#ramimalek

You are allowed to walk freely. The white pebbles crunching under your feed. The interlacing path leads you from the silent zen garden to the cared wilderness.

First bees, lured out by sun beam, crawling on the hive, some dare even to fly around, not yet finding the bloom.

There are some nutriment to find. The owner of this garden cares. For the garden. For the bees. A most important partner in holding the garden and its plants alive.

Strolling along the low laying plants, who reach carefully out to the required warmth of the sun, you take the surroundings in.

You push your hands into the coat pockets and turn in a circle, your eyes narrowed as a shield from the gleaming light.

Crocuses and lily of the valley had sprung out of the now frost free ground. The sage bush was trimmed and freed from dead branches. Mint is already spreading out.

You fill your lungs with fresh air and forget for a moment that you are a prisoner on this island.

He allows you to take your breakfast in peace - permit you to sleep in, he awake with the sunrise - but insist you accompany him for luncheon daily.

The contrast between garden and the building is extreme. You shiver the moment you step inside. Cold concrete walls and damp air. Small bulbs illuminating the shadows instead of giving light. Some round light shafts with grills over them.

Walking along the corridors, your body shudders by the cold, and you hurry to arrive the centre, where warmth welcome you.

"There you are.." This voice is also warm. Warmer then at the beginning at least.

You smile timed, still coy in his presence.

You get a smile back, a net of scars wandering along his face, a disparity to his full mouth. His grey-storm eyes glim rather kindly while scanning your feature.

"How was the garden walk?", he inquiring.

"Relaxing.", you answer truthfully and settle at the filled table. Suddenly you realise your Hunger.

Still, you wait until he reached for his chopsticks.

He bobs his head. "I'm glad you are able to enjoy it. I spend many happy hours in my father's garden."

You overthink his words as you get yourself some miso soup.

"I -", you start to speak, stopping yourself.

He looked curious up.

"Yes? Pray, speak your peace."

Twirling the small porcelain in your bowl, you check his face. He appears calm and curious.

"I'm just thinking... you should maybe stop to say that. "

He crocked his head. "What do you mean?"

You clear your throat from the sudden dryness of it.

"I think-", your voice stronger, "it is your garden. Your care. Your peace. It is your garden and your piece of heart, is it?"

He stares at you for a long while. His face unreadable. He didn't even blink. A stature.

Then he moves again. His free hand moves to his mouth as he chuckles. Finally blinking. His shoulders trembling. His eyes amused and ... thankfull.

Eventually he stretches up his shoulders and nodded.

"Thank you.", he states. "I think .. I think I needed to hear that."

You take a releaved breath, glad he wasn't offended.

"You're welcome."

The following silence is relaxed as you both enjoy your meal. It feels like a new start.

His garden. Springtime. Time for a new start. Even for you both?

🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊

As if your open words had washed away a invisible wall, the night ritual is more relaxed.

You still remember the first night.

Cleaned and groomed, nude and trembling under the sheets - actually hiding under it - while he found sleep beside you, not even touching you.

The nights, you found eventually sleep and relaxation, as you had learned he needed a warm bed and not violation.

The nights, when you found yourself resting at his shoulder, woken up, when he turned in his sleep.

The one night, after three months, when he reached for you inviting, just opening his arm for you to rest on.

The nights, when he stroked your hair until you fell asleep.

The nights, you answered this favour.

Tonight? Is calm and peaceful. His quarter warm and comfortable. The sheets warmed up by metal bed bottles.

You are as always already under the sheets when he comes in.

Nodding to you. Making himself ready in the bathroom. Coming back in, wrapped in his bed kimono.

You watch him coming over, while putting some cream on your hands. Rubbing slowly your fingers together as he slips aside you under the sheets.

His eyes linger a moment on your face, a slide curious expression on it.

"Good-night.", he rasps out, ready to switch the light from his side of the bed out.

You act without thinking. It is a natural move to lean in.

The moment your lips meet you realise that you had wondered for some time how his mouth feels.

It is a short smooch, nothing more.

"Sleep well.", you mutter as always. The kiss a spoon of sugar.

His eyes blinking rapidly.

His lips are smooth, full and half open as he steals another good night kiss.

And then another.

Slowly.

Sloppy.

Carefully.

Asking silently for more.

Your hands on his shoulder. Then in his hair. His fingers grabbing for you hip. Yours tugging at his kimono.

The kiss still on, dancing tongues, shaking limbs.

He mumbles something.

"Wha?", you ask and pause.

"Say... say it.", he gasps out.

For a heartbeat you wonder what he means. Then you nod.

"Yes.", you speak and lean back on the mattress. Your hand, resting on his shoulder, draws him down to you.

His scarred face relaxed, wide grey eyes filled with wonder, his lips swollen and red.