lyrics scribbled there, one corner of my mouth curved in a smile.
It was everything to me, because it was ours.
Because of scheduling, the piano had been one of the first things to be moved over, and now, I carefully arranged boxes around it, knowing that it would likely need to be tuned from the move, but not wanted to make it any worse. The boxes contained journals and sheet music, various files and scribbled notes, bits of Elio's genius and madness.
I sat down on the piano bench, flipping through one of the notebooks and scanning the fragments of lyrics scribbled there, one corner of my mouth curved in a smile.
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But it’s time to move on and I had done so without any hesitation, locking the door behind us and following Oliver down to the rental truck. It will make a nice home for someone else, a student or another young couple.
Our house is beautiful, and I made Oliver carry me over the threshold while I cried. Over the course of the day, I keep tearing up for various reasons. I’m so happy, the lighting is so beautiful, it looks like Italy, I wish my parents could see it.
After lunch I had begged off to take a short nap on the sofa in the living room, and when I wake up it takes me a few moments to remember where I am. When I do, I smile and roll off of the couch in search of my husband.
“Excuse me. Are you snooping?” I say once I find him in my music room, nearly tearing up all over again at the sight of him sitting at my beloved piano while the sun starts to sink down toward the horizon visible out the window. “Those are my private thoughts, sir.”
It’s an obvious joke. There’s nothing in this house that Oliver can’t look at if he wants. There are no boundaries when it comes to him, because he is such a part of me.
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"You're just so hard to read, I thought I deserved a little peek into that mysterious head of yours," I teased him, looking up from the page and extending a hand to him.
"How was your nap?"
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My hands move to the keys almost on muscle memory alone, tinkering over a few keys. One note twangs sharply and I frown at it, wincing as I prod at it a few times.
“And it’s a good thing,” I add with a pout, testing a few more keys. Of course it would need some tinkering after being moved across town, but my piano being out of tune feels so viscerally wrong. “Because it looks like I’m not sleeping tonight.”
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Carefully closing his notebook and setting it back down in the box, I leaned over to kiss the sharp curve of his shoulder, breathing in the the scent of him, slightly deepened from his nap.
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There is really only one thing that can distract me when I get like this, and I’m reminded of it when Oliver’s big hand settles on my back and he leans in close. It would be foolish to get in my head about something that will be fixed tomorrow, and tarnish the first night in our new house.
He sniffs me and I tilt my head to give him better access, hopelessly endeared. I pull the cover over the piano keys and pat it reassuringly, then shift until I can reach up and take Oliver’s face in my hands, staring at him warmly.
“Snooping through my stuff. Sniffing my hair,” I tease, stroking my thumb over the corner of his mouth. “Careful, people may think you’re obsessed with me.”
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"We should do some unpacking," I suggested, as if being responsible, when I doubted that would be our reason for leaving this bench. I kissed the heel of his hand, hopelessly in love with him and overwhelmed to be sitting in a house that was truly, unequivocally ours.
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My body twists toward his and I drag my thumb along his lip, then grip his chin between my thumb and forefinger. “Is that really how you want to spend the first night in our new house?”
I lean in closer, smiling and flicking my tongue across his bottom lip before gently nipping at. “Sorting through our knickknacks?”
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Nesting, they called it, but that implied an urgent arrival of children, and neither of us were quite there yet.
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“But if you don’t want to have sex with me, I guess that’s your choice,” I say with an easy shrug, chuckling and pulling my hand back to pat his thigh before standing up. “Putting old books on shelves sounds more fun, I suppose.”
My voice stays in a low, teasing drawl and I let out a put upon sigh as I pick up a stack of my old notebooks. “Not exactly what a husband wants to hear, though.”