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· 🙤 •° · ︻╦デ╤━━╾ ·°• 🙦 ·
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❝ I guess I'm your boyfriend now. ❞
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THE FIRST THING FIVE NOTICES is her hair. He has always found Flare's hair captivating. The color, the waves, the curls, the way it shines in the sunlight, and the fact that it never wants to stay down no matter what she does to it. He likes how it insists upon remaining unkempt. Stubborn and messy, like her.
The Flare who stands before him has hair several inches longer. Somehow, her strands have curled even more. They appear healthier, thicker, and perhaps slightly less tangled. Five may like it even more now.
"Uhh, hello? Earth to jackass?" Flare waves a hand in front of the boy, snapping him out of his daze, "are you gonna keep staring at my face all day, or are you gonna answer my question?"
What question? Shit, how long have I been staring?
He opens his mouth, shuts it, then opens it again—failing muster any words past his lips.
Her current appearance is a striking contrast to the Flare he chased only hours ago in the Icarus Theater. She looks healthier now. The once fresh cuts that littered her face and body have mostly vanished, only scarring over in places where deeper wounds ran. Most notable is the large scar stretching from forehead to cheek over her right eye—a grueling slash from their mission in Ancient Rome. It had healed over beautifully.
Her skin is flawlessly tanned. It sweetly compliments her dark eyes and alluring face, and somehow makes the scars pop in a way he can't tear his gaze from. Compared to her paler and more stressed past self, she's practically glowing.
Quite a bit of time has passed, undoubtedly. Weeks? Months? Years, even? He wonders how many.
Is it possible she's gotten better loo—?
"Oh for fucks sake, if I got something on my face, just tell me!" Flare exclaims louder than before, evidently growing more irritated.
Whoops. He's staring at her again.
This must feel very odd: running into her old pursuer after who-knows-how-many days, only to be gawked at. Does she know where he went? Surely not. And given the look on her face, she is not happy with his return.
"Okay, Flare, no need to yell," he says, a bit exasperated, "I'm just kind of shocked to find you . . . here . . ."
Her honey-colored eyes blow wide. Not from surprise—no. From utter disbelief because she can't fathom how he has the audacity to show up and ask her not to yell. That was his mistake, he realizes.
