Frankie startled at the man’s loud exclamation. She supposed it wasn’t entirely unwarranted – she had whacked him with her hardback, after all – but that wouldn’t stop her from looking affronted all the same. She scowled at his choice of words, even as he tried to backpedal and explain himself. Was it completely unreasonable for her to want to put as much distance between herself and a potential threat? Or to defend herself, for that matter!
Again, that really wasn’t what she was doing. But he didn’t need to know that.
Her brow arched at his half-assed defence, and she merely scowled in response. He really didn’t understand why she might be a little alarmed at him suddenly approaching her? Had he been living under a rock where other men didn’t exist, or was here simply a raging misogynist himself with no real prospect of his own, bullshit patriarchal notions? She assumed it was either the latter, or he was a total fucking buffoon. And judging by how things were going, she wondered if it might actually be both.
“I’m not hostile, and your hand is fine,” Frank scoffed, rolling her eyes indignantly. She had no idea who he was calling pretty, so she shook her head and fixed him with a pointed, withering stare. “Don’t approach young women on their own and reach for their things if you don’t want them to be on guard.”
His grumpy remark did make her pause for thought, however, as she dipped her head to the side momentarily and took him in. It was entirely possible that they were on the same flight, if the current state of her own flight was anything to go by. The waiting lounge was growing emptier and emptier by the minute, holidaymakers disappearing off towards their intended gate, no doubt gearing up for a lovely trip on a flight that wasn’t delayed. There didn’t seem to be many flight issues other than her own, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. The last thing she needed right now was for him to know her destination – particularly if he was a secret serial killer scoping out his next victim.
“Are you always this dramatic? Your hand looks fine, and you’re the one that started bothering me, uninvited,” she pointed out, feeling no shame at all for the minor injury she’d inflicted. Growing up with scrappy siblings did that to you.
"I don't think that's up to you to decide." he scowled, gingerly running his fingers over his reddened knuckles. They did feel pretty sore to the touch. "What are you, a Doctor as well as a Shakespearian... classicist, or something?"
He gestured to the book in irritation, trying not to feel pleased at his retort. It had sounded pretty good in his head, although he wasn't entirely sure what you called someone who studied Shakespeare like... professionally. The closest he'd gotten to Shakespeare was being whacked by a rather weighty tome. That, and the time Miss. Block had simplified a version of A Midsummer Night's Dream for their Year 2s and 3s. They'd looked so bloody cute in the fairy wings and donkey costumes.
"I didn't realise I was especially threatening." he said. The whole cherubic curls and cute cat thing usually marked him as safe amongst women, but clearly it would take a whole lot more to get around this one.
He glanced around the airport as she did, his eyes landing on the boarding screen. It appeared his flight showed no signs of budging whatsoever, and she'd yet to answer his question. He should probably make a show of getting up to go for a coffee, or wandering around to look for his gate... anything to escape the company of this girl who clearly didn't want him around.
"Sort of, yes." he stated, and before he thought better of it, he held out his injured hand to her. "I'm Fraser. Well, I'm Evan."
He raised an eyebrow at her.
"It's just a handshake, I'm not gonna try and nick your purse."
