▪︎𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦,
𝗜'𝗱 𝗱𝗶𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁
𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂.
in which an ordinary girl soon finds out that she's not as ordinary as she once thought, all while trying to hide her f...
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♡ 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪♡ 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 thirty-six.
mr loverman.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
DALLAS FIDDLED WITH HER ACRYLIC NAILS, GLANCING UP AT THE BOYS EVERY SO OFTEN TO SCRUTINIZE THEIR MANY BAD IDEAS.
"I'm just saying-"
Stiles butted in. "Isaac, we're not going to torture her," he mumbled. Dallas noticed how he flickered his eyes to her every few seconds and only tore them away once she noticed. He ached to talk to her - about something other than the mess they were currently lodged in. Nonetheless, life didn't give them that privilege as of yet.
They bickered some more and eventually settled on the idea that Meredith was most likely a Banshee herself. After all, it made sense. The ties between her and the redhead were too long and twisted for it to be another coincidence.
Dallas didn't pay much attention anymore as her focus seemed to slip away hum by hum. The familiar siren song entered her ears and soaked up her brain. Every time she heard it, the louder it became. Surprisingly, it brought her a great deal of comfort. It helped lift the heavy weight that had embedded into her chest and stung into her heart. Well, until it was interrupted.
"They say Coup de foudre," Meredith spoke out, her voice barely above a whisper.
Stiles stumbled over his sentences in confusion. "Coupe de what?" he then turned to his girlfriend and tore her attention away from the melancholy balled that tugged at her heartstrings and brain. "What.. what is that in Spanish?"
He noticed her distracted behaviour and frowned slightly. Somehow - someway, he felt locked out from her. Unable to comfort her in ways he once easily could.
Dallas cocked her head to the side before shaking it in dismay. "That's not Spanish."
Before any of them could explain any further, Scott McCall appeared in the doorway. "French," he mumbled with wide eyes as they all lay on him. "It's French."
⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰
"I need to make a call." James persisted to the nurse, however, she shook her head in dismay.
"I'm sorry, James, but I can't permit that. " The Woman denied. He took a glimpse at her nametag and soon identified her as Betty-Finn. She gave him an unsure look through her thin, narrowed eyes before clutching the clipboard close to her chest. "I recommend that you get more rest. I can't have you up and walking around so soon after surgery."
He took a deep inhale and readjusted his position on the bed. Jim tried to push away the sick feeling of being watched - from someone other than the doctors and nurses surrounding him, but it was harder than he expected. "Do you have a log of who comes in and out of these rooms?" he blurted out as he glanced up at her. "You know, visitors."
