Paper Airplanes (Ereri - SNK)

Mystified.

Smoldering irises catch and reflect the silver moonlight, boring straight ahead. They aren't angry, aren't joyous or sad, but simply impassive. Stoic. Unreadable. I knew I'd never forget those eyes.

Once the eyes are visible, other features become easier to make out. Strong cheekbones; long, straight nose; strong jawline, thin lips I remember to be impeccably soft. Short stature, square shoulders, lean legs...

As soon as I'm on my feet I realize this might just be a trick of my own mind. It might just be that I've gotten so mentally ill that I'm beginning to hallucinate. That would surely explain the big black wings sprouting out of his back...

But hallucination or not, he's standing in front of me. Staring at me. My breath caught in my throat, I take a small, soundless step forward. He doesn't move, just watches me. It takes a lot not to break into a flat out sprint to close the distance, but it's difficult to keep moving, knowing what I'm seeing might not really be what's in front of me.

I count every step that brings me closer. Because they're small, it takes twelve to be at an arm's length away from him. He's still only watching me with that steady gaze of his, and now his face is in full view - just as perfect as I remembered it to be. My heart pounds. My left hand still holds the drawing; my right twitches, like it wants to reach out for him and make sure he's real. So I let it. I lift it up, gently let my fingertips brush his cheek to make sure he's real.

And he is. He's solid. Warm. Beautiful.

A strangled gasp draws in between my lips, the first breath I've taken in at least a minute. My fingers involuntarily curl into a shaky loose fist. My eyes sting and I'm still partially waiting to wake up, waiting for him to disappear in a cloud of smoke.

But he doesn't. And finally, he moves, lifting his hand to wrap gently around my wrist - those same rough but gentle hands - and slides it to intertwine our fingers tenderly. He holds them there between us for a moment, still watching me, like he's waiting for me to do something. But I'm frozen in complete disbelief. Subconsciously, I'm scrambling to make sense of this.

A long minute passes, and I guess he finally decides I'm not going to do anything, because his other hand lifts to cup my cheek. He's so warm, so solid. I'm afraid my knees are going to buckle.

He starts to open his mouth, but before he can say anything, I'm throwing my arms around him, holding tighter than I ever had before. I don't want to cry, but tears flood my eyes anyway, and I bury my face into his shoulder to hide them. He's stiff for a minute. Eventually, though, I feel his arms find their way around my torso, too, and his fists curl around my shirt beneath the cloak.

My knees do finally buckle, then, and we both go down without ever letting each other go. I'm gasping, trying my hardest not to sob into his shoulder, but it's hard. So hard. I'm so happy, but so confused at the same time.

"H-how?" I manage. My muscles are beginning to ache with how tightly I'm holding him, but I don't care.

"You," he answers simply. And his voice, oh god, his voice. I revel in it - so smooth and deep, and I swear it's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.

The big black wing attached to his left shoulder blade catches my attention. Swallowing, I slowly lift my hand to it and brush my fingertips over the top of it, gently. It's surprisingly soft, and even warmer than his skin.

"I...I don't understand," I whisper.

He pushes me back gently, hands on my shoulders. Our eyes lock, and an overwhelming yet familiar wave of warmth and adoration floods through me. Nothing about it is the way I remembered, for it's so much more potent and pierces me deeper, so much deeper. It's addictive, and I wonder how the hell I ever survived without it.