[ She watches as a series of expressions roll over him: squinting eyes, a tight jaw, a crinkled up nose, the way he's standing there like he'd been waiting up for her after she broke curfew. And they don't— talk about this stuff: he almost gets himself killed and she punches him in the jaw for it; she gets shot and he comes to pointedly open cans of soup at her, but that's it. Because they get each other, because they are, somewhere past the paisley and polyester, somehow the same.
Aren't they? ]
Then either figure it out or cut it out.
[ The alcohol and the buzz of adrenaline are both slowly fading out of her system, and her leg, hip, and side are all starting to throb in annoyingly intrusive ways. ]
You look like you're about to try to send me to my room without any dinner.
no subject
Aren't they? ]
Then either figure it out or cut it out.
[ The alcohol and the buzz of adrenaline are both slowly fading out of her system, and her leg, hip, and side are all starting to throb in annoyingly intrusive ways. ]
You look like you're about to try to send me to my room without any dinner.