October
It's a quiet consolation
A mistake that I don't mind
A mistake that I don't mind
"You better not have just called me research." Tobi scolds, aiming for levity but her nerves making it fall quite flat. She hums an embarrassing note before clearing her throat as she flips open the pad. Right-handed as she is, Tobi is forced to give Finn's fingers a squeeze of i'm letting go now, before loosening her hold of them.
'You have no idea how much I just want to write another bad joke, and pretend this whole thing was a pretense.' Tobi admits, partially to break the tension she's created, and partially so that she in fact takes that option away from herself.
Drawing her lower lip between her teeth, Tobi begins to write.
My other shift is a—
Her handwriting is predictably messy. Used to taking notes quickly and writing things in shorthand, the doctor sorely lacks the ability for pretty penmanship. But as she continues writing, the letters grow darker with the extra pressure she exerts on the pencil.
u n i c—
Does she even need to keep writing? Doesn't he know what it is? Her cheeks flush and her ears ring, and the letters become darker and fatter as if she's carving them into the page now, instead of writing.
—o r—
But that's as far as she gets, before the tip of the pencil breaks. It's as loud as a falling tree in Tobi's ears, and all she can do is stare down at what she's written, in horror and fear.
'You have no idea how much I just want to write another bad joke, and pretend this whole thing was a pretense.' Tobi admits, partially to break the tension she's created, and partially so that she in fact takes that option away from herself.
Drawing her lower lip between her teeth, Tobi begins to write.
My other shift is a—
Her handwriting is predictably messy. Used to taking notes quickly and writing things in shorthand, the doctor sorely lacks the ability for pretty penmanship. But as she continues writing, the letters grow darker with the extra pressure she exerts on the pencil.
u n i c—
Does she even need to keep writing? Doesn't he know what it is? Her cheeks flush and her ears ring, and the letters become darker and fatter as if she's carving them into the page now, instead of writing.
—o r—
But that's as far as she gets, before the tip of the pencil breaks. It's as loud as a falling tree in Tobi's ears, and all she can do is stare down at what she's written, in horror and fear.
Maybe you'll meet me at the station
Or maybe somewhere down the line
Or maybe somewhere down the line
