This

As dark rage, the color of black fire that reeked of coal, burned within his eyes, the four walls around us moved closer and closer while the temperature grew hotter and hotter, and my knees grew weaker and weaker.

"Did you really kill him?"

He asked, the numbness in his voice somehow creating the pain of being poked by millions of needles around every part of my body.

"The right question is, are you really going to kill me?"

He paused for a moment, not moving an inch but somehow closer to me than ever. His selfless, hopefull, tender heart touched every part of me, fiddling with my coils, then stroking my lips to delicately holding my waist and treating me like the clay he was molding and didn't want to dent. I felt like art, his most prized masterpiece, different from all the rest, his greatest possession.

"The most important question is, can you imagine this with someone else?"

"What do you mean 'this'?"

My voice had gotten raspier and quieter, almost like the hum of a bee. And my throat had gone dry, similar to the dry sands of the desert.

"This." He said, mesmerized at the wonder before him.

He lifted his hand and played around with my coils, the coils I had hated for not being straight and easy to work with. He stretched them, showcasing their full length, and let go, allowing them to bounce like it was a spiral spring. I loved this.

"And this." He said lowly as his fingers hovered over my lips, creating sparks in the spaces in between. I felt my lips get plushier and crave his tender touch. I wanted this.

"Also this." He said tenderly while His hands made a slow yet effective trail down my waist, where he held it firmly but softly and pulled me closer to him. I looked into his eyes and could see how much he adored the way I looked at him. At this moment, I saw how much I meant to him and how much he meant to me. I needed this.