Re: log: dylan & max
Despite the shiver, she didn't mind the cold. It was a sharp contrast to the years spent in that desert nightmare, and she didn't care about the bite as a result. It reminded her that she wasn't there, and sometimes she needed that. The whole PoW thing wasn't new to her, but this had been different. This door wasn't like the real world, however much it looked like it on the surface, and torture here was nothing like out there. She blamed it on that, and not on the fact that she might've gone soft over the years. But she had, somewhat. Since Seattle, she'd been fairly safe, fairly unharmed (with the exception of Bangladesh), and definitely unexposed to front lines. Dhaka had been eye-opening, and not in a great way.
But her body still reacted to the cold, and she looked over at him in surprise when he offered the jacket. It made her think of high school. It made her think of crushes on boys. She elbowed him, but not much, and not hard. It was playful, drunk and playful and without any insult behind it. "You were always into that chivalrous crap," she said, but it came out slurred and fond. Luckily, she was too wasted to notice.
She was too wasted to care about the way he rubbed her arm as they walked, too. No, that wasn't right. She was too wasted to worry about it; she noticed the gesture itself. In fact, she leaned closer when he did it, and she bumped against him with a drunkenly uneven way. She had no idea that he was thinking about weapons, about carrying; she didn't associate him with those concerns.
It was a short walk, and she stopped outside the doors and looked at him. She still wasn't sure she believed he'd asked her to a burger joint. But, no, it was so old school him, and maybe she did believe it. She reached for his hoodie zipper, tugged with playful drunkenness, and then she stepped into the warmth.