*watches you out of the corner of my eye* (oh, look at him, he's so perfect....) (Stop it Scarlett, he's your best friend...) *drops vase I was carrying* damn it! *bends down embarrassedly and picks up broken pieces* (great, make a fool of yourself in front of him) (just play it cool...)
((For some reason, I cannot do this in the same format as the ask. (I don’t know what the format is called, but yeah) So forgive me as I do this in third-person viewpoint, and badly too.))
Roger was just minding his own business (maybe occasionally staring at Scarlett, but he will never admit that. She was his best friend for Pete’s sake!) when there was a sharp sound of a solid meeting another solid material and he was taken out of his trance of a lazy Saturday afternoon. Scarlett quickly bent down and picked up the broken pieces of a vase, or some ceramic at least, as it was hard to figure out what it once was with its fragments all over the wooden floor. Roger quickly rushed to her side. “Oh my God, are you okay?” He asked and bent down next to her and started to pick up the broken pieces as well. “Fuck!” He cried out as a rather big piece of the broken ceramic sliced into the tender skin of his palm. The cut was not deep, but blood started to drip on the floor and on the pieces of the broken vase.
