Heero started it, what had become a ritual of sorts between us. The first time it happened was at the end of the war, and at first, I wasn't sure it had. I'd fallen asleep at Heero's bedside as he recovered from his fight against the Libra, and the barest brush across the back of my hand woke me. His eyes watched my face as I roused. A year later, he repeated the action while I was awake, and I knew then it hadn't been imagination.
As time passed, it'd become our way to let the other know all was going to be okay, that we were there.
When Heero sat next to me, his packed belongings at his feet told me he had nowhere to go, I bumped my knee into his to let him know - I was there. The gesture had surprised him, for he'd always been the one who gave them; I'd never until then. I think that's what made him decide to stay.
The day I had to comfort a neighbor's child as her dog died in the street from a speeding car, Heero was there. I'd watched the pup grow, shown the girl how to teach him tricks, and even played with the animal myself. That day I hadn't wanted to be the adult; Heero's squeeze on my shoulder allowed me to not be, letting me know that he would take care of anything necessary.
At Relena's wedding last year, a brush of my fingertips and he knew I understood. If he had had such a thing as a first love, she would have been it. But they had never had time to explore that for themselves. And now seeing her happy and content, he felt he could let her go.
During the seventeen hours we waited for word of survivors after Trowa and Quatre's shuttle crashed, I didn't leave Heero's side. I'd thought he'd been leaning on me for support, but by the time Wufei called with the good news, I realized it had been his hand holding mine that had kept me sane.
Last night, our kitchen had filled with the smell of the special – but burnt – dinner. After taking one look at it, Heero had disappeared. I'd spent almost all day cooking to celebrate our second year together, and was pissed he'd left. But a bare half an hour later, he was back, a carryout pizza in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other. The casual smile and the punch on my arm let me know all I needed.
Heero had started it, the ritual, as nothing more than a slight brush of a fingertip on the back of a hand, an exposed knee, alongside a neck, or over a cheek. It was that touch that whispered, "I am here for you."