He wasn't like anyone you had ever met.
The man with eyes the bluest of blues grasped your attention like no one ever before. His eyes told a story when his lips didn't move. They spoke of his pain and of his strength. They spoke loudly of his determination and his will to keep fighting. They were still shinning brightly even after all the hell they put him through. The light wouldn't dim, and the fire in his eyes couldn't be extinguished.
There was something incredibly impressive and brave about that.
The man who stood worn and physically weak in the sweat and dirt ridden sweatsuit, still had the stance of a fighter. He was tall and his body showed off the years of labor this world brought. His hair hung low over his eyes, shadowing over the bright blue. Misleading the enemy into believing he was beat, when really he was only getting started. He was rugged and looked as though his apperance didn't matter one bit to him.
And there was something about that that made him all the more attractive to you.
The man's mind and his inner will was the thing that drew you in the most. They tortured him, beating him down yet he never broke. He stood tall, enduring everything they threw at him because he would never cave into their rules and their ways. He stayed strong when he didn't have to be, he stood by his beliefs and his perception of right and wrong. Never giving into the Savior's ways.
There was something quite valiant yet ever the most human about that.
Your fingers shook nervously as you moved to unlock the door, willing your hands to calm down. The last thing you needed was to get caught because you couldn't control your nerves.
The hallway was silent; eerily silent. So quiet you questioned if the thumping of your heart would soon echo off of the walls.
Opening up the heavy door, the dim light from the hallway floods into the cell. A single ray falling upon the man crouched in the corner. His head is turned away from the light and the smell wafting from the cell makes your stomach churn.
"Hey angel wings," You whisper loud enough for the man to hear. "You need to get up."
The nickname fills in for your lack of knowledge at his name. And you remember seeing the angel winged vest Dwight stole from the man along with his crossbow and motorcycle.
The man's head turns slowly to the door, and the light makes his eyes squint as he looks to you. Confusion and exhastion are sketched across his tanned and bruised face, but neither of you have time.
"Come on," You whisper again, holding your hand out for the man. "We need to go. They'll be coming to check on you soon."
The man doesn't stand up, just continues to stare at you.
"Come on," You urge. "Do you want to get out of here or not?"
If this man really wanted to stay here in this cell and torture land, that was up to him. You didn't want to be found with your ass on the line if he wasn't even wanting to leave. But you knew that he did. You saw it in him, you saw that he wanted to make it out of this and get back to the group he was with.
The man looks at you once more before slowly standing to his feet, wobbling slightly but moves towards you. Once out of the cell, you close the door and face the man who is inches taller than you.
"Follow me." You tell him and begin to walk down the hallway. But stop when his warm calloused hand grabs your arm and forces you to face him.
"Why should I trust you?" He asks, his voice gravelly and deep with his southern accent. His eyes looks sternly into yours.
