iamthefirechild:
Summer opened the door to Isaac, and stilled. Although she could /see/ him healing, he still looked terrible — dried blood in streaks, tears in his clothes, deeper marks that didn’t seem to be healing, tracks of tears on his face. She reached out, grabbing his hands, and tugged him inside. He seemed numb. “What is it? What’s happened? Hey. Hey, chere, look at me. Isaac.”
Isaac was numb, and he couldn’t remember the journey to Summer’s home, but here he was, standing on the doorstep. He could feel his broken skin knit together, the only evidence that he been injured being his torn clothes and the lingering scent of blood enveloping his entire body. Flinching at the touch, a tear rolled down his face and he let out a pained whine, body swaying as she pulled him inside.
“Isaac!” Summer was really worried now. He hadn’t flinched at her touch in weeks. He wasn’t speaking; he just stood there while tears rolled silently down his face. She’d never seen him cry like this. She took his arms, closing her fingers slowly and gently around his biceps, and guided him to the couch. “You have to tell me what’s wrong,” she said, sitting beside him. “You have to tell me.”