[ The expanse of her back tells a better history than Natasha ever would. Broken glass, a notched scar at her shoulderblade, a thin line that trails down her side — her flesh heals faster, her lungs can work out splinters of bone but the scars are still there, fading quicker but still present.
Her smile grows a little into an exhale of laughter; maybe at the way she feels, like someone young, or the way Phil reacts, quiet and close. Maybe it's simpler than that — maybe it's just happiness after all. ]
It shouldn't be too hard. [ A hum, then her fingers are curling into the collar of his shirt once more. ] Kiss me again?
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Her smile grows a little into an exhale of laughter; maybe at the way she feels, like someone young, or the way Phil reacts, quiet and close. Maybe it's simpler than that — maybe it's just happiness after all. ]
It shouldn't be too hard. [ A hum, then her fingers are curling into the collar of his shirt once more. ] Kiss me again?