cut our teeth and make our bones right here

we're always running scared but holding knives

Isla doesn't think she's ever heard Remi speak Italian properly before - or at least not in a setting where they aren't surrounded by sterile white walls and the smell of disinfectant, and she can't stop the way her heart flutters a little in her chest despite the context of the words. "No, that makes sense," she begins, but as he clarifies further, any warmth and amusement seems to melt away from her expression, as if something has just dripped ice down her spine.

Wordlessly, Isla leans in again for another kiss, though this one feels more feverish, as if she can somehow pull away Remi's circumstances with nothing more than the press of her lips. "You're not an animal," she whispers. "And I hate that you're stuck there. I hate that I'm a part of it, too."

Isla