*˖ ⊹ for all the panicking he did leading up to this moment, following dixie through the small, overcrowded cafe henry is oddly calm. the overthinking has settled and the feeling of her slender fingers brushing ever-so-slightly against his arm does wonders for his grating, anxious nerves. even still, however, there's a little voice murmuring in the back of his mind, as irritating as a ticking clock, reminding him that this isn't sustainable. this person that henry is pretending to be ── the kind of person who goes on dates ( plural ?! ) with pretty women distractedly dressed in cheerful yellow, who makes subtle innuendos instead of searing insults, who purposefully seeks out company instead of simply suffering on his own ── that isn't him. but it's nice, in a fucked up kind of way, to feel like maybe he doesn't have to be him, and instead he can play dress up as a better, superior model of himself ( a model, maybe, who wouldn't ice out just about every person in his life because it's easier than admitting his own vulnerability. ) so for now he holds open the door to the cafe to let her step outside, free hand wrapped around the takeout mug of coffee, letting himself pretend to be someone he isn't for her because it beats out the crushing weight of loneliness that waits for him in the quiet of his office at home. " why did you suggest coffee if you weren't going to get coffee ? " the question, which sounds slightly accusatory with his naturally dry inflection, comes from a place of genuine confusion. henry follows her onto the street, lingering rays of golden summer sun filtering through the tall, expensive morningside apartment buildings and his hand finds it's way to his pocket. " me and my debilitating caffeine addiction thank you, but... ── we could have done something else. " / DIXIE ( @overwhlcmed )
kianamaiart
theartofmadeline
turnnoffyourmind
