Footsteps draw nearer, until they’re close enough to be proof of approach, shortly after which a figure moves with practiced, feline grace into the seat just beside him. Contrary to the modest, sweet scent that follows her, this is obviously a creature of confidence. Jacket swallows. There’s a nervousness drying his throat that might not ordinarily be there, but as his visible condition makes clear, he’s had a rough week.
Finally, his eyes flicker toward the stranger, but only briefly and without meeting her gaze. Long, blonde hair, and bright eyes that are scrutinizing him with the same concern carried in her voice. Jacket averts his gaze for his drink. “.. No,” his voice comes out a little softer than he had meant it to, prompting a small knit in his brows. He swallows again. “Why?” It seems a serious question. He at last turns his head to look the stranger in the face then, though the weary, vaguely anxious expression that quickly bleeds into his features makes it appear almost physically painful for him to make eye contact.
Jacket could be somewhat clumsy at social etiquette on the best of days. This was far from the best of days.
his gaze cuts through hers like a knife, yet a tension settles itself in the air around her ; around them. part of it lays in the pit of her stomach as she moves away, only to save a few centimeters of comfort in his name as her gaze tilts downward, lashes fluttering as her visage takes on a more thoughtful expression. she sees all -- the bob of his adam’s apple when he swallows, the uneasiness resting in his body language, and the unintended softness in his voice.
she is gentle with him, careful not to push nor pull in the current time. she follows where he looks ( specifically, the half and a bit more-emptied bottle ). his question strikes her as rather broad.
❝ i’d think you’d know that better than me. somethin` on ya mind ? i don’t mind lendin` an ear. ❞
and when he looks at her, it causes an unfamiliar pang within the confines of her chest. she carefully studies his features ; sees the exhaustion bordering his handsome features, the anxiety riddling him. fingernails tap gently on the glass, rosy lips pressed against the cup as she takes a sip, a gently, laughter bubbling up for the sake of an effort to lighten the mood.
❝ i like to think i’m kinda` good at readin` people. sorta. ❞
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