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#i dont know what Im doing with my hands
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👫 - holds my muse’s hand

Elena wasn’t sure if it was before or after the end of the world, but she knew it didn’t even matter anymore. It had to be pretty close to the big finale because there she was fighting off grassland pests with the terrorist adjacent asshole who probably didn’t stab her (former?) boss after all considering he just let himself get socked in the jaw the last time she ran into him. Was that the last time she ran into him? She’d stopped keeping track of it.

The last Gagighandi went down like a bag of sand thanks to Strife’s big ugly sword, and he swung it around like a flag before holstering it against his back. It’s funny, the battle wasn’t anywhere near tough but she’s somehow too exhausted to snipe at him with a post-battle quip.

Strife opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and pursed his lips in something that might have be akin to confusion. Or maybe annoyance. Elena didn’t care to psychoanalyze him at that point. Then he closed the distance between them and took her hands in his. Even with the bulky gloves, they radiated an almost comforting warmth, as the corners of his eyes crinkled into a smile. Strife’s lips still looked less like they were genuinely smiling and more like a shit-eating grin. At least, that’s what it looked like to her.

“What the hell…” Elena didn’t pull her hands away from his, even though she figured maybe she should have. “Is this your way of trying to keep me from decking you again?”

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