“I’m not that pristine,” she quoted back, letting out a laugh, shaking her head at him. He could slouch into the role of Bender nicely. The skateboard and the flannel helped. But Darby had always seem him as more impish than apathetic. “Is she the one that dropped out of beauty school? Or the one in the catsuit that dances all sexy for John Travolta? Think I’m the dropout, actually. Sandy’s too boring. It’s like, time to catch a dick, girl,” she mused, shooting a look back at him as she started walking towards Calloway, waiting for him to catch up with her. His gaze caught her off guard, as he always did, wondering if something still lingered for him besides the physical like it often did for her. Sucking in a breath and trying to push the thought aside, remain in the moment, she was unable to as he neared her, plucking the flower out of her hair. “Of course I’m a lady. I’m about to go full Florence Nightingale on you,” she joked, poking him in the chest with a bitten-down nail, chipped red nail polish flashing under the sun. “Maybe lady isn’t the right word. Being well-behaved is fucking dull.” Pushing open the door to her house, she bit her lip, mouth curling into a grin. “Just let me look at it, okay? I’m well-versed in injuries. Used to have to clean my brother’s,” she told him, hoping that mentioning James wouldn’t make things too uncomfortable.
“What? No, Sandra Dee was, like, her own person,” he corrected, nose wrinkling. “Like, a fuckin’ actress back then. Marilyn Monroe and all that. One of them. Probably married a baseball player or something.” Izzy snorted then, indulging in a dramatic eye-roll before a goofy grin hugged the apples of his cheeks, “Fuck, you sound like you’re out of the ‘80s or something. Madonna reincarnated. Wait, isn’t she still alive?” It was an anomaly that someone could supposedly be so knowledgable about old Hollywood starlets as opposed to modern pop culture, but then again, Isaac’s whole existence seemed to be an anomaly. And then Darby poked him in the chest and a warm feeling flowed throughout him, like something pink and thick now injected into his bloodstream. It was embarrassing and, quite frankly, terrifying that she still elicited this sort of reaction out of him simply by doing something so insignificant, so familiar. Shaking the thought away, he shrugged and his shoulders slouched beneath his flannel as they relaxed again. “Well, like, duh,” he agreed, “being well-behaved is no fun. Can’t do shit that way. ‘Specially nothing illegal.” He knew they were probably bad influences on each other, especially him on her. He knew Darby had more of a reputation to uphold than he did, but she clearly didn’t care too much. And like a moth to the flame, he’d return to her side if not like a friend, like a lost puppy. “Fine, fine,” he huffed with a small grin, not pressing the ‘whole James thing’. “If you insist, Madam Pomfrey.”