And just like that, Maxwell had a name to latch on to. A name with such a perfect letter right at the start. A harsh chuckle escaped his lips as his mind sifted back to the earlier remark.
“Ah yes… yes, indeed… maybe it is possible to go back. But then again, if I remembered how to go back, I don’t think I would know how. Or perhaps the scientists simply decided that they weren’t interested in me for the moment. In all honesty, I have no idea how I got back… or how I came back here… in fact, considering how arbitrary the whole situation was, perhaps I didn’t leave at all and simply was dreaming the entire thing. You know… possibilities.”
Once more though, Maxwell again invaded that personal space, so intrigued by such a name.
“But yes… Winter… lovely name… lovely season. So cold and beautiful. My, my, your parents must’ve had good taste in names…”
Superficially identical rows of nightshade bristles promptly make to acquaint themselves with each other so as to willfully enable a harsh glare to devour the sight of the solitary male. Some would kindly call it bravery, but she prefers to think of it as foolhardiness that he has so willingly demonstrated.
❝ Did I NOT just insist on you addressing me by my surname? ❞
Although it is not unusual for one to receive an uplifting compliment upon revealing their forename, she has never before encountered one with an unconcealed fondness for a mere name - one that was not personally selected. Besides, the enthusiasm that practically glides past his lips is indescribably unnerving as he is unabashedly surpassing what would doubtlessly be considered acceptable behavior by most. Even if the manner in which he speaks of the season itself faultlessly illuminates an outlook that has already been adopted by plenty of individuals, to continue expressing such seemingly unwarranted fascination is truly unwise.
❝ Is there a reason why you seem to be so taken with it? ❞