The Mime

Rorudesu-chan

Hope fumbles in his pocket to answer his phone. "Hello?" whispers Hope.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Light?" He tries to loosen the tie around his neck. "Um, I'm kind of in the middle of something very important right now."

"Just hear me out."

She wasn't much of a talker; that he was aware of.

"I've been thinking."

And she usually kept her thoughts to herself. Always having him guess what goes on in her mind.

But he likes her like that. He's never been this challenged. She makes him feel like they'll never have dull, boring moments for the rest of their lives.

"I should tell you, Hope. I should've told you. But it's just too much for me."

Three words. Three ordinary words. But he's said it to her (and only to her!) a million times over with truth and ease.

She'd return it. With a smile, an embrace, a kiss. (At times a gesture even more intimate than a kiss).

"Here goes." She clears her throat. "Hope, I, uhm, I—w-what I mean to say is, I've always, I—dammit! Hope, I really—"

"Light. I'm sure you're way better at showing it to me."

There was silence at the other end of the line. But he knew she was smiling in agreement.

"I have to go. I'm about to be married to the most amazing man in the world."

"Good luck with that."

Hope tucks his phone back into his pocket, much to the dismay of the priest. He turns around, sweaty palms, voice—the one he was using just seconds ago—caught in his chest. The doors open. His beautiful bride now appears at the other end of the aisle, fumbling to hide her phone beneath the skirt of her dress.