Page 10 of Tapeworld Induction

“It’s fine. I’m okay. Keep dancing if you want to…”

But by the time he sat back down, she was at the bar again. Two more G&Ts on the way. He wasn’t opposed.

He scooched to the side. There was plenty of space for both of them and their stuff. Still, she sat down as close to him as possible. Her warmth made his insides flutter.

“Those were some nice moves out there,” he said, immediately regretting how he’d phrased it. Real slick stuff, buddy.

“Thanks. You weren’t so bad yourself,” Dylan replied, taking a sip of her drink. He figured she must just be being polite, especially given the way he’d retreated from the dance floor. “You didn’t have to— Ah, shit. Sorry I keep bringing it up.”

He could get lost in those eyes of hers. The excitement in them had turned into worry.

She’d gone quiet, eyes to the distance.

“What?”

“I… I was about to say…” She struggled to get her words out. Isaak recognised himself in that. “I’m sorry about your leg,” she managed eventually. “You didn’t have to ask me to dance. You don’t need to prove anything.”

Ouch. He felt his face redden, the sweat in his pits worsening. His knee twinged in slight pain, as if on cue. “I wasn’t trying to prove anything,” he said defensively. “I just fancied a dance—”

She placed a hand on his arm, interrupting him. “It’s fine. Sorry.”

Now it was Isaak’s turn to look away.

She squeezed his arm. “I liked it…”

Isaak turned to look at her and into her eyes, deep as galaxies.

“It was very sweet of you.”

“But…?”

Dylan tilted her head. “No buts,” she assured him.

A few drinks later she was under his arm as they sat back in that corner, in the quick intimacy of alcohol and excitement.

“Then I found out they were pivotal to the rebellion, Wesley and Constance Colt, heroes of the Apocalypse Revolt!” She waved her arms agitatedly. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do, you know what I mean?”

He nodded at her. She leaned close to him.

“Or who I’m supposed to be.”

“Because of your parents? At least yours are around…” Isaak felt a lump forming in his throat.

Dylan straightened up at this. She brought a hand to her chest. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Then her eyes went wide. “Wait a minute. You were just telling me your father still eats meat…”

“They’re not dead!” he said through the lump, before she went any further. “Mum left, when I was a kid. And my dad’s a non-starter. And a meat-eater at that… You’re lucky your parents are around is all I’m saying.”

She looked at him with that pitying look he’d seen on others, after being kicked out of the Lazarus. Isaak didn’t need any of that. He started to cross his arms, but Dylan placed her hand on the one that had been around her before he could.

Her lips were pursed, eyes narrowed. “I get it! You’re not looking for a pity party.” She playfully lifted his arm again and leant underneath, her head touching his shoulder. Her warmth spread to Isaak’s skin through the thin London Lazarus shirt.

Letting out a meek, complacent sound, he went quiet as she carried on.

“It’s about legacy. We got a hundred-year head start on climate change thanks to people like my parents.” Dylan sighed. “What’s left for me to do?”

Isaak looked at her. She was staring ahead, her eyes following the crowd of twirling revellers on the dance floor.

“What do you do?” he asked, his finger laced in Dylan’s blue-blonde hair, the quick comfort they felt with each other possible in no small part due to the drinks they’d been having.