It'd occurred to Abel a handful of times that this probably seemed - uncouth. He'd hung out with Freya enough times since their breakup, in groups or even just the two of them in a more reasonable space. All rationale seemed to choke him up and leave the building now that they were actually across from each other at a fancy Italian restaurant. There were candles and a bouquet of decorum roses on the table. But he still wanted to be here, because try as he might to do good, Abel was still inherently selfish, especially when it came to Freya. "You look really pretty. I feel like a schmuck." Taking a tentative sip of his wine - he'd let Freya pick the bottle, despite knowing their tastes heavily differed, far too dry for his liking - Abel rearranged his cutlery for the fifth time in about five minutes. He didn't do well with feeling shy, but it was cradled in abundance in a deep pocket even further than his core. "Are you okay? I don't think I can relax until I know I haven't - completely freaked you out. This place is a lot swankier than I was expecting. But I don't mind if you don't mind."
