He'd been in love with a psychic whose mind had been taken over by an alien entity. He'd been in love with an angel who'd smoked, cussed and always spoke her mind.
If she asked the right questions, he'd admit he was still slightly in love with both of them. She was ok with that. She was still slightly in love with someone else too.
They didn't talk about him though.
What neither of them ever expected was to fall in love with each other. She thought he had died. That's what she had been told. Then again, things were never what they seemed these days. Like a cure that didn't work.
She had ran from the place that had been home for both of them, after his "death," after it failed. She didn't like to talk about what happened, how she found out it wasn't working.
She found him in some town that she had never heard of, but just knew that was where she needed to head. Maybe he wasn't the only one who wasn't dead. He cried for three hours when she told him that news. She held his hand in her gloved one, wiped away his tears with nylon fingers.
She never told him about taking the cure, but apparently someone else did when she was asleep one night. He did that. She couldn't help it, didn't know how to control that part of her mind while she was asleep.
They learned that five months with the only other person you know in a town tends to lead to feelings that you never realized you had.
Having another part of your mind spell it out for both of you just makes it awkward.