𝖋𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 𝖕𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 ⋆ 𝕶𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖓 𝖉𝖆𝖞

forty two

╔═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╗

He doesn't say anything to her in the hospital room.

He doesn't say anything to her when he's helping her into the backseat of Wymack's beat up '93 Mercury.

He doesn't say anything when he helps her out of it, either.

It's not until he's tucking the sheets tight around her body, making sure she can't roll over and tear a stitch when she sleeps, in Abby's spare room that evening that he even makes eye contact with her.

"Did Allison finally cut your tongue out, or are you avoiding me?" asks Daisy, wiggling her legs to free herself from Kevin's attempted mummification by comforter. "Jack's dead."

It seems to take Kevin a lot of effort to say, "I know."

She frowns. "Then why aren't you talking to me? I didn't final-girl myself out of his hell house just to be ignored."

"I'm not ignoring you," he sighs. His eyes scan the room for somewhere to sit down, and Daisy pats the bed by her waist. He gingerly perches on the edge of the mattress and looks down at her with green eyes rimmed with black half-moons. "I... just don't know what to say."

"Can I get that written down? Kevin Day, speechless."

"Shut the fuck up."

She huffs a laugh. "You could start by saying... I don't know, hello? How are you? Did they manage to fit all of your intestines back into your body or did you lose some?" He gives her a look, and she tries to smile. "Dude, I just survived a situation I was so sure I was going to die in. Forgive me of a little black humour."

He reaches out, brushes fingertips through the few inches of hair that remain on her head. It makes her cringe. "I like it," he says quietly, fingertips trailing down the side of her face and coming to rest on her collarbone. "It suits you."

"I look like a boy."

He raises his eyebrows and offers her half of a smile. "Wouldn't matter to me."

Daisy stares at him, deep into those jade green eyes of his. She'd almost forgotten what he looked like. Almost. The sharpness of his jaw had faded a little softer in her head; the Roman arch of his nose flattened a little. She'd remembered the furrow of his brow, because it's the look he gives her most often. But she'd lost his smile, the way the left side of his mouth lifts a little higher than the right, just so you can see the crooked canine that even the best orthodontists couldn't wrangle into place. Forgotten that when the light hits his face just right, it blurs the black smudge on his cheekbone into the rest of his winter-pale skin.

She forgot how he feels, too. Not just physically, the rough callouses on his palms compared to the softness of the inside of his wrist. No, it's the overwhelming sense of everything is going to be okay when he's around. Curled up in his dorm room watching old games, changing out and battling on court, even just going down to the diner for milkshakes. She's untouchable when he's holding her hand, and her feet don't touch the floor when he kisses her.