I don't think I've ever been a hero. And there's something so simple and lovely about your lover being your hero.
They loved each other so much.
You can tell in the way that he kisses her, slow and with passion but with eyes closed dreaming of his hero, left. He grabs at the back of her head searching for his hero's hair, long. His hands creep up her back, reaching for his lost hero's muscles, strong and soft. He misses his hero's moans, but curls up behind her, their new bodies fitting perfectly inside the other. She cries but he doesn't let go. His colored blue teal arms grab her more tightly, his muscles confused that she isn't his hero, but something good still.