"Her first reflex is to bury herself in his chest, and hug him tight, hold on to him as if he’s the only thing keeping her afloat in the midst of the storm going on inside of her. In some sense, he is."
▋▉ ❘ ❙ ❚ — ❛ Yup. ❜ it was one of his favorites, she knew. it was one of her favorites, too. fingers clasped around the fabric before he could pull it from her reach. her shirt hit the floor as she slid his on, enjoying the way the cool cotton felt on her skin skin. ❛ All mine are dirty and/or covered with blood. ❜ if she was anyone else, changing in front of isaac would make her uncomfortable. but n- othing about her parabatai made her feel that way. and becoming overcome with shyness because of a little bit of exposed skin would have been pointless. how often had he put a stele to her ribs, her hipbone, or her bare back because of injuries? enough times to kick any personal boundary problems to the curb. she smiled at him from across the room. ❛ You’re not getting it back any time soon. ❜ Or ever.
❝ i think everyone has that problem at one point in their lives whether they realise it or not. maybe lots of people can’t tell either. Peut-être personne n’a jamais peut. ❞
❝ who are you? ❞ and here she’d been under the impression she’d met every resident of the New York Institute. clearly that w- -asn’t the case. because the small brunette tirelessly swinging from the rafters of the training room was en- -itrely foreign to her. her curiosity trumped manners, and she spoke louder. her voice was intrusive, her ac- -cent thick.
❝ seriously, who are you? you don’t look familiar. ❞
