Isla
"It's not..." Your fault. That's what Isla wants to say - but it's not true, is it? Rather, it's not entirely true. This is both of their faults, and she is acutely aware that when he speaks and says he can't help himself, the feeling is reciprocated. "I know what you mean," she confesses, already tugging at the scarf around her neck so she can carefully fold it into a square, offering it out to add pressure to the wounds pumping blood out of Remi's neck.
"It didn't used to be this way, did it?" The medic's smile is wobbly, her cheeks flushed pink with blood that isn't her own, and she's also aware that they're still sandwiched tightly together - a situation that Isla does not try to rectify. "Isn't this dangerous?"s he asks eventually. "I know you said... about not being able to be bled dry. But I could kill you, couldn't I?"
"It didn't used to be this way, did it?" The medic's smile is wobbly, her cheeks flushed pink with blood that isn't her own, and she's also aware that they're still sandwiched tightly together - a situation that Isla does not try to rectify. "Isn't this dangerous?"s he asks eventually. "I know you said... about not being able to be bled dry. But I could kill you, couldn't I?"
we're gonna separate ourselves tonight
we're always running scared but holding knives
we're always running scared but holding knives
