Work Text:
She was saying something.
He couldn’t make out the words over the tinny rush of blood in his ears, his heart hammering like he’d just carved through an army, his palms sweating beneath his gloves.
She was holding his hands.
Her brown fingers clasped around his, pink nails sparkling like dawn. He’d seen her tear through battle before, he knew she ran on the front lines just like him, but she was utterly perfect, free of any scar or mark of hardship.
Perhaps it was that smile that she now directed at him, so effortlessly cheerful, with such determination, such joy. Even her happiness was weaponized, pounding against his heart and turning it to a weak, warm, runny pulp.
Her hands were so delicate. Even though he’d seen her prowess in battle first hand, he couldn’t help but see her as fine-spun as the lace she wore. His hands shook slightly as she held them, scared to hold back- what if his gauntlets were dirtied? What if he pinched her skin? What if they were cold and unpleasant-?
“Deecee?”
The nickname dropped him back down to the world. He swallowed hard, focusing in on her face, those bright pink eyes.
“Honestly! Were you even listening at all?” she asked, taking her hands back now to plant her fists on her hips.
Ah.
Dark Choco swallowed the loss, and though he dedicated his mind to the conversation at hand as they strolled on, he flexed his hand in his glove, willing the electrifying sensation of touch to disperse.