@finaelfright | soft sc.
"Yᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ, I think it's possible we almost met 'fore we did."
The light tap-tap of the keyboard comes to a halt as he leans back, thinking, watching her and her coffee mug, hair bright in the light and wild over her shoulders, and the fondness at the view that expands in his chest is nearly unbearable, so he attempts to hide himself for a second behind his own mug, only to find that apparently his coffee evaporated while he was working. Or he just doesn't remember drinking it; there's only ever two moods he has when writing anything, and that are a total focus that ignores the rest of the world, or letting his thoughts drift way too far. Option A faded into B here, which is how he came to think of it.
"I don't usually do anythin' in that area, but I remember there bein' a fashion show thin' that a colleague I owed couldn't attend but still wanted notes on. An' pictures, mostly pictures, 'cause "my takes on fashion 're garbage", accordin' to her." Pen lightly tapped against his lower lip. When did he get a pen? He doesn't remember. "I don't remember much 'cause, truth be told, it didn't interest me much, but I think I might vaguely remember you bein' a designer. About, uh... nine years ago? Miami Fashion Week?"
