Every time we touch, I learn something new about you.
The contour of your shoulder. The twist of your neck. The way your eyes glint when you're lonely, how you laugh when you feel empty, how you never speak when you're happy. The humming note of your contentment—low C—and the lilting, expressive way you have of gesturing. I learn your past, and your worries, and your hopes and every time we touch, I think that I am just that much closer to you, and every time I look at you, I realize how far I still am.
Your name is Bliss, and most of the time, you seem to subvert that. You are a serious man, and I can respect that. I know how I am not your first anything, never had any chance to be anything but, but I still delude myself into thinking that I am alone in knowing you as your name is.
Of course, I am not, Bliss, because you are wild, free, and you will be tied by no soul-binding, no emotional entanglement, because you are inscrutable and unknowable and beautiful all the same. Even with me, the last Teleporter in the world.
A/N: I so love Bliss-ships.
~Mademise Morte