Not a prompt fill technically, but a short little something. Just a bit of an observation I made and tried to tie into my other headcanon.
"You know, I don't remember your eyes being so dark when we were younger."
The comment drifted out of the still air, interrupting the comfortable quiet. Her head rested against his shoulder and he couldn't see her expression, but her voice indicated a mild amount of puzzlement. She turned a page in her book.
He squeezed her arm lightly, formulating a reasonably plausible reply. "Eye color can change in around 10 to 15 percent of the Caucasian population, particularly with light colored eyes, as pigment deposits may change..." he let himself ramble onwards, offering up Occam's Razor.
He couldn't bring himself to let her know that while his heart belonged to her his soul belonged to a dilapidated firehouse.
And that one day he would leave her again.