She comes naked to the doorway. She looks into the room. He is stretched out naked on the bed. His feet dangle over the edge of the bedframe. They had bought a double bed because they had not the money for a queen sized.
“Will you come bath with me?” she asks, her head cocked to the side while she waits for an answer from the man she loves. His gaze is fixed on the ceiling and does not waiver.
“No.” She watches the way the moonbeams from the open window glance across his chest, his collarbones, his light dusting of hair that travels down from his bellybutton and into the secrets of his groin.
“I am breathing.” His fingers twitch, a tiny spasmodic movement, disrupting the still air of the room.
“Do you not do that normally?” She asks this honestly, as though it has never occurred to her that one day, she could hold her mouth closed and put her hand over her nose and simply stop, letting her lungs wither.
“I do not. The moonlight helps.” And it does. The moonlight is filling his chest. He is photosynthesising in the night.
“Will you come bath with me once you have finished breathing?” She longs to make love in the bath, with the scent of ylang ylang rising around their entwined bodies, and their moans frosting on the heated mirror.
“No. The bath is too small for the both of us.” His eyes close, slowly, as though by losing sight he may disappear, melt into the silence and become a moonbeam himself.
“Everything in this house is too small.” She is frustrated. She only wants to touch.
“Yes.” His shoulders sag a little. She can see his body release, meld to the covers and become less present. She turns from the doorway, and pads across the hall. She watches the steam rise from the bath, and she smells ylang ylang. Her breasts sway with each breath she takes, and she never notices.