Re: log: dylan & max
She should probably worry more about everything disappearing again. Maybe it was the five years in Dhaka, here, that made her less concerned than she would be otherwise. When that ended, she was glad of it. She was glad to get shoved back to the real world. After some time there, she was glad to come back here. Life felt too real out there after all those years without living. She knew that was fucked up, but it was true, and she was drunk enough not to care that it was true. When sobriety hit in the morning, along with the hangover that was as familiar as her own face in the mirror, she would go back to pretending she wasn't anywhere near as screwed up as she knew herself to be in that moment.
His arm around her was something from memory, and she moved when he nudged. She was drunk enough that she wasn't mortified by the fact that she'd misconstrued the situation; she didn't even realize she had. She figured he wanted to eat something first, and it fell into line with what she knew about McKendrick (the old McKendrick) in a way that felt normal. She grinned at him, a dimple indenting her cheek and defying the years that had passed between them. "You said the magic word. I think there's a place down the block," she suggested, even as she moved toward the whimsical little door and the street beyond.
The cold air didn't sober her completely, but it made her shiver, and the crispness did bring some clarity with it. "That way," she said, and she forgot to move away from that arm around her waist, but that was an honest mistake.