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"No!" The word was quickly spoken, heated, apologetic. "I am just. I am not so good at women. Or men. Sometimes I think too much, and maybe read too much into things." Isaac stared down at her hand on his arm. "I am the one who should be apologizing. When you took my hand, I thought that maybe it was probably just a friendly sort of hand-holding, you know? But then I start thinking, what if it wasn't, and what if I am expected to do a thing? And then I start thinking no, I am sure it was just hand-holding that friends do. But what if it wasn't."

If he'd been hoping to make things not-awkward, he felt like he'd failed, miserably.

"On the roof, that was nice. Wasn't it? You are not crossing any lines, it is just that I am used to... having understandings. I am not good at reading signs. But I am very good at reading into things that probably are not even there?"

He paused and drew his free hand down his face.

"I am not very good at this. I do not even know what I am trying to say. We are having a good time, and I do not want to ruin it."

Isaac promptly shoved two pieces of fruit into his mouth.

Isaac wanted to try and explain the reasons behind the things he'd said; doing so thus far had only made a mess of things. He had always had a tendency to do that - things that were simple, he made complex, most especially when faced with relationships. He was a romantic at heart, and Isaac knew he had a way of going all Truly Madly Deeply on people he didn't really know. He wanted to tell Gretchen that he'd never really been in a really real relationship; he wanted to tell her that there had been enjoyment to be found in the company of tourists, of clientele who had come to his hometown in order to do a little fishing, a little drinking, and a little ********. He wanted to admit to her that he'd fallen a little bit in love with each and every one of them, and he'd always felt a little lonely when they left despite the fact that he'd known none of them would be around forever.

He didn't say any of it, though, and merely smiled at her because she was so pretty in the sunshine, and she smelled like strawberries and pineapples and she'd been so very nice to him - and if she wanted more, he would give her more because deep, deep down he yearned to please everyone he came into contact with in whatever way they wanted. Isaac would always give all of himself to anyone who required it, and he never worried that one day there may be nothing left of himself to give - or to keep.

"There is no rush," Isaac began, "unless you want to rush. It will always, always be friends first - and whatever you want, whenever you want, Gretchen." His voice was utterly soft, and he lifted his hand to rub a few strands of her pretty dark hair between his fingers. "When you no longer want something more, that is fine, too."

And then he was pulling away to cram a few more strawberries into his mouth before lying back on the ground, where he promptly touched gentle fingers to the flower she'd tucked behind his ear. He chuckled softly and propped his head up on a folded arm before letting out a content sigh.

Isaac was silent, eyes closed. He did not see her move so much as he sensed it - and when the sweet tang of pineapple hit his nose, he immediately opened his mouth. After taking it from Gretchen, Isaac chewed slowly, methodically. He did not mind the flowers that were decorating his hair - if anything, he enjoyed it because Gretchen seemed to enjoy putting them there.

He remained silent after he swallowed the fruit. A smile toyed with the corners of his lips, a twitching that turned into a full-blown grin as he whispered, "No, Gretchen, that would be horrible."

At that, he peered up at her with one eye.

"But I will suffer it, because you have all of the fruit."

He closed his eye and very dramatically puckered his lips.

This was nice, Isaac thought idly as Gretchen kissed him. She was soft, and pretty, and sweet - really, there wasn't more that he wanted. Lying there in the grass with the sun on his skin, the ocean crashing far beneath him and a pretty girl who wanted to kiss him, well, Isaac couldn't think of anything better. It made it easy to forget the infected, the mall -- it made it easy to forget everything.

He did not deepen the kiss, and he did not touch her aside from the light brush of his fingers against her cheek. He did, however, break the kiss after a moment's time.

"This is a good day," he whispered, tugging her down onto his chest. "Don't you think?"

"Jordbær," Isaac responded before using his teeth to take the proffered strawberry. He shifted beneath her a little, grunting softly as he attempted to make them both comfortable.

"And solsikke is sunflower." He paused to lean up in order to press his lips to hers again, "That is kysse. This," Isaac pointed to the flowers that peppered his hair, "is blomst." He beamed up at her.

"And you are veldig pen - very pretty."

Isaac grinned broadly, deep brown eyes bright with restrained laughter.

"It is probably not the most beautiful language, I think. But it is mine, you know? It is comfortable for me, but difficult for others to learn, probably."

"Mmm," Isaac nodded, not even bothering to correct the way she butchered the word. All he could do was grin, and then grin some more.

"I know of a few phrases in different languages," he went on, "I learned them to make my job easier back home. I can say a few words in German, Italian and also in French. These words all have to do with fishing, so they are nothing special."

Isaac let out a content sigh before his eyes slipped closed again.

"Do you think the stars look any better from here?"

"I want a bonfire here," Isaac did, indeed, drape his arms over her hips - it was comfortable, and felt natural to do so. "And one on the beach sometime, too. But here, a private one. You and me and the stars, I think it would be very nice. Do you like marshmallows, Gretchen? I have a fondness for them."

His eyes remained closed, and he half-dozed.

"I want a crab boil on the beach," he continued a little dreamily, half-smiling.

"I have, yes," Isaac chuckled as he peered down at Gretchen. "Many times. They are my favorite, s'mores."

He was silent as she pressed her fingers along his jawline; if he'd been a dog, he'd have been kicking his leg. It felt like a remarkably long time since he'd been this close to someone, someone who didn't want anything more from him than his company.

"I know that we could," he whispered quietly, a slight smile tilting his lips. "I have the perfect place on the beach, and I have even started to dig a fire pit. The first chance I have I am taking leave and I am going grocery shopping."