He swears the man goes through a dozen of them a day.
There’s a rapping, a tapping- often times a snapping- of wood against the desk top, the restless rhythms muffling against paper, against computer, against thigh and cushion and carpet alike.
He risks a glance in the sudden stillness, sees the golden hour painting itself in hazel irises and imagines what could be so fascinating in the indiscernible skyline.
Goldenrod rests delicately on bruised pink lips, a flash of white teeth sinking ever-so-slightly into the wood.
He quickly turns his focus away, fingers clinging to his own flaxen lifeline.
It’s with dawning horror he sees his notepad is coated in a series of Cs.
He swears the man goes through a dozen of them a day.
There’s a rapping, a tapping- often times a snapping- of wood against the desk top, the restless rhythms muffling against paper, against computer, against thigh and cushion and carpet alike.
He risks a glance in the sudden stillness, sees the golden hour painting itself in hazel irises and imagines what could be so fascinating in the indiscernible skyline.
Goldenrod rests delicately on bruised pink lips, a flash of white teeth sinking ever-so-slightly into the wood.
He quickly turns his focus away, fingers clinging to his own flaxen lifeline.
It’s with dawning horror he sees his notepad is coated in a series of Cs.