[ Alan has— a few scars. Not a surprise, considering the quality of life they live. He knows Maria's mother died during the first wave; the black line on his wrist had burned itself into a scar on that day, and he watched it happen with his daughter caught in his arms, wailing as loud as the sirens. For the first few years, black turned to scars, and Alan catalogued the heartbreaks of the war with every new line — Cathy, Nora Mae, Delphie, so on.
Right now, though - there's one line, black as anything, and alive. On his wrist is something precious.
people die, and while there had been no marks yet when leah learnt and internalised that lesson because she'd been too young, while there are no scars on her wrists, that particular truth means she keeps her wrists covered and doesn't look at them.
that's a lie, she looks. not often, but she looks and traces the few pale red marks, people she's fallen in and out of love with, people she never let herself see more than once or twice and people she's never let herself touch.
she's looking now, at the dark black mark on her wrist. she knows what it means.
when alan walks into her quarters, she pulls her sleeve over her wrist, half turning. it's difficult to look like you're not trying to hide something when the person you're hiding things from can literally look inside your head, but leah slams all her walls up. ]
I'm fine. [ her tone suggests that she is, indeed, really fucking pissed.
( she's not. she's scared, but she'll never admit it. ) ]
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Right now, though - there's one line, black as anything, and alive. On his wrist is something precious.
He doesn't question it. ]
You look pissed.
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people die, and while there had been no marks yet when leah learnt and internalised that lesson because she'd been too young, while there are no scars on her wrists, that particular truth means she keeps her wrists covered and doesn't look at them.
that's a lie, she looks. not often, but she looks and traces the few pale red marks, people she's fallen in and out of love with, people she never let herself see more than once or twice and people she's never let herself touch.
she's looking now, at the dark black mark on her wrist. she knows what it means.
when alan walks into her quarters, she pulls her sleeve over her wrist, half turning. it's difficult to look like you're not trying to hide something when the person you're hiding things from can literally look inside your head, but leah slams all her walls up. ]
I'm fine. [ her tone suggests that she is, indeed, really fucking pissed.
( she's not. she's scared, but she'll never admit it. ) ]