He could hear her heartbeat as he lay next to her on the bed. Her head was resting on his chest, and he could feel the blood rushing through her veins. He wasn't holding her, of course. He refused to show such a weakness. He wanted to be strong, not weak.

She looked troubled as she slept, as if the weight of the day was clouding her otherwise clear, blue eyes.

If he looked deep enough onto them (she was always demanding eye contact) he could visibly see her passion. Not just that she was a genius; she simply refused to give up. On the important things, anyway.

He had hated her. She was an earthling and not worth his time. Besides, she was vulgar, rude, and didn't know her place.

When did it start to change? When did he start to see her as something other than weak?

Of one thing he was absolutely sure of – this woman, the woman lying beside him, had his heart now. All considered, that was alright with him.

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