we're always running scared but holding knives
"Oh," Isla says, because there's not much else she can say to that, the medic wincing and letting her thumb graze over the back of his hand. "I overreacted then too, I think," she whispers, though there's a hint of playfulness there even through the sadness. You don't say? remains dangling between them. "And I wish I'd had a real conversation with you, before Varus. About how I was feeling. Because it's not that I didn't enjoy things with us," she says, peering up at him.
"But I... even on a perfect day. A perfect date, where everything went right... you still go home. To Ronin. And I go to bed alone." Tears sting in her eyes now as well, and she doesn't try to stop them. "Maybe if we'd spoken about it, we'd have been able to get back to a healthier place. Slowly, in a way that didn't rip everything apart and throw it up in the air. Because I miss you. I miss how things were."
"But I... even on a perfect day. A perfect date, where everything went right... you still go home. To Ronin. And I go to bed alone." Tears sting in her eyes now as well, and she doesn't try to stop them. "Maybe if we'd spoken about it, we'd have been able to get back to a healthier place. Slowly, in a way that didn't rip everything apart and throw it up in the air. Because I miss you. I miss how things were."
Isla
