It was a cold night, hours after the two of you came back from your date.
It was amazing to have a day away from the tower to just wander around the city, eating, shopping, and seeing a movie. It was a normal you hadn't been accustomed to in so long and he seemed to pick up on that fact, making sure to go out of his way to make the whole day almost like a cliché chick flick. He always kept a hand on you or had his arm brushing against yours, almost as if he was afraid you weren't real or would disappear at any moment. Some people recognized him on the street, coming up for autographs and pictures. He was often polite when they gave the same decency, but whenever they brushed you aside, he included you in some way. You didn't like the attention and he soon noticed, so he wouldn't say anything when you offered to take the photo rather than be in it.
When the two of you got back late, you were both exhausted and decided to call it a night. After he fell asleep, you snuck out with your sketchbook and sat on the windowsill, back against the frame with a foot up, your knee bent. You leaned the book against your thigh and started drawing the buildings you could see out the window. There appeared to be countless and the night sky barely touched on flooding the city in darkness with it lighting up, a life force all on its own. When you got the basics down, just doing some extra details, you cracked the window open and let the sharp wind hit you. Shivering a bit, you clutched your sweater closer and took a deep breath, letting your eyes flutter closed.
"Hey," A raspy voice called, and you smiled before turning your head to look up at him, "What're you doing out here?"
He was in a white tee shirt and blue boxers, rubbing his face and yawning, trying to wake himself up. His hair was messy, and his back slouched over as a sleepy smile tugged at his lips. You gestured for him to sit across from you on the spacious windowsill and he trudged over tiredly, plopping down with his legs hanging over the side. He turned his head towards you as you peered back down at your drawing, soft eyes watching as yours darted across the page.
"Thinking." You admitted, a frown unavoidable when you looked back out the window, over on the excitable city that truly never slept.
He knew what you were thinking about because you told him whenever you sketched, you were in your head about your brother. It had been months since his passing, but it didn't make it easier. Time doesn't heal everything, and sketching reminded you of him even more since he was the first person to encourage you to do it at such a young age. He gave you your first sketchbook and supplies for your sixteenth birthday, knowing you would do small drawings on scraps since your parents had always frowned at the idea of art as a hobby. They were just afraid you'd invest too much time into it and the focus on school would be put in the backseat. You knew they just worried about your futures, but he knew how happy it made you and there was nothing more in this world he wanted than to make sure his sister was happy.
He took your hand in his, kissing the back of it, and you offered him a tight smile with shiny eyes.
"Show me?" He asked quietly, almost in a whisper, and you hesitantly handed it over.
He glanced over the page carefully, taking every single detail in, and seeing how much you poured into it even when you didn't mean to. He saw you for you, every perfect imperfection and he let out a deep breath, not expecting to feel so much over a drawing.
"I screw everything up," You mumbled to yourself, looking back out the window again because you felt like you couldn't face him right now, and he turned his head in confusion, listening as you continued, trying his hardest not to interrupt, "I have this...gift," You chuckled softly to yourself, realizing this was the first time you didn't call your powers a curse or something else demeaning, "And I can't protect those I care about," You glanced over at him when he stayed silent, asking, "What good are they if I can't even do that?" His lips were turned down, his eyes full of hurt as you kept talking, "I knew. I knew about them since I was a kid, I just told everyone a different story," You confessed, "I felt like a freak, but then one day, I stopped someone from bully a kid in my school without a second thought, just ripped my glove off and placed my hand on their arm when they pulled it back to punch the smaller one," You smiled sadly at the memory, "I thought 'Wow, this is awesome! This is what it's for and now I can help people', because at that age, that's all I wanted."
