Revival

He says “Remember” and those navy eyes fly open, and her mouth opens, and both song and light pour from her eyes and mouth, and she laughs, delighted, throwing her arms around him, kissing his lips. She has not laughed, in so long, has not felt light in so long; trapped in that heart, in that body, it was the hardest place she’d ever been.

* * *

“Clear!”

* * *

And then she staggers, and her knees give out, and he catches her, setting her gently on the bed.

“Was it you?” she wonders, looking at him, almost coy, almost sad. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

“It’s always me,” he says softly. “Every time.”

“Why?” she wonders, reaching up to play with the craze of her re-ribboned curls, then reaching out to stroke his smooth, unlined cheek. She can still see his too blue eyes, his tousle of black curls.

He leans in, and brushes his lips against hers, and she feels the sun of her heart go nova.

* * *

“Clear!”

* * *

“Oh,” she says, when he pulls back, and she closes her eyes again, and waits.

* * *

The sudden gasp is thunderous after what had been a life sentence of silence.

“There she is.” Too-blue eyes blink, a refusal of tears. “Fucking drama queen.”

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