Robins' works

Perfect

It wasn't when their eyes met as they danced to Perfect together that he realised it, it wasn't when they promised him they'd be there through every negative thought, and it wasn't when he heard them sing out a song, a plea, to the skies. 

It was when they laid in his lap, eyes transfixed on a movie and one hand twined with his, a lazy and peaceful smile on their face, that he realised he loved them.

It was during that first date as they lay there with their head resting on his chest, hair a sleepy mess and thumb stroking an absent minded pattern on the top of his hand, electricity coursing through him and settling in his chest, pulsing with every breath, flowing out to his fingertips as they carded through dark and soft yet messy locks of hair, and he'd never felt more okay with someone.

He never felt more complete, more balanced, more ethereal and floaty and so completely infatuated, captivated, in love with someone.

He let his own lazy smile fall, kissing the top of their head, taking all of them in, and pulling them closer, feeding off of the warmth they emit and the warmth in his soul.

He hummed that same song again, their soft voice joining along and singing the lyrics in full, allowing him to join, tying their voices together.

He felt their souls meet in that moment and whether or not this love taking root and blooming within him is something dangerous, something wonderful, something that has possibility for late night kisses and cheesy pick up lines, or simply just the bond they share as friends, he's content with waiting for the answer, content with holding a warm hand and singing to them softly.

But you heard it,
darling, you look perfect tonight.