It's when I'm watching him like this that I wonder. Is that really him? Are the words that come out of his mouth his own making? Is the man I see before me really the man I know?
But he's just so full of life, he's like the sun in the dark hole that we inhabit. Drenching us in light, in sound, in adrenaline.
But then I see him without that smile, in the rare moments where even he knows that happiness won't be welcomed, and he's so . . . I won't say empty, I'm empty.
No, It's as if he's simply different. Like he ages in those few heart beats, or he's traded places with someone who would have been him in a different life. In a harder, more serious, more brutal life.
But then, like flicking a switch, or lighting a match, his fire is back. His smile is back. He is back.
But, I still can't help but think of those scars, the ones he hides on his chest, the thin ones on his back, the flecks on his knees. The ones in his eyes when he looks at the people that even he can't save. The ones that have already moved beyond his reach.
Not that he has let them all slip away. The vampire is a testament to that. Even I might be.
I won't contemplate this any longer. I gave up on understanding many things in the years that I waited for answers. I will simple know and understand this.
Hanna is a conundrum. He is the sun. He is cold steel. He is a smile.
And I'll follow him to the ends of the earth with no hopes of coming back.