"Hanzo." his name leaves her lips with such reverence, with a smile chasing after like she simply can't help it. she offers up an elegantly wrapped present, containing a collection of poetry by a certain Hermann Hesse, with an elegantly-wrought silver arrow bookmark placed where Ohne Dich lies. simple things, chosen with purpose. then she kisses him with sweetness, lingering and with an undertone of what comes with nightfall. "happy birthday."
it was hanzo’s birthday like 3 weeks ago / @hcilstrahl
He turns past the solid cover & the pages flutter away until those familiar words reveal themselves, those verses once suspended in a mind dizzy with untold affections now fixed to paper in crisp black ink. The attention to detail is appreciated, the arrow glinting up at him, but he’s transfixed by the poem that he skims over ( it’s been some time & yet he need not read it — he remembers every line ). Such a personal touch makes his chest tight, just like back when the sight of her was enough for a pleasant twinge in his gut — a feeling he’d been told to call butterflies with a firm pat on the back ( Reinhardt had been a big & happy help ).
Their lips meet & his are pulled taut; it takes a moment to stop his smile even as she rises to kiss him, his free hand resting in the small of her back & all his thanks are in how tightly he brings their bodies together.
❝ THANK YOU, Angela. ❞
Beautiful, so beautiful is all Hanzo thinks when he pulls back, black eyes softened by the sentiment as he looks over her features. The smile returns & creases his cheeks, gaze sheepishly falling when he catches himself so enthralled. & then he’s buried in her neck, lips dabbing the silk skin of her neck.
❝ You know I LOVE you. ❞
