choking on my broken glass
—HephaestusDrew. She is the only one to ever believe he is beautiful.
"Do I know you?" girl asks, twisting her head sideways.
"Perhaps," man answers mischievously. "I believe you have heard of me, have even met some of my children and—ah, relatives."
Girl hides her surprise. "Maybe you should—remind me of them, since they seem to have escaped my memory." Girl takes a step closer, a seductive vixen.
Man just turns away.
.
She traces his scars with her fingers. Her feather-light, fleeting touches are like a tiny breath, heartbeat, kiss.
"You're lovely," she says truthfully, quietly.
He glares down at her, searching her eyes. She smiles up at him prettily.
"I'm telling the truth."
"I don't believe you," he growls. It's not a surprise, considering his past and his character and his lineage.
"Why not?" asks she ever so innocently.
"Because nobody could ever love me."
.
"I would love to be courted by a god," she says suddenly, out of the blue. Man stares at her oddly.
He raises his eyebrows. "Yes?"
"Mhmm." She pecks his nose like a secret. "I suppose it's working?"
"Mm, not quite."
.
He's awkward and cold and harsh and not used to being loved. She's wicked and loving and pretty and head-over-heels in love. It's a wonder they function at all.