world war two is somehow comforting.

Trina's words, though she thought them to be so stupid, were not stupid to Seb. He frowned as she became flustered. Could she really have freaked so deeply about a guy she had only known a few weeks and hadn't seen in three months? How was that possible, he asked himself. She was bound to have many friends that he knew nothing about, perhaps even a boyfriend. Lots happened in three months. And if they had dropped their phones mid conversation with a string of swearing, would she had jumped in her car and tried to find them? And the thought occurred to Seb, a thought that was a mixture of silly, disturbing, almost rude to think. Did she have some sort of mental problem, like, he didn't know, some sort of hypertension complex that would cause her to do such a thing?

He watched as she settled herself into a chair and rested her head in her hands. Just watching her caused empathy in Seb, and he thought he could feel the pressure that must be in her head. All of the sudden, all he wanted was to sit there with Trina, in a comfortable, pressure-less silence, with the beeping of his heart meter thingy and a large book on World War II to keep him company.

"The doctor said I just had a grade three concussion which is why I don't remember how I got into the ambulance, and two bad bruises on my shin and hip, but that's all. Oh, and my pinky's broken," he said, holding up his little bandaged and braced finger. Not bad for totaling and flipping his car, he thought. He was lucky. And hopefully insurance would pay for the hospital and car bills.

"Do you, ah, have your license?" he asked, curious.