we're always running scared but holding knives
"They weren't errands. I didn't want to go marching through Undertown in heels," Isla protests with heat in her cheeks, though she knows as well as Remi that it's still a very convenient thing for her to have needed to do. "And the files were just... it made sense to do that at the same time, so..." Smiling somwhere down towards the ground as if it means Remi can't see that she doesn't buy her own bullshit, the medic lets out a shaky, frustrated sort of sigh.
By the time she forces herself to look back up at him, they're both like a couple of flustered teenagers, and Isla laughs under her breath. "It's why I asked you," she admits. "Because I didn't think I should say it myself." Letting her hands trace along his sides and around to his chest, the medic reaches up to cup his cheek, her thumb grazing across the space where she knows dimples appear when he smiles.
Not that he's had much of a reason to smile in the complex.
By the time she forces herself to look back up at him, they're both like a couple of flustered teenagers, and Isla laughs under her breath. "It's why I asked you," she admits. "Because I didn't think I should say it myself." Letting her hands trace along his sides and around to his chest, the medic reaches up to cup his cheek, her thumb grazing across the space where she knows dimples appear when he smiles.
Not that he's had much of a reason to smile in the complex.
Isla
