Dating is always hard. You knew that. Your mother knew that. There was no way it wouldn't be difficult. But you didn't care. You had been in love with Victor Stone since the second you saw him walk down the school hall way, his books clutched to his broad chest, and his eyes a supple brown.
One night, after the football game, where he threw the winning pass, you asked him to that fast food joint on the corner of Jefferson, and King Street. It took you five whole minutes to work up the nerve, and three whole minutes to apply your make up in the girl's bathroom. You hope, at least for once, that no one would notice that your skirt was too long, or that your nails were uneven. You hoped that, for at least this one night, the lotion you applied wouldn't melt from your skin, and reveal ashy elbows.
You asked him. He said yes. You felt as though you could take on the world.
Was this a date? You couldn't be sure. It was never like it was in the movies, where a boy and a girl found their way to a candle-lit restaurant, with violin music floating through the place like dandelion seeds. Victor sat across from you, his lips wrapped around a class of Pepsi.
"You were really great tonight," you say, and then wish you hadn't. He probably hears that all the time. Would he really want to talk about football?
"Thanks," he says. "That really means a lot." He smiles, and his teeth feel like they could warm mountains. He's so beautiful. You stroke at your hair, a wild and gorgeous afro that sways in the breeze whenever you step forward.
"I love your hair," Victor says, as his smile widens.
"R-really?" You ask. Your father always tells you to get it cut. To perm it. Soften it. Relax it so that it falls lifeless, and dead over your shoulders. The other girls in class make fun, say they can't see the board when you sit in front, worm their hands into your strands, and get pissy when you yell at them. But Victor likes your hair. He loves it. And that makes it all worth wild.
It's been years since high school, and so much has changed. Victor got into an accident. His father, Silas Stone used every piece of tech at STAR labs to save his son's life…and Victor was alive. But he was changed, and at the same time he wasn't. His skin had been replaced with wires, and metal walling, but his smile was still radiant. His eye had been replaced with cybernetic enhancements that could even see through led. But they were still spellbinding. His harms were cold to the touch, but you still loved to wrap yourself in them. He said he was more of a Cyborg now, but you always called him Victor. Your Victor. Your hero. Your football star with the arms of a giant.
He saved the world more times than anyone could count, and each time you watched from the living room couch. You feared for him. You worried over him. You called Silas Stone when you needed to talk. But every night he came home to you. And you'd sit in between his legs, and he'd tie your hair into Bantu knots. And you'd feel his fingers run through your scalp, gently pulling, folding, and tying all the strands into something more beautiful than either of you could do alone.
"I love your hair," he said. "And I love you so, so much."
And you smiled, knowing that that would never change.