A/N: i love this movie, but i don't think it quite does this couple justice. lemme give it a go!
prometheus
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God, he was just so funny-looking.
Her mom had him in her dad's clothes, ranging from crisp white shirts and suspenders to overalls to corduroy jackets. He never looked right in anything he wore, except that strange leather jumpsuit. Kim stared at him, stared till her eyes were sore and his cheeks had the faintest, the faintest, whiff of bloom on them.
"Kim? Kim, honey, don't stare."
But Momma, he's just so strange.
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She did not know how to hold her tongue, especially around her friends who talked of him, nonstop.
"So, has the weird scissors guy learned to cut your bra off yet?" the girls teased.
Kim flushed the deepest red and looked away, mumbling, "He's not weird, guys. Leave him alone."
Sometimes she'd retaliate with, "Edward's the nicest guy I've ever met!" or "It's not his fault, let him get used to everything, alright?" and she'd walk away in a huff, ignoring the knowing looks everyone shot her in the back.
There were times Kim could not meet Edward's eye, though he glances at her several times over the dinner table. He had the worst look of hurt she'd ever seen; as if a day's silence between him and her was enough to make him never speak again.
How could you be so needy? Geesh.
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But he made her a garden of art.
The neighborhood was a-flutter with dolphins, rabbits, birds of paradise—things she'd only ever read about in books, captured there on her front lawn or in the neighbor's backyard.
"Why do you make these things?" she asked. Her voice dropped, stark and sturdy, into his methodical cutting silence.
He turned away from his newest creation—a massive butterfly—and looked at her. His eyes were like hot coals. "Because you like them, I make them."
He spoke like a five-year-old, but it touched her nevertheless. Kim's face warmed. She felt like a little girl again, and she never felt so pure anymore. Being pure meant being unafraid, and she was always afraid before he arrived.
He brushed her hair one morning. No, not cut—that was easy for him. He balanced a brush on his sharp fingers and brushed her hair, without cutting a snip off. His look of concentration was so intense that a cord stood out from his neck. He was trying so hard. She sat quietly and patiently, eyes closed, and let him gently run the brush through her hair, as at ease as if they were just two normal people. No fear.
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Let me waltz into your heart.
He created a winter storm for her to dance in—and dance she did.
Now, this is magic, she thought, as she turned and turned, letting the little white flakes scatter over her clothes and in her hair, and she thought some of it was getting into her heart. God, she was getting so romantic these days, and Kim had thought that romance was beyond her. But she'd also thought magic was beyond her, too—and yet here he was, covered and scars and pale, pale skin, but magic nonetheless.
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Let's never be afraid again.
She wished for him, wished so hard. Wished for him to assimilate, to feel less alien, to feel more human. But he could not. He could not be left alone. The world sensed him, and like antibodies to a suspected threat, pounced—in, in, on their little world.
She cried. Cried like a baby. "Why'd you do it?" but she knew the answer—
"Because you asked me to." So matter-of-fact. No hesitation. But when she spoke, she spoke in terror.
"Hold me"—she said it so softly, in desperation, and it meant, "Let me help you."
But he said, "I can't," and held up his hands.
Oh, but it did not matter, not anymore. She threw open the gates of his arms and walked straight to him, held his neck like a mother to her child. And so hesitantly, she felt his arms come around her, too, and ah—"I love you." It felt like miracles.
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He said the words, "Goodbye," but his spirit cried, don't go.
And she kissed his virgin lips, Oh, I'll never go. I'll never leave you.
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A/N: REVIEWREVIEWREVIEW, reviews keep me writing.