we're always running scared but holding knives
Why? What's wrong? Isla wants to ask, but he hasn't told her the first time and there is no reason to expect he will the second. She doesn't even have pain to focus on, the Ascended fidgeting almost helplessly until he offers his hand out. For two people attempting not to be familiar with one another and failing completely, it's with practiced ease and comfort that she steps forward at last to take his hand, her fingers moving over the scarring to examine how it has healed.
"I'm so sorry," she murmurs, holding his hand between both of hers, feeling her eyes start to prickle. "I'm so sorry, Remi." For what had happened to his hand. For what had happened to their friendship. For being snappy and for not being able to understand the tightrope that they both had to walk all the time. For expecting too much when sometimes it just wasn't possible.
"Is it too late to have that gin?" she asks.
"I'm so sorry," she murmurs, holding his hand between both of hers, feeling her eyes start to prickle. "I'm so sorry, Remi." For what had happened to his hand. For what had happened to their friendship. For being snappy and for not being able to understand the tightrope that they both had to walk all the time. For expecting too much when sometimes it just wasn't possible.
"Is it too late to have that gin?" she asks.
Isla
