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"What're you smiling at?" You ask her, knowing full well how mischievous it looks.
If her emerald skin could blush you imagine it would've been as she manages a hardly truthful or satisfactory, "Nothing at all."
As much as she's tried to avoid your eyes, she holds them now with her own. No part of you wants to look away. It's entrancing almost.
The breeze that, at first, just blew your hair about now whips at it harshly. Her black and red locks are barely contained either side of her head.
"Gamora," You begin, trying to speak over the wind. "Will you be honest with me for once?"
Her cheekbones rise as she smiles and you can't help but smile back. It's strange - usually she'd tell you something smart, walk away from you, do anything but stare.
But there you are stood at the top of a cliff, waiting for Peter to get the ship ready to move off.
Gamora steps towards you and you feel yourself tense - not because you're defensive, but because you're expectant. You know this isn't how she moves in to fight, so what is she moving in for?
"Guys!" Quill calls from somewhere behind you. "We're ready!"
