[ It takes more of him to hold her together (and to hold onto her) than he can spare to make himself look a little more presentable; but there's none of that dark pall cast over his brightest smile. Even the tracers of glowing green following them down seem to lighten as they draw near, racing away into the depths (or up above or - might as well be any way, with no ground or sky in sight, in the looming shadow of the afterlife).
He's really worried, for a second there, that she might actually fight him off (might still, if there's any of that ugly grudge lingering, if she manages to piece together who it is before he's seen her safely on). And it's no consolation, the way she hides against him, instead - but that cooler, practical soldier buried somewhere beneath all of his posturing and cheer appreciates this as the simplest answer to his own fears.
It's a little better than her turning away in disgust, even if it's only by mere circumstance that she shouldn't (or can't), this time.
The empty world around them drifts slowly past, and he turns again as if to lead, arms shifting carefully about her shoulders but never losing that strength of possessive protection. ]
(have to pry you from my cold, dead fingers. what a riot)
I guess you didn't come back just to get another good look at my pretty face?
you know it. if no one's crying, it just isn't Zack
[ It takes more of him to hold her together (and to hold onto her) than he can spare to make himself look a little more presentable; but there's none of that dark pall cast over his brightest smile. Even the tracers of glowing green following them down seem to lighten as they draw near, racing away into the depths (or up above or - might as well be any way, with no ground or sky in sight, in the looming shadow of the afterlife).
He's really worried, for a second there, that she might actually fight him off (might still, if there's any of that ugly grudge lingering, if she manages to piece together who it is before he's seen her safely on). And it's no consolation, the way she hides against him, instead - but that cooler, practical soldier buried somewhere beneath all of his posturing and cheer appreciates this as the simplest answer to his own fears.
It's a little better than her turning away in disgust, even if it's only by mere circumstance that she shouldn't (or can't), this time.
The empty world around them drifts slowly past, and he turns again as if to lead, arms shifting carefully about her shoulders but never losing that strength of possessive protection. ]
(have to pry you from my cold, dead fingers. what a riot)
I guess you didn't come back just to get another good look at my pretty face?