Five.
Yep. To the beginning to understand.
Tone for the story: Dreamy, a little mischeivous, maybe some sadness, possibly tense.
She was leaning against the wall, staring straight ahead while he rested his head on her chest. An old feeling she had been unaware she missed so much. They were silent now, but the remnants of the apologies were very well evident in their faces. If apologies were always like that... she could get used to it. He could, too. No complaints.
"So what exactly do we do now?" He finally asked, his eyes drifting with sleepiness.
She brought him into a protective hug, something he'd forgotten he enjoyed. "I don't know yet," she answered. "We'll need time to plan this."
And plan the explanations, he thought quietly, smiling.
"First, it would help if we knew why we're here, what we're here for, and where the hell we are. You know, the typical."
For a moment, it sounded like questions someone would ask about a friendship that was strained. He let the thought pass. Things felt familiar.
"What the hell were we fighting for?" He finally said, a question that erupted so unconsciously.
She looked down at him. "What?" Her voice faultered.
"Why?" He asked, unaware of how sad he really sounded. "Why were we fighting? What were we fighting for?"
"Fighting what?"
He paused, wary of his next statement. "Each other."
She looked up and away. "I... don't know." She finally said, voice tainted with opening wounds.
"No, no," he quickly said, trying his best to stop the bleeding that would happen next. "Don't think too much about it... Forget I said anything."
She felt like she'd grown tense, and he feared he'd just ruined everything. He sat up straight and he held onto her, rocking slightly. "Forget I mentioned it," he said again, softly.
Please just forget it, he begged to himself. Don't cry. Don't get sad on me now. I don't think I could take it.
Unbeknownst to him, she had been asking the same questions for quite some time. She originally had all the answers, but lately she'd been strapped for answers.
"I'm..." He hesitated. "I'm happy to see you again. Even if I never see you again when we escape." He felt a familiar shuddering from her, and he instantly quieted. Instead, he focused his energy to not bleeding as well.
But she bled quite a bit. Poor, green eyes. "I'm glad, too." She managed. "I'm lucky that I got stuck here with you."
His eyes stung, and he didn't bother with remedying it. He was smiling way too sadly, but way too happily, to be bothered sheltering his wounded shield. "I'm pretty lucky, too."
"We'll get out," she finally said, voice growing strong again. "I'll see to it that we get out of this in one piece."
Just don't push yourself too hard, he said with his eyes. I've seen you die once before, and I can't stand another funeral.
"Good," he said aloud. "I'd have it no other way."
Tone for the story: Dreamy, a little mischeivous, maybe some sadness, possibly tense.
She was leaning against the wall, staring straight ahead while he rested his head on her chest. An old feeling she had been unaware she missed so much. They were silent now, but the remnants of the apologies were very well evident in their faces. If apologies were always like that... she could get used to it. He could, too. No complaints.
"So what exactly do we do now?" He finally asked, his eyes drifting with sleepiness.
She brought him into a protective hug, something he'd forgotten he enjoyed. "I don't know yet," she answered. "We'll need time to plan this."
And plan the explanations, he thought quietly, smiling.
"First, it would help if we knew why we're here, what we're here for, and where the hell we are. You know, the typical."
For a moment, it sounded like questions someone would ask about a friendship that was strained. He let the thought pass. Things felt familiar.
"What the hell were we fighting for?" He finally said, a question that erupted so unconsciously.
She looked down at him. "What?" Her voice faultered.
"Why?" He asked, unaware of how sad he really sounded. "Why were we fighting? What were we fighting for?"
"Fighting what?"
He paused, wary of his next statement. "Each other."
She looked up and away. "I... don't know." She finally said, voice tainted with opening wounds.
"No, no," he quickly said, trying his best to stop the bleeding that would happen next. "Don't think too much about it... Forget I said anything."
She felt like she'd grown tense, and he feared he'd just ruined everything. He sat up straight and he held onto her, rocking slightly. "Forget I mentioned it," he said again, softly.
Please just forget it, he begged to himself. Don't cry. Don't get sad on me now. I don't think I could take it.
Unbeknownst to him, she had been asking the same questions for quite some time. She originally had all the answers, but lately she'd been strapped for answers.
"I'm..." He hesitated. "I'm happy to see you again. Even if I never see you again when we escape." He felt a familiar shuddering from her, and he instantly quieted. Instead, he focused his energy to not bleeding as well.
But she bled quite a bit. Poor, green eyes. "I'm glad, too." She managed. "I'm lucky that I got stuck here with you."
His eyes stung, and he didn't bother with remedying it. He was smiling way too sadly, but way too happily, to be bothered sheltering his wounded shield. "I'm pretty lucky, too."
"We'll get out," she finally said, voice growing strong again. "I'll see to it that we get out of this in one piece."
Just don't push yourself too hard, he said with his eyes. I've seen you die once before, and I can't stand another funeral.
"Good," he said aloud. "I'd have it no other way."