[ He promised he'd be free at seven and it's only seven-fifteen by the time he's approaching beautifully painted and well-lit streets, hands in his pockets and shoulders tensed. Is he here yet? Where, exactly? Both of those questions he doesn't have answers to and he's not too keen on messaging him right away to get them. Better to breathe, get his bearings, and not focus too much of his attention on remembering the anger he hasn't been able to get out of his mind.
It's a scarring thing, one that he can still feel echoes of like the stinging of a brand -- how can anything be that intense?
His hands are shoved deeper into his pockets as blue eyes scan the immediate area, not spotting red hair, but--
CLOSED TO ARANEA AND ARDYN
It's a scarring thing, one that he can still feel echoes of like the stinging of a brand -- how can anything be that intense?
His hands are shoved deeper into his pockets as blue eyes scan the immediate area, not spotting red hair, but--
There is someone familiar. ]
Aranea?