the chatter was a CACOPHONY of distraction, inside the bar. Oliver preferred his own mini-bar to the chaos of laughing and chided voices that often filled his peripheral whenever he stepped into one of these crowded establishments, but today had been particularly stressful----- still no breakthrough on his charge, and his thinly veiled patience were beginning to wear. dark irises lift from the scribbled notes he'd jotted down in his journal earlier, focusing on the brunette who'd just taken a seat beside him; he observed, gaze lingering in all facets of teetering comfort zones, before taking a gauged sip of his martini.
'long day?
he placates a warm smile, cloys the HOLLOW void pitched beneath it as nimble digits casually close the small leather-bound book to avoid any over-the-shoulder, unwarranted reading. patient confidentiality, after all.
