Waiting

He was a creature of habit, chasing down death like a hobby, his return another near miss as he waited for the final blow with something like disappointment.

Yet there was something in his eyes that looked like relief to her.

He stared coldly into her face, daring her to speak, to confront him. She refused to look away.

“You’re back,” she said reproachfully as she broke the silence.

“Yeah, it looks like it.”

If he wasn’t afraid of dying, then what was he afraid of? Because he did feel fear, that she could see behind the stony façade.

She dropped her eyes and stared through the port window. He didn’t care that every time he left she wondered if it would be the last time she saw his face. He saw only what he wanted to see and closed his eyes to the rest. His past had cost him his soul, his future, his dreams, left him with empty gestures as he waited for the game to be over.

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