CC: INBOX.

[distractly]

isabelle lightwood: inbox.
texts, voice, prompts. +overflow

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[distractly]

( she's well aware of baby's gaze often straying to her side profile, but she's struck by the miniature city cast before them, like figurines of a place far too good to be true. a city who's energy thrived upon intimacy? a means of credits to earn a second chance, something the two of them both wanted, even if for entirely separate reasons. it's then it hits her, softly through quite noticeably at the center of her chest that, at the moment, there's no one she'd rather be atop that mountain with than him.

a tiny shrug of a single shoulder. ) Only a little. It feels good, actually. ( but yes, baby, she's not any bit disinterested in the idea of taking your jacket. a slow breath inward, as if she could exhale everything she's kept pent up, everything that's forbidden her from just this— quiet, and peace. )

I think this is the first time I've felt comfortable here, in Cadelle.

[killertrack]

[ He's got music in his ears, but he doesn't need it. It strikes him, suddenly, the quiet. There's no ringing, or it's so faint he can barely make it out; just like when he met Debbie. Someone that enraptured him enough to make him entirely forget about his disability. Made him forget he needed music, because her voice was just that. ]

Well, if it gets uncomfortable, let me know.

[ He does have an extra jumper, and a blanket in the backseat of the Challenger. Not that he imagined getting to cuddle under a soft throw with Isabelle, but. You never know.

He smiles when she speaks next, pride and contentment blooming in his chest. ]

Yeah? Good. [ With the toe of his sneaker, he digs a little in the gravel underfoot. ] I thought I wouldn't fit in, here. Wouldn't find friends. I'm not very good at the whole - making friends thing.