[ The cafe door chimes as Krouse pushes it open with his good arm, his left held stiffly at his side. He brushes his still-damp, too long bangs sideways as he beelines for the counter, his new oversized red hoodie left flipped up out of apathy more than intention.
It's been less than forty eight hours since he got out of the labyrinth, and he's spent most of them curled up in bed after his first shower to rinse off his patina of filth and loosen his stiff bandages. When he got this particular civic summons, he entertained a brief, dull fantasy of blowing it off, but forty-five minutes, a second shower, a cigarette, a change of clothes, and four ibuprofen on an empty stomach later, he's here. He accepts his mug of black coffee as the companion bot slides it over to him, then makes his belated first scan of the room.
When he spots a now-familiar shade of blonde, his stomach flips in a way that doesn't have anything to do with slowly dissolving painkillers. The jolt of relief catches him off guard in its suddenness and intensity, and he tightens his battered fingers around his coffee to ground himself.
Clarke's been a good ally. It shouldn't be surprising that he prefers seeing her in one piece. And it's not necessarily anything but a genuinely trivial coincidence they happen to be in the same place at the same time, given the presumably universally distributed invitations. The fact that he passes his name set down at another table on his way over to hers just affirms that. ]
Hey.
[ He stops behind the chair across from her, half-smiling gingerly to avoid reopening his split lower lip. There's a few days old shallow scrape across his left cheekbone like a fat highlighter emphasis of the hollowness of the rest of his face, the dark circles under his eyes as pronounced as if someone dug their thumbs in until it bruised, but his eyes lighten through their red-rimmed exhaustion as he takes her in. ]
Mind trying not to look so happy to be here? All the enthusiasm is really showing everyone else up.
ii. coffee hour
It's been less than forty eight hours since he got out of the labyrinth, and he's spent most of them curled up in bed after his first shower to rinse off his patina of filth and loosen his stiff bandages. When he got this particular civic summons, he entertained a brief, dull fantasy of blowing it off, but forty-five minutes, a second shower, a cigarette, a change of clothes, and four ibuprofen on an empty stomach later, he's here. He accepts his mug of black coffee as the companion bot slides it over to him, then makes his belated first scan of the room.
When he spots a now-familiar shade of blonde, his stomach flips in a way that doesn't have anything to do with slowly dissolving painkillers. The jolt of relief catches him off guard in its suddenness and intensity, and he tightens his battered fingers around his coffee to ground himself.
Clarke's been a good ally. It shouldn't be surprising that he prefers seeing her in one piece. And it's not necessarily anything but a genuinely trivial coincidence they happen to be in the same place at the same time, given the presumably universally distributed invitations. The fact that he passes his name set down at another table on his way over to hers just affirms that. ]
Hey.
[ He stops behind the chair across from her, half-smiling gingerly to avoid reopening his split lower lip. There's a few days old shallow scrape across his left cheekbone like a fat highlighter emphasis of the hollowness of the rest of his face, the dark circles under his eyes as pronounced as if someone dug their thumbs in until it bruised, but his eyes lighten through their red-rimmed exhaustion as he takes her in. ]
Mind trying not to look so happy to be here? All the enthusiasm is really showing everyone else up.