[ She lays down on the bed next to him and his eyes go with her, never letting her hand go. Instead, he raises his arm to make room for her, pulling her in as close as he can without hurting himself (which is fairly close; he can stand the throb of his wounds if it means she's there next to him, in his arms, where she belongs). He places her hand on his chest, watching her with open and honest eyes. A small smile crosses his face, and he considers, for a moment. ]
I wouldn't mind seeing you and uncle perform the Saint and the Sentry, you know. You'd make a fine Madu.
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I wouldn't mind seeing you and uncle perform the Saint and the Sentry, you know. You'd make a fine Madu.