“ sorry. ” he was sprawled out over the bench, legs stretched out and arms resting over his lap as he paged through his notebook. blank, unfinished checklists - he should really get eggs - and doodles at the corners of pages. shifting as the other seems to stand before him, head tipped towards his stuff, all starting to shove it to the side in an awkward mess, when he looks up at the other man. he’s huge, and he looks like someone out of game of thrones or maybe a NIKE campaign. “ sorry ... ” truly living up to his canadian heritage then, shifting over on the seat to give him enough space. reorganising his things on the table before him. ( for some reason, he thinks the other man rings a bell. ) “ about that. it’s like super early so, i wasn’t thinkin’ there’d be traffic. ” his fingers go to trace the frayed edges of his open notebook. “ you don’t mind me askin’, ” yes, maxwell, he does, “ but have i seen you around? ” // @detectivegoldstein