She clears her throat, tries to talk a little more naturally. “You–you should ask. “It…seems like it’s important,” she says, each word costing her. He doesn’t look disappointed or angry or anything like she’d thought he would when he finally asked about her past. It is important, what he asks is always important, but he’s not pushing. She dissects that as they sit there, frozen and cold except for where his legs cross her thighs. He smiles at her, eyes half-lidded with patience and something that almost seems sad. “It’s not important.” She wants it so she’ll have it, just like always.) (She doesn’t know if this is what love’s supposed to feel like, be like, but she wants it so much she can taste blood in her mouth. If you ask.” Because, god help her, she would, she would and she’d lose him because she’d rather he hate her than not have something he needs. The pages tear a little, the sound discordant against the pleasant hum of the television, and she looks up to find him watching her, studying her. She starts, hands clenching at just the wrong time. It’s before they decide to get married when he asks, Nadezh, will you ever tell me about your past?” She thinks he’s watching TV and lets herself frown as the antagonist taunts the protagonist for pages and pages and pages and pages. He’s the one who helped her find it after all.īefore they decide to get married, they’re sitting in their two bedroom apartment, his feet in her lap and her book over his shins. The smile she returns is new, her most precious treasure and something she’d never think twice about giving him. She reaches past her empty breakfast plate to cover his hand with her hot palm. That’s what’s special about Gannon he makes her feel vulnerable and safe all at once. She hasn’t cried in public for years, normally doesn’t even have to worry about the possibility after years of being on guard. She’s surprised by the moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes. I became Zone for that and I’ve never regretted it. “I want everyone to have that, even if it’s just some guy in a mask with a spray of water at his command. It makes you thankful in way you didn’t know you could be.” He allows the water to drop to the diner table and gives her a warm, nostalgic smile. But when I needed someone, when I really needed someone, a superhero was there. “I may not be a Superhero,” he says, “or even a hero. The water follows, a thin stream of twisting molecules for a long moment before the tension snaps and it forms a circle hovering above the pad of his finger. He runs his forefinger up the side, the move thoughtlessly seductive, before drawing it away. He hardly looks surprised at the question, lips quirking as his fingers find the condensation on the glass in front of him. (Hypocrite isn’t the worst name she’s ever been called.) So she asks him why before they decide to get married because for all her mysteries, she can’t have him be one. He’s always got bags under his eyes and dirt under his nails and the blood that stains their welcome mat is more often his than not. It’s not hard to figure out where he goes in the little hours of the morning, not hard to follow him to the edges of forests and abandoned towns and deserts, not hard to smell the spandex, blood and sweat that he wears home. She asks him why maybe a dozen times before they decide to get married. They are about to be killed right before your eyes.but you step in. You retired early and are engaged to a minor super hero who isn’t aware of your past.
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