Lips of an Angel
In a large, dirty city very far away, in a small apartment, in a small bed, a man and a woman slept peacefully.
The woman, a young, thin woman with greenish-blue hair, had her arms curled into her chest, her head tilted forward into her partner's chest.
The man, a short, bulky man with long greenish-blonde hair, had his body spooned around the woman's, cradling her as if she were so delicate, as if she would fall apart at any wrong move.
Their steady breathing was the only sound in the room, until a high-pitched beeping filled the tiny apartment.
The man jumped awake, grabbing the buzzing commi from the bedside table as if ready to hurl it at the wall for disturbing him. The woman rolled over, and stuffed her face in her pillow, groaning softly before going still.
The man flipped open the cover on the commi, eyes scanning the screen quickly.
"It's Sig," he whispered to the woman next to him, "I need to take it. Be right back."
A second groan of consent came from the pillow.
The man snuck into the other room on silent feet, collapsing onto the old couch. He punched a button on the commi, and held it up to his ear.
"Hey," he whispered into the machine. "Why are you calling so late?"
A sigh crackled over the receiver.
"Jus' wanted to talk," said a slightly higher, squeakier voice.
A few moments went by, as the man listened to the breathing on the other end of the line. Suddenly, a loud sniffing sound resounded in the speaker, and a soft ruffle of fabric.
In the dark, the man's brow creased in concern.
"Hey, why're you crying?" he whispered.
An inaudible whine came from the other end.
"I… I just miss you, s'all. When are ya comin' home?" said the voice, sounding a bit smaller through the tears.
The man sighed. "Soon's I can. I'll probably be outta here tomorrow morning… told her I had a mission." he said.
"She believed you?" came the incredulous response.
"What else would I be doing?" the man responded with a shrug.
"Still has no clue," said the voice, more as a comment than a question. The man snickered.
"Hate to be Johnny Raincloud over here, but this can't go on for much longer," said the voice, a bit louder. The man cupped his hand over the receiver to muffle the sound. "Keira's a smart girl, she's bound t' figure it out."
"I don't care," said the man firmly. "Let her figure it out. It's better than going on like this forever. We shouldn't be goddamn guilty about it." Anger edged across his voice.
Silence reigned for a few moments, the other voice unsure what to say. The man carded through his hair, letting his temper wear down.
The voice started again, hesitantly.
"Just… hurry up'n get here, 'kay?"
The man smiled.
"Kay," he promised.
"Night, Jak," the voice whispered.
"Night, Daxter," the man whispered back. He pushed the power button reluctantly, closing the cover. Sighing, he left the couch, rejoining the woman in the bed.
He closed his arms around her waist, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck. She didn't respond.
He listened to her steady breathing, and tried, as hard as he could, to pretend that the green hair tickling his forehead…
…was red.