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There wasn’t any reason for this.
That’s what he’d realized a long time ago.
Maybe, if you could dig down deep into his psyche—farther than any ordinary man could go, as far as quirks could possibly allow—then, maybe it would make sense. Maybe then he could get some kind of explanation for why his heart felt so jittery, or why his chest felt so tight, or why his smile stabbed into his cheeks with the force of an Unbreakable punch. But, as far as he could tell, it didn’t make much sense.
And that was okay.
She slid across the kitchen floor purposefully, moving to flip the bacon strips piece by piece after flipping an omelet over in the skillet. The movement made her hip jut in a way that had his chest crackle like the air before a lightning strike, which was kind of odd.
It wasn’t a sexy move—that was the weird thing. The movement, if taken from this moment and placed in a million other places and exhibited by any number of other people, was not sexy. It didn’t try to entice in any way, shape or form. It was a move made because it was efficient, and because she was multitasking—something she excelled at.
It was a movement that was strictly hers.
Maybe that’s why it was so enticing to him.
There was no reason for him to be so in love with her. She was all soft edges, genuine smiles. She was a jawbreaker—round, sugary, sweet, but unbreakable just the same. And he was all jagged rock. Obsidian blade—sharp enough for surgery if wielded by the proper hand. He was gritty, and she was gutsy. He was a meteor that struck earth again and again, and she was the space between stars that brought comets together. They were further than day and night, he thought. She was a springtime full of sunshine and flowers blooming and promises just beginning, and he was an autumn full of red-gold leaves and crackling earth and gnarled bark bones left to prod the sky through winter.
They were nothing alike, he’d swear by it.
Her smiles were all kindness, while his were some sort of bravado he’d worked his way into after his middle-school failures.
He was unbreakable, and still.
She was so much stronger than him.
The real deal.
And every move she made—every sound, every touch, every look—spoke to that in some way.
Over the years, he’d noticed that.
He’d noticed her.
It started small. Just the little things. Gestures, sounds, notes in her laughter. More space between audible laughs meant she was enjoying the joke more genuinely. Shorter spaces or bark-like laughter meant it amused her, but wouldn’t make her double over. When she fought, he swore her eyes changed color. Or maybe it just felt like they changed color. Either way, the effect was that it permeated his system and caused something primal to cry out—howl, maybe—over how intense it was. How raw. How beautiful.
She was a real opponent no matter who she faced. Willing and able, determined despite any odds. Not backing down until the task was complete, the mission a success.
She was something.
When he realized that, and he realized he’d noticed, it got worse.
The noticing grew.
It was like he couldn’t stop noticing her, even when he tried.
She walked into the room, and something in him went off. A sensor of sorts. He didn’t need to see her or hear her, something inside of him tapped against his chest, peeking like morning light around a curtain, letting him know she was present. And her presence wasn’t ordinary anymore.
It charged him up.
He swore he was stronger when she was around. That he stood taller. That he felt things more viscerally, more clearly. Sunlight was brighter. Moonlight was more mysterious. Stars were literal magic. Songs were felt as loudly as they were heard. Everything—all of it—was sharper.
He was sharper.
More honest.
A version of himself that could be shown without the excess. When they were alone, he felt his heart spill out of his mouth, flowing like a waterfall, completely without fear. He was honest with her, straight-forward. Nervous, but not afraid.
Not afraid.
Why?
Why did she have that effect on him?
He didn’t have a reason. Not really. Not a simple one. It wasn’t a single sentence, or a short answer. It wasn’t a five-paragraph, hand-written, turn-it-in-by-the-end-of-class sort of essay that he could write. Not at all. No.
It was this:
Moments.
Time.
Experience.
He’d shared these things with her. Uniquely, just as uniquely as she was unique. They weren’t two chemicals that didn’t mix, like oil and water, they were something that created when mixed. That changed.
He’d changed.
Because of time, and moments, and experience.
And because of her.
Sure, he’d made all these choices. He’d pursued all these paths. He’d lived in all these moments. But, there was something about her that made him want to think them through more carefully. That made him want to step cautiously, thoughtfully, strategically. He’d never been much of a thinker, not like that, but when he’d realized what he’d miss out on if he messed up?
Well.
He was careful.
Responsible.
Sensitive.
More than he’d ever been before. More than he’d been since.
And he’d get even better at those things. He would.
Because, really—
What else does love do?
“Ei? I didn’t know you were up yet.”
Her voice cantered easily to him, wringing a sigh out of his muscles.
So wonderful, he thought.
It enticed a smile out of him.
“Yeah, just woke up,” and his voice was gruff enough to evidence that fact.
“What’re you doing just standing there?” his wife asked, her amused and confused smile crinkling the cute, permanent, pink blush spots on her cheeks.
So cute.
He grinned back, unable to help himself.
To others, the smile he gave when he was truly happy looked too sharp. Too feral. Too pointed. Too predatory. Maybe even a little scary. But, she’d told him once that he looked fine to her. That his teeth were enticing. That he was gentler than others perceived, so there was no reason for anyone to fear his sharply displayed happiness. She’d said she knew that for a fact about him—the gentle bits. Said it was something she loved about him.
She saw through him. She always saw through him, and still.
She wasn’t afraid.
His heart kicked against his ribs, delighted by that.
He smiled wider.
“I’m enjoying the view,” he told Ochako, leaning against the door jamb and crossing his arms, tilting his head differently to keep his lanky red hair from covering the scene before him.
She rolled her eyes—
Blushing.
“Well, quit that and get over here Ei! There’s still a breakfast to be cooked, ya know. You can help.”
He chuckled, noticing the red that crept up her ears.
“Sure Babe. Anything for you.”
Really, he didn’t have a reason for this—for feeling so strongly about her. For wanting so fully. For loving so wholly. For noticing her, and noticing her, and noticing her. There wasn’t really a reason.
And that was okay.
Love doesn’t really need a reason.