when it's just the two of us, only the two of us
"Now, now. You were whole even without it - don't place the value of yourself on having an arm," Isla jests to him, knowing full well what he means and choosing to deliberately misinterpret it. Their shoulders knock together and it feels comfortable, casual but not, and she considers his words with a sly look towards the book. "Well, perhaps I'll finish it before you go, and you can take it with you to read. On your trip."
She wishes she didn't feel a little stab of something sad to hear that he's going away. It isn't that Isla is the sort to pine and fall apart on her own; she's very much the independent type, but she'd be lying to say she hasn't enjoyed having someone around to chat to on occasion. What a life, realising how few friends you really have. "Where are you going?" she wonders.
She wishes she didn't feel a little stab of something sad to hear that he's going away. It isn't that Isla is the sort to pine and fall apart on her own; she's very much the independent type, but she'd be lying to say she hasn't enjoyed having someone around to chat to on occasion. What a life, realising how few friends you really have. "Where are you going?" she wonders.
i could die
Isla
