[ Burns. But aren't any burns. Of course not. Because Jordan Parrish doesn't burn. Neither is he dead. Jordan isn't dead. Jordan isn't dead. She can feel the drumbeat of her heart as she processes that statement, like it requires extra time to consider. And it does, because not quite everything has fit properly on the lines since she'd woken up in the hospital, even after days of recovery.
He mentions his own fogginess and all she can think is two survivors, the both of them getting through accidents separately and somehow finding their way back together. ]
But you're okay. [ He looks it. He feels it. With her hand across his back, she feels the solid strength of muscle, along with the gentleness of his stroking fingers in her hair. ] And you're real.
[ She draws back, with tear-stained eyes, but with a composure in her stare as she swallows and glances at him with concentration. Her hand reaches up to caress the curve of his cheek, palm sliding flat against it to let the circling warmth interchange between skin. ] Tell me you're real.
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He mentions his own fogginess and all she can think is two survivors, the both of them getting through accidents separately and somehow finding their way back together. ]
But you're okay. [ He looks it. He feels it. With her hand across his back, she feels the solid strength of muscle, along with the gentleness of his stroking fingers in her hair. ] And you're real.
[ She draws back, with tear-stained eyes, but with a composure in her stare as she swallows and glances at him with concentration. Her hand reaches up to caress the curve of his cheek, palm sliding flat against it to let the circling warmth interchange between skin. ] Tell me you're real.