Atrophy || Calloway and Harlee.
Harlee crinkled her nose and giggled. The two of them made an unlikely pair of companions. She lifted her mug of tea and took a sip. It was still hot. It burned her tongue. ”Tastes good,” she said. She didn’t want him to know that she’d burned herself. That would be embarrassing, especially considering he had told her to be careful. She placed the mug back down on the countertop. ”Is there more sugar, though? I like my tea really sweet.”
The kitchen was quiet and Harlee was beginning to feel awkward. There wasn’t much for her or Calloway to talk about. As far as she was aware, they had almost nothing in common other than the fact that they lived in the same hideout and were kidnapped and sent to the same work camp. They had a scar in the same place but even those looked different. She admired the perfect and faded line down his arm. ”Your scar’s so much nicer than mine,” she commented. She wanted to reach out and touch it and see if it was raised like hers was but she thought that would be rude or a little two weird. She held out her arm to showcase the uneven mark where she had cut herself open to grab it out. ”How did you get yours so perfect?”
Calloway nodded, turning to rummage through the cupboards, until he'd located the small, silver sugar shaker. He slid it over to Harlee, and then laced his fingers together. He stood in silence, and then his eyebrows raised, an expression of pleasant surprise emerging. "Ah, well thank you," he murmured, as he extended his arm, rotating it and looking at the scar in all light. His eyes drifted to hers. It wasn't as bad as some he'd seen, but it certainly shouted inexperienced. Calloway pursed his lips, in thought. "For one, I used proper surgical instruments," he mused, and then continued "And for two, I've been doing things of this nature for a long time, so I guess practice makes perfect". "How did you even get yours out?" he said, reaching out to tap the puckered skin on Harlee's arm.
