my heart's on fire—anditsdefinitelynotbecauseofyou

She fit perfectly against him; and he chuckled when she made a comment about worrying being part of the deal. Bet you'll be monitoring my vitals every chance you get, half-teasing, half-truth. It was a good thing; he tended to overdo it and reject the idea that his body needed to slow down. He'd ignore all the signs until he was near-collapsed in mech-failure. But he couldn't keep those changes in heart rate, blood pressure, etc. from a healer.

I'm a lucky rascal. No-one else could claim to be as lucky, as nobody else had her. Certainly, others had their own loves, but there was nothing anyone might say to convince him otherwise. When she hesitated, at the mention of leaving his office for dinner, and then asked if he'd hold her hand, he chewed his lip. Would he hold her hand, out there in front of the people that had become family? He tapped his fingers on her knee in thought.

You can hold my hand. There were no promises that he'd return the hold. But it was the best compromise he could give her, as he considered the variables in the mess hall. The different groups of people; the age groups; and the few he'd scorned by pretending to be oblivious to their advances. He was good at pretending things weren't happening; so if she wanted to hold his hand, he'd probably pretend that wasn't happening. Or perhaps he'd fall into a different kind of ignorance, where it felt right and therefore was less noticeable to him...