ISAAC.â
Isaac wasnât exactly used to forced smiles, for heâd never had reason to wear one. Smiling couldnât even be forced at St. Raphâs, and now, he didnât really fake the emotions he felt, other than dismissing those that were more negative. He didnât even think of any of that around Anastasia, who only brought him positive feelings (literally rather than figuratively, but Isaac wasnât even suspicious of that). In fact, she caused his smile to grow yet again when she called him trouble, mischief and darkness tinting his gaze. He was proud of the trouble heâd caused, and wore the title like a badge of honor. If heâd been told growing up that mutants were nothing but trouble, then heâd more than happily live up to the reputation that had been waiting for him all this time. âYou donât know the half of it,â he replied, wondering if she was as drawn to him as he felt to her. All the possibilities of what he could pull her into, the world she could take his hand and run headfirst into, they seemed sweet, no matter how morally questionable some things in that world was. Something told him she wasnât all prim and proper, anyway, and itâs the thought of knowing more that made him, in part, wanting to keep coming back. âA little, but thatâs what makes it fun.â Danger is thrilling to him, fear is the motivator to make his feet go faster, and every time that boost of energy carries him from the threat, victory widens that smile and grows an ego that once never existed. But the energy drops when Anastasia asks a serious question, causing Isaac to look away nervously. âUh, no? Not reallyâŚâ Heâd once learned his mother was in jail when a worker at St. Raphâs had threatened him, but whether he and this woman he never knew had a life together before then, he never knew. âSo then I was right!â Isaac concluded. After a moment of thought, he piped up again. âYou should come with me! Itâll be a lot more fun with you there.â
âI donât know how you do that,â Anastasia confesses absently, gaze fixed on the window fogged by condensation, watching the colourful people-shapes of passers-by. âTurn being scared into excitement. Fear into fun.â She returns her attention to Isaac, searching his eyes for that familiar glint of mischief. âMaybe Iâve only ever gotten into the wrong kind of trouble.â Thereâs a shift in his expression -- one she imagines isnât dissimilar to the face she makes when prompted to consider her past. Her own brow raises in ill-hidden surprise edged with sympathy which she soon attempts to smooth into a reassuring smile. For his sake. âWell-- itâs not like itâs that important, knowing where you were born. As long as you know where you are now.â Itâs difficult not to feel for him. Difficult, too, not to feel guilty for the fabrication of their relationship -- or, at least, what sheâs convinced herself to be work ( what she wonât admit is that she gets along better with Isaac than most Jems ).
Subtly, Anastasia concentrates on her breathing, stubbornly ignoring the hammering of her pulse beneath her ribs at being asked to attend the event with him. Evading him all night after this was going to be exceedingly tricky. âIâd love to, but-- well, Iâm not invited. And Iâm working the late shift.â Fingernails painted a metallic silver that glints in the light tap thoughtfully against the mug cupped in her palm. She needed to throw him a bone; wanted to offer an alternative. âI could meet you after, maybe? That way Iâll get to see you dressed all fancy, right?â

















