Isla
It's as if something has snuffed the light out of him, Isla thinks as he swamps over to the couch - and she doesn't miss it either, that crunch of glass as he sits down, the medic knowing exactly what it is. And she winces, not because of the item (though it had been fairly useful) but because the last thing he needs right now is another irritation, another injury. "It doesn't matter," she assures him as he picks out pieces of broken glass, Isla gathering them up to put them on the table.
Honestly, if he wasn't in such an obviously foul mood, Isla might have laughed to hear that the person who had stabbed him had been himself, because that seems very Cal. But she refrains, instead guiding him back to lay down along the length of the couch so she can see to the wound properly. "It's in there deep," she murmurs, moving now to carefully ease the mask out of his hands, unaware of the deathgrip he has on it. "I'll be able to remove it, but I need a few tools, alright?"
Then, because for all of her not having known who he was, this is the man who has been sharing her bed for the past few days, Isla reaches up to wipe the rain from his face. "It was an accident," she reminds him.
Honestly, if he wasn't in such an obviously foul mood, Isla might have laughed to hear that the person who had stabbed him had been himself, because that seems very Cal. But she refrains, instead guiding him back to lay down along the length of the couch so she can see to the wound properly. "It's in there deep," she murmurs, moving now to carefully ease the mask out of his hands, unaware of the deathgrip he has on it. "I'll be able to remove it, but I need a few tools, alright?"
Then, because for all of her not having known who he was, this is the man who has been sharing her bed for the past few days, Isla reaches up to wipe the rain from his face. "It was an accident," she reminds him.
sooner or later, we all have to wake
and try forgetting everything
and try forgetting everything
