"What do you mean?" Nila said.
"Just this," Oliver said, gesturing towards the fire. "It seems far better than the alternative."
"…You mean the alternative that I set?" Nila said, almost as quietly as before. "If I were braver, I could… I should… I should just…"
"Perhaps time will fix it," Oliver tried. "You might grow sick of me. Perhaps then, the lack of me will strike you as a positive thing."
Nila reddened. "I didn't think you heard that. Even if you did hear it, you had to pretend that you didn't… Stupid. Now what am I meant to say? How am I even meant to look at you?"
She covered her face with her hands, and sunk back behind her knees.
"…It's not like I'd grow sick of you," she grumbled. "You're far too strange for me to ever grow tired of… You're different every day it seems."
"Most people would call that a bad thing," Oliver said. "They'd call that inconsistency."
