Warnings: References to depression and suicidal thoughts
Disclaimer: Don't own Only Lovers Left Alive
She had seen him at his worst. She had seen him driven to the need for a bullet made of the densest wood. She had seen him crawl inside his guitars so far that she almost – almost – couldn't see him anymore.
She had also seen him at his best, when he would smile and laugh and dance with her.
She had seen him at his everything in between, every spectrum of emotion of which they were capable, over the years.
And yet she still loved the way he told Einstein's Theory of Entanglement, the way his voice rolled over certain letters and words, the phrases he used and how he made her feel like one of those particles at the end of the universe.
After all this time, she was still fascinated by him.
~{G}~
He had seen her at her best. He had seen the wonder and elation in her eyes as she ran her soft fingertips over the pages of so many books, drinking in the words more enthusiastically than she had ever drank blood.
He had seen her at her worst. He had seen the disappointment in her eyes every time he dragged her back to Detroit from her beloved Tangiers; how the darkness of his city had dulled the brightness within her.
And yet he still found himself surprised when she had found something new, some previously unknown knowledge of the world in which they lived, as if she had not already learned all there was to know. He loved hearing about the star, the musical star out in the cosmos, until he could almost hear it himself in her voice.
After all this time, he was still fascinated by her.