30 Seconds

She asks you if you trust her and even despite the 50 drop below your feet and the footsteps thundering in your ears you can't help but laugh.

You've gone through hellfire for this girl and come out cursing her one minute and kissing her the next because some god somewhere was looking out for her.

She's gotten you shot at, beaten up and electrocuted and she has the nerve to ask you if you trust her.

You look from her face to the chasm below you and the gunshots in the wall by your ear and feel the blood trickling down your arm where you hadn't quite managed to dodge and you the only thing you can think about it is that pot of pasta you left on the stove when you had to run from your apartment.

You hadn't gotten a chance to turn it off, so it'll no doubt be ruined by now, but a crazy part of you wonders if you can salvage it somehow, if she would mind mushy linguine that was more starch that anything else.

You laugh again and she yells your name, panicking as the pounding gets closer and the ricocheting closes in and you smile at her.

You don't need to say anymore before she smiles back. That one that makes her eyes glow and your knees buckle even after all this time and she reaches out her hand.

And you take it. And jump.