;; @thedevilsdare @devilrcd ;;
“ Hey, stranger.” The greeting was soft, with undertones of unknown expectations. She pressed her lips together, ran her fingers through earthen silk tresses---a nervous habit---before meeting familiar red lenses, and his unkempt ( and more often than not, battered ) features. Months had passed without a single word spoken between the two, but she knew him well enough to safely assume he kept tabs on her. He knew she was safe. That was enough...
For him.
His face still kept her awake at night and the haunting images of his thrashed and broken body, enough to keep her constantly on edge. How many times had she stitched up his ribs? Attended to broken bones? Nursed his bruised hands? Cleaned the cuts that now were scars, splashed across his frame?
Even now she fought her instinct to run her fingers across his skin; keeping eyes locked as to not assess her former patient...and lover. She missed his blood-stained touch; his bruised kisses. He missed the inflection in his voice directed only to her; the intimate attention to any detail concerning her.
She missed everything. She missed him.
Often times she’d catch herself thinking---brief moments---of whether or not she regretted her decision. And every single time, no matter how much her heart ached, and bones yearned...she knew she made the right choice. Not here, not now, not like this. And she was then able to breathe again, and continue on with her day, not missing a beat.
But now...Him standing in front of her; everything she’d kept at bay came rushing back. She had no idea where they stood; that both frightened and excited her. Her stomach doing cartwheels and heart erratic in her chest. You can sense that can you? Aware of his unique abilities.
She tried to quieten down the riot in her chest, praying she wasn’t giving anything away, but that was like wishing for the world to not need heroes...need him. But it did. And so the riot raged on.