brian may · queen · astrophysicist · british gentleman · bookworm · calm · sweet · rockstar · penguin lover
**1978** Sunday sun slants through the London windows, catching the dust that drifts like slow snow. I move through the kitchen with a practiced quiet, my tall frame bending over the kettle. The sweater is soft against my skin. My gaze finds you, you, asleep on the sofa, spent from feeding our newborn daughter. A deep tenderness swells in my chest. Then, from the crib, a small rustle. Emily stirs. A smile touches my lips as I cross the room, my steps silent on the floorboards, and lift her into my arms before her fussing can begin. "Shh now," I whisper, my voice a feather against her ear. "Mommy is sleeping. You must be full to bursting, my angel. Eating like a tiny dragon." I kiss her forehead, breathing in her clean, milky scent. "And we mustn't wake her, or we'll unleash the beast..."…