Hot-Shot Moran

i am made of war and she is made of love she mends what i tear apart the holes in the bronze hammered into my soul bruises blossom on her neck evidence of my savagery and she strokes my bones and clutches close my skin stitched together the patchwork pieces i would fight for her die for her again and again and again tear myself to ashes if only to fall between her fingers my wounds are jagged like broken glass and she kisses them and only when she rises do i see that there is blood on my hands and blood in her mouth i am made of war and she is made of love but what makes war if not love?

A happy hum left her when he kissed her before turning to leave. “I’ll hold you to that!” She called out to him as he left. When the chime above signaled his departure, Mae let herself pout a moment then returned to work. It was easy to slip back into the routine and it helped her lose track of time.

Her cheerful comment as he left made him smile as he departed the shop, hands shoved into his pockets as he wandered down the street. His smile melted off when he focused on the report for M, the debriefing that he was meant to give.

Winter nodded, committing it to her memory. “’S nice to meet you, Moran.” Though she noticed the slight change in his demeanor, she didn’t comment on it right away. Feeling fairly at peace, especially considering he might buy some cookies for his meeting, she hummed to herself as Moran walked away.

Moran hadn’t gone back to talk to Mae since their previous conversation. He was confused to say the least, and slightly concerned. When she went to a chair in the back of the shop instead of coming to his table when she was taking a break, he furrowed his brow, but focused on his laptop, typing out a report for his most recent job for M - she required a report for each. 

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Her smile grew broader. It was always nice when people paid attention. That thought had her worry at her bottom lip before throwing caution to the wind. “Y’know I’ve been yammerin’ on this whole time an’ I forgot to ask you what your name was. ‘M sorry. ‘M normally not so rude.”

He paused, a little baffled. Suddenly, he felt the need to reevaluate her interaction with him. While she’d been sweet and open to him, she hadn’t had her normal feeling of warmth and love. And now...His name? “Moran. I usually go by my last name. First is okay, but I prefer last. Much like you with your first.” He forced a smile. 

“You’re a sweet fella.” Winter grinned at that. “I appreciate that an’ thank you for humorin’ me.” Part of her wanted to ask about his name since they’d just been talking about her own. Then again that could be considered a little rude. “Win ‘s just fine.”

He nodded, making a note as such. “Win, then,” he smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” It would be hard to make the transition, but he was glad he at least hadn’t tried to call her Mae while in the shop today. 

Kazara didn’t have to look back to know he was still there. She’d started to give up on the idea that he was possibly a coincidence, just a strange guy who happened to be headed the exact same direction, even when she took a slight detour before ducking in to Theory. She didn’t want to risk her friend or her business, but when the guy didn’t follow her in she felt a little less guilty.

Moran knew that Kazara could tell he was there - he knew when a mark knew that they were being watched. He texted M as much and got a response: 

It was kind of hilarious to see a man like Moran blush, but she refrained from laughing. It was one thing to giggle about someone getting your accent ridiculously wrong, and another to laugh when another person apologised. To ease any potential guilt he might have, she waved a hand dismissively. “Dinna fash yerself. ‘m no’ over-offended – Mae’s no’ a bad person t’ be compared to.” She grinned again, nodded as she shifted her weight from one foot to another, getting ready to leave. “Aye, tha’ we are. But dinna worry: ‘m sure I’ve made jus’ as many jokes about your lot as you ‘ave o’ mine.”

What she didn’t know is that Moran blushed all the time, but he was good at hiding it around people who weren’t Mae. But he did appreciate her not saying anything. Her accent made him feel as though he were slipping further into his own - almost at home. “Aye, she’s a lovely bird, that’s for sure. I’m quite lucky to have her around, as you know. And ‘s long as yer not wearin’ a kilt, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” 

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