he looked like a ghost, bathed in the light of glowing business signs and nearby streetlamps. an apparition, wondering around the busy streets, probably aimlessly going in and out of bars and whatever else looked exciting with a group of eager friends. it seemed like the sort of thing he’d be doing, attracting a crowd of admirers with that superlative-winning smile. he looked like a ghost and, well, drom was a fan of ghosts. they had intrigue. at once they felt both intimately close and entirely unfamiliar. close, but far, separated by a divide she, for one, felt comfortable with. the notion, if explained aloud, would probably come across all too dramatic, but for andromeda it was but a passing thought. a simple comparison. how else was someone supposed to react to seeing a person they at one point saw almost constantly, then in the blink of an eye—with the turn of one’s body and walk out of one door—not at all? especially when they didn’t, hadn’t, seen you back? she half-expected the image of him to disappear entirely with the passing of a car or growing crowd of bodies, but he didn’t. dawson flynn remained in clear view, not that many feet ahead.
for a moment she considered leaving it be, allowing him to pass like a fleeting memory. she could’ve easily dropped back into the conversation her two friends at her left had carried since they left a nearby restaurant and set out for somewhere to get a drink. but something—the plain amusement of how he might react upon seeing her in person again, probably—propelled her forward at a slightly faster pace. “hey, i’ll be right back,” she told her friends, moving past them with as little as an understanding nod in response. then, once she’d considerably closed the gap, but was still a few feet behind him, she called out, “hey, flynn!” it came across in the way that one’s voice did when they were merely pointing something out to someone. casual. not at all like it’d been years since they said goodbye and she dropped communicating entirely. despite herself, she smiled.
