Connor: "Must you be so dramatic?" "You're an Assassin. Act like it."
Connor’s body hurt. It wasn’t an unusual sensation, he was almost always in pain, but the soreness from his most recent fight seemed to weigh his muscles more than usual. He was slow. He was tired. He was getting old.
Home loomed closer with each step, and he could only imagine what she would be seeing when she looked out her window. He was caked with mud, and his hair was slicked back in a tangled tie up. He looked how he felt, a mess.
The house was dark when he entered, and he automatically tensed. A fire crackled in the living room, and a chill hung in the air. Not unusual, he told himself, as it was beginning to be winter again; yet, he couldn’t help but look over his shoulder nor could he control the hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck from raising.
Connor leapt a foot off the ground, and spun around. She was watching him with a raised brow, and he relaxed. He opened his arms and waddled over to her, engulfing her in a bear hug. His chin rested on her head, and he dead weighted.
“I’m so tired.” He yawned, “I might just rest right here.”
“You’re going to crush me.” She muffled against him. They moved together like this until they reached the couch, then they collapsed. Connor released her, and opted to laying his head on her lap. She played with his hair, and it was nice. The fire warmed them, and Connor closed his eyes with a smile.
“You jumped so high.” She chuckled. “I forget you’re such a scaredy cat sometimes.”
“Am not.” He mumbled, already half asleep.
Connor rolled over, and pinned her under his arm.
“Must you be so dramatic?” She laughed, pushing away at him, but he was relentless.
“I’m not sure what you mean.” He said, smiling contently at her struggling. “You’re an Assassin. Act like it.”
She kissed his forehead, and he relaxed his arm and curled up. She resumed playing with his hair and he sighed.
“I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
“That’s what I love about you.” Connor yawned, then he was out like a light.