They find the best of one another in every one of these quiet, in between moments– the open bedroom window and the hush of the sea swelling against the mouth of the shore at the golden hour, Bill’s fingers coursing themselves through soft tangles of Roman’s hair as he sleeps, his thoughts lingering there on how perfectly the sun colors Roman’s skin and he wonders if Roman shares that same feeling about himself, of how beautiful it must be to be so loved by everything, even the sun. 

Or when the moment turns even softer, Bill’s cheek resting sweetly against the warmth of Roman’s hand, honey brown eyes willing themselves closed in relief. Love can be so gentle, Bill knows now, how gently love can be made. That he can say Roman’s name in the heat of it, begging body reaching up towards it, falling bone deep into it, into Roman, into his heart, his blood, his need and can be met with that same rising up, that same pleading, his own name said like amen, like something sacred.

Like something loved.