Contentment and Possession
The bed creaked beside me as my husband slowly lifted himself to avoid waking me, even though he had just come in from his office minutes before. Without opening my eyes I knew from the sound of his footsteps that he was walking across the room.
A few minutes later, the sound of our crying baby waned and I heard soft, low tones of his voice soothing her. My chest tightened at the thought of those two, who I loved so very much in the next room. I could imagine the scene, as I had seen it many times before.
I know that in the nursery that tall, handsome man with those piercing dark eyes is cradling his tiny daughter with his large hands. Those same eyes that have been described as cold, now carry nothing but undeniable tenderness and warmth. He paces the room with a slow rocking motion, his daughter cradled in one arm and the other hand is clasped tightly by tiny pink fingers.
Soft words emerge from his lips and fill the room with a deep and warm comfort and peace. His voice is clear and sweet as he reassures her. The cries of the sleepy baby soften as her eyes blink more and more slowly, and her little fist rubs her eyes tiredly. The man sits gingerly on the plush rocking chair beside the cradle. The baby is sleeping now, and he will return her to her cradle soon, but he sits for a minute admiring her perfect face and rocking her in his arms a little more.
I know what he is feeling because I have felt that feeling too; contentment, and possession. Mine. This person belongs to me. I have felt that feeling about two different people. The first was nine days after I got married. I looked over at my sleeping husband as the sunlight streamed through the window highlighting his beautiful face and I, for the first time, felt that combination of contentment and possession. He was mine. He chose me. He loved me. He had broken rules and put himself through hell for me. I knew that he wanted me the way that I wanted him. Forever. Our lives would stretch for thousands of years, and my love for him would never change.
The second time that I felt it was the day after my daughter was born. She lay in my arms sleeping, and I was overwhelmed that she was a part of me. Her fuzzy brown hair was more beautiful to me than any long flowing locks had ever been, and her cherry pink lips spelled love to me as they formed a perfect o when she yawned. My little baby, my daughter was someone that I could love without reserve. So much had happened and I felt in awe that through all the blood and fighting I could live in this happiness.
His voice continues softly though the baby monitor as I await his return. A few minutes later, he is lit from behind in the doorway between the hall and our bedroom. He steps quietly into the room and sinks into the bed slowly. My hand seeks his in the covers and I clasp it, my eyes still closed.
"Thank you," I whisper. He snuggles close to me in response. He lays his head on my chest, and his cheeks feel cool from the chilly night air. We fall into that regular pattern of listening to each other breathe. I trail my fingers through his silky black hair that even in the moonlight has an ethereal shine to it.
"Should we have more children?" I ask quietly, but I know he hears me because his ear is inches from my mouth. He doesn't respond at first, and I think that maybe he has already fallen asleep, so I close my eyes still stroking his hair. Then, he moves his mouth to my collarbone, and nips lightly drawing a little blood. He kisses the blood away lazily, and licks his lips. "Anything you want, Yuuki," he says looking into my eyes. I know he means it. He always does. He rests his head back on my chest. "Kaname," I start. "Hm…?" he asks barely awake. "I love you." I say softly and kiss his forehead. His grip around me tightens momentarily, and then I hear his even breathing again and I know that he has fallen asleep. I smile to myself and go to sleep too.