"I can't believe this shi..." my glare cut him off and he quickly rerouted. "show."
"It's just a little cartoon," I sighed, trying to curl back up against him. Just seconds ago, we had been so pleasantly cuddled together on the couch.
"Yeah, sure. A cartoon of our lives!" he stood up and whirled around to face me.
"Here we go," I grumbled. He always had a short fuse, the smallest thing setting him on edge. I turned to the television and suddenly found myself wishing I had telepathy so I could make him forget about the show. We had been approached by some Hollywood types, along with several of our friends and teammates, asking if we would be interested in signing away our story for them to create an entertaining comic reference. None of us thought much of it, since we were constantly being asked to throw ourselves in the limelight-comes with the territory of being a superhero I guess-and so we barely glanced over the paperwork they had thrown our way before signing on the dotted line.
"I mean come on! You were not some innocent, little, 15 year old when we met, and I was not some common orphan with a penchant for spray paint!" he gestured wildly, as he paced between the couch where I was lazily watching him and the television that was still playing the atrocity.
"They told us they were going to take some liberties. They couldn't exactly have little kids watching… well, some of the things that happened," I countered, fixing him with a knowing look.
"Okay, yeah, some things aren't for young eyes and ears, but did they have to make it out like I was a thug going after a princess?" he frowned, watching his cartoon version self rock the ground in an attack on the cartoon version of me. I got up from the couch and came behind him, hooking my arms under his. I pushed my hands down on his shoulders to help pull me up towards him, lightly pressing a trail of kisses from his shoulder up his neck to his ear.
"Well, we both know what really happened," I murmured against his skin, as I felt him relax against me.
"This is exactly what I mean," he pulled me from him and turned so our eyes locked. "No one has a clue just how far from the truth they are."
"But you do. You always knew," I smiled as he pulled me to him. "You always saw through any mask I had on. Isn't it enough that we both know what really happened?"
"Of course it is. It's just," he paused and looked away. I traced his frown with my index finger before following his eyes.
"I know," I whispered, nuzzling my head into his chest. He held me for a while, mindlessly twirling my hair between his fingers.
"I need to get out of this room and away from… that. I'm going to start on dinner. How does Italian sound?" he bent down and brushed his lips against mine.
"Yum," I smiled while he pulled away and headed for the kitchen. "And Italians sounds pretty good, too."
"They definitely got you all wrong," he laughed, shaking his head. I tried not to fixate on it, but he was right. While they had pinpointed some things exactly, such as the way Scott is kind of stiff, the mansion is a crazy and crowded place in the mornings, and Logan is an overprotective father figure, they had really misread a lot of other things. I grabbed my laptop and settled back onto the couch, figuring I'd get lost in some emails or work, but instead I opened up a blank document and found myself writing the real story of what had happened.