Fabia left the locker room running her fingers through her still wet hair, going around the bleachers and walking down the hallway parallel to them, towards the exit of the gymnasium.
Marc: Do you come here often?
Marc was sitting in the first steps of the bleachers, near the section of the gymnasium where the gymnastics equipments were, carefully tying his sneakers, his crutches laying on the bleachers beside him.
Fabia: Not really, just every other day.
Marc: I swear I didn't mean to flirt.
Fabia: I know!
Smiling, Marc stood up and grabbed his crutches, as Fabia, also smiling, held out a hand to help him get down from the bleachers.
Fabia: And what are you doing here?
Marc: A friend of mine is a physical therapy graduate, I have a broken foot, she needs to complete a few clinical hours, so...
Fabia: And is your foot better?
Marc: Much. I don't think I'll need a new one.
Fabia: A new sense of humor, maybe.
Marc: And a book with some tips on how to flirt.
Fabia: Nah, you don't need that.
Marc: I already have a broken foot, right. I can use that as an excuse...
Fabia: ...to ask out the physical therapists?
Marc: I'm not sure where I was going with that joke, but yeah, sure.
Fabia: I think we both could use a new sense of humor.
Marc: As long as we're only telling each other bad jokes, I guess everything's fine.
"As long as we have each other, everything's fine", is what Fabia wanted to say, but she only said it to herself, and to Marc she simply smiled.
