Always.

It was always you. 

It was the shape of your oval face, how your dark hair hung down your shoulders and near your hips. It was how the single bead of sweat rolled down your face as you shakily lifted the gun at me with such nimble fingers. It was how you looked at me with those vivid green eyes, filled with anger, disgust, but at the same time, attraction. It was your locked stature, the stiff muscles, the closed jaw hiding your pristine teeth. It was the way your lips were curved down in a disapproving frown, how you ran your tongue across your upper lip that was stained with the soft red of your lipstick you had probably applied ten minutes back. 

It was the way your voice rose and fell with each word, syllable, letter, and sentence you spoke. That mixed accent consisting of such ladylike English and rough German. It was the way you didn't dare let your gun down, how you barked at your two co-workers to bring the others away and that you would handle me on your own. It was how you didn't let me see how you truly were, even though I could tell your initial true colors from the moment you walked inside the warehouse, demanding what was going on in that tone of voice. It was how the black leather clung to your fair skin, how the green shirt showed your full figure from top to bottom. It was how the pants accented your legs, how the boots framed you well. 

It was the green streak in your hair that made you different. It was the lack of make up on your face aside from the lipstick that I caught. It was how you squirmed when I got you against the wall, how you closed your eyes and willed me to go away. 

It was how you shot the wall in your irritation upon finding out I had gone away. 

It was how you tracked me across Tokyo for a solid two weeks. I knew, I could tell. It was that smirk of satisfaction that appeared on your face when you finally got me. It was how your eyes changed, how your face softened when I told you the truth. It was your quiet, thinking gaze, the fingers on your lap. It was how you let me go. It was how you shyly asked for my number. It was the euphoric look that danced on your face when I gave you mine, and when I asked for your own. 

It was the days that passed, the weeks and months that flew right by. It was the way you fell in love, slowly opening yourself up to me, not too much and not too little. It was the look on your face when I told you I loved you. It was the way you blushed when I kissed you for the first time. It was the anticipation you felt when we had first made love. 

It was the eagerness in your voice when you invited me to move in with you. It was the time we spent together. It was the horror on your young face when you realized my true occupation. It was your soft voice, asking me to stay safe. It was the time that passed. It was the way you stirred on the bed when I kissed your head and left for four months. 

It was the way you sobbed when I came back. It was how you clung to me, how your fingers touched my skin, how your lips brushed against mine in a desperate plea to convince you that my return was a reality and not a forsaken dream. It was how you finally opened up to me, in the beach house, high on alcohol, stumbling and crying about your real past and the harsh truth about your parents. It was how you almost drowned in the Japanese sea. It was how you failed at baking a cake but laughed it off anyway. It was how you sang in the car when we made our way home. 

It was all those memories worth keeping. It was the good ones that kept us sane, the bad ones that we aspired to make better. It was how you told me you loved me, how you told me I was your idea of perfection, my dear. 

It's how you said yes to my request. 

It's the way you kiss me right here, right now.

On our wedding day.