overwatchfanfic:

Everyone you know tells you that you are something special to him. He’s stoic and formal and quiet, they say, but not with you. You’re not so sure about that. He’s as mysterious to you as anyone else, vague and lighthearted.

He has shown you his true face before. A handsome yet scarred face, measured carefully to only express the emotions he desires to show you. But you concede that it’s often moments of kindness or laughter. He has a sense of humor but rarely smiles. Only around you.

Or does he? You shake your head. Maybe you’re tricking yourself into believing that. He probably smiles with lots of people. He’s gone for long stretches of time, on missions or somewhere far away. To meditate or train. Who knows what he does then? You don’t really ask but he doesn’t offer to tell you either.

Sometimes, he seems quieter than normal. The solemn kind of quiet that puts you a little on edge. Everyone says he seems cold or robotic. To you, he seems a little sad. Or lonely.

It’s just nice to be with him. You offer companionship and sometimes it is just the two of you with few words exchanged.

Sometimes, he teaches you how to fight, to punch fast, not harder. To strike with precision, to reserve your energy. You’re not nearly as swift or as strong as him, though his enhancements give him a certain edge in that race. He laughs when you point that out, asking if you would like to trade with him.

Sometimes, he tries to teach you how to meditate. It’s not easy to clear your head with him so near. You’ve practice and you think you are getting better. Except the one time you fell asleep after a particularly hard training session. All you remember is waking up in your bunk later that night.

Sometimes, he tells you stories. Of his homeland and of the pink trees and the trouble he used to get into. Of the mountains and of his master and his journey. Of missions of the past and dastardly criminals he had to apprehend.

You love to listen. You get the feeling that he does not share very often.

One day, he tells you he needs to go. A crisis calls for his aid, a dangerous mission with a need for subtly and subterfuge. Everyone is abuzz about it. It’s more serious than anything you’ve ever experienced.

He finds you to casually deliver the message that he, again, must go. You immediately tense up at the idea. You never like when he leaves but this time has you particularly on edge. You ask if he will be okay. He mentions a restaurant he likes and tells you he will treat you next time he’s back. He says so with a soft smile, a gesture of reassurance.

He starts to say his farewell and make his leave. In a moment of panic, you reach out and take his hand. It’s cold and sleek, the cybernetic fingers curling slightly around yours. He turns, eyebrows raised.

You ask him to promise to come home safe. You tell him you can’t lose him. “Because,” you stammer out, “I love you.”

Embarrassment flushes up to your face and it’s warm. You let go of his hand, staring at the floor with shallow breaths. You hadn’t meant to say all that.

You look up and his back is to you. He’s still, very still, and a million thoughts race through your head. Is he mad? Would he believe you if you said you were joking? Could things go back to normal, would he stay your friend?

He makes a movement and, for a second, you believe he will walk away without saying a word. But he turns to you. His face is hard but still unreadable.

You mumble out an apology.

He says nothing but reaches for your hand, holding it up with his. He closes his eyes and leans his head down, pressing his scarred lips to the tips of your fingers. You shudder at the slight graze across your skin.

“I will always come back to you.” He smiles. In the way that he only ever smiles for you.