She ran her slim fingers along his cheek, leaning in to simply place her lips upon his skin. Eyelashes fluttered, merely covering the golden orbs that seemed to radiate from underneath them. Perhaps, one day, they would return to when it was alright, when the storm has calmed it's fiery rage. She loved him, his flaws, his bruised hands, his torn heart - everything. For she knew that she existed, to chase his doubts away. "I'm yours." She whispered the words that only he would be allowed to hear.
It was a twisted sort of selfishness that gripped him in her company—his monochrome spirit, the grey shades of him darker and closer to black than they had been once. There’d been a time he’d wanted what was best for her, of course. A time when the best for her had been him, when the doubt hadn’t been in her eyes, reticence from something other than shyness trembling through her bones with any fragile touch.
It wasn’t fear of him, he doesn’t think. Fear for him. Trust cracked in the places where he’d once been exactly what he’d said he’d be.
Her lips are warm upon his skin, and he should be cold—that’s what people say of him, after all. The things he does, the way the mess he makes of things is somehow pristine. But his heart beats, and it’s fire that burns inside him. Passion and rage. Love, once. A dusty shelf of memories he had no urge to revisit. I’m yours, she says, and maybe she believes it. Maybe she means it. Maybe she is.
“You belong to yourself,” Adam says instead, hands gripping her waist—tighter than he means to. “We all do. They can’t take that away from us anymore.”
exilorris.
