all he was doing was minding his own pleasant business, as obviously pleasant as it was. when someone had looks that were as AMAZING as his you couldn’t possibly allow the view of ugly homeless people to ruin your day. needless to say he was not paying attention, blinded by his overwhelming amount of arrogance, as usual. but he couldn’t possibly be at fault her. SHE had run into HIM. he was about to open his mouth to tell the little thing off, when he caught a glimpse of her face before she frantically went for the broken medieval contraption. she was PRETTY. the random street girl was pretty. his attitude took an instant change, what appears to be a kind smile curving onto his lips. ❝ Don’t be sorry —it was my fault. Let me help you with that. ❞ against his better judgement he bends down to pick up the broken pieces of her sad writing tool. ❝ —Let me buy you another one. ❞
at least he was NICE. rapunzel was worried he'd start yelling at her, or something. even though it took TWO people to cause this, and if she was at fault, he was right up there with her. but he doesn't yell, which is a little surprising. rapunzel always took these rich guys as the yelling type. mostly because they have, in fact, yelled at her. ‘ it's okay, you don't–––– ’ but he's already down with her. she pulls her fingers away, trying not to look so sentimental about a typewriter. but this…this one was IMPORTANT. this was the only thing that'd ever been hers, back when she lived with mother. it survived. so did she. and now–––– rapunzel's so caught up in her thoughts, she almost misses his words. ‘ w–––––what? no, no way, it's. it's going to be like, two hundred dollars or something. ’ but she offers a smile, just the barest upturn of lips, but s o m e t h i n g about it is reminiscent to sunshine, warm and sweet.
‘ don't–––don't worry about it. i'll take it home and, and fix it. really. sorry again, and––––––thank you. it's alright, though! really. ’ she scoops up the two bigger pieces, waits for him to hand her the third.
