Geez, Magneto. You sure know how to show a girl a good time. Who needs flowers when you have gruesome Holocaust stories to tell?
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From Kenneth Lonergan’s Margaret (2011)
Ah think it’s safe to say Ah’m sick. Blegh. Skippin’ out on classes for the day.
Darcy just wished that Rogue was more comfortable. She knew that whatever had gone down at that truck stop hadn’t been good but…she hated what it had done to Rogue.
Darcy smiled as Rogue lifted her arm and she settled next to her, her feet tucked under her and she berated herself for putting shorts on instead of pants. She took her glass from Rogue and downed it before pouring herself another. Romantic comedies were so much better when you didn’t know what was going on. Sighing, she pulled Rogue closer and smiled. “Southern…I’m glad that you trust me enough to be here. I’m sorta attached to you now, you know.”
Rogue turned to give Darcy a surprised look, caught off guard by the comment.
"Darcy- darlin’- thanks. You know. For trustin’ me too." She didn’t say the words on the tip of her tongue- the implied- Thanks for riskin’ your life to be my friend.
Rogue felt her cheeks heat up, embarrassed at the influx of emotion from Darcy’s short declaration. She reached up to brush her lips against Darcy’s temple, muttered a drawled, “Love you, Darce,” and snagged a chip as she fell back against the arm of the couch. She smiled warmly at the other girl, hoping- because the words were hard to find- that Darcy understood what she was trying to express.
And if her throat was a little tight and her eyes stung a bit, she wouldn’t be the first one to say anything about it.
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