#cemrexduymaz

The following days after Halloween were just as uneventful and lazy as Silas expected them to be, all by design. Every year he tacks onto his age, every year he puts more wear and tear on his body that is increasingly less tolerant of it, means he needs even longer to recuperate from a full night (and early morning) of partying. So, he's slowly but surely easing himself back into his routine, starting with a late morning coffee run.

But, a simple visit to one's local coffee shop is more difficult than it needs to be. He supposes he should've expected it with all of the one-on-one reunions he's been having as of late, however he doesn't, and he just barely manages to school his expression when he spots Cemre.

It'd be easy to grab his coffee and leave, it really would be, but he made some sort of vow to stop taking the coward's way out. A real 'come to Jesus' moment. So, instead, he mans the fuck up (as his father would tell him to do), grabs his coffee, and... approaches Cemre.

Silas is running late for... a lot of things, actually. Or, not exactly late, but he's put off quite a few tasks that should've been completed sooner before his shift in a couple of hours. As such, he's running around quite frantically, having just gotten out of the shower to at least begin getting ready for his day.

Unfortunately, he's forgotten one crucial detail—it's not just Asa and him anymore. No, they have an entire guest, who he doesn't expect to be in the living room when he steps out of the bathroom with nothing covering him up. He's almost positive she'd been out walking the dog, that maybe he had more time. Turns out he's completely fucking wrong.

"Shit! Sorry!" With that, he's disappearing into the main bedroom, though damage is already done and plenty has been seen. Still, he can at least pretend to have some decorum about him as he quickly tugs on a pair of pants, shortly returning to the living room.

Silas is fucking frantic, running around like a chicken with its head cut off. He's trying to make sure everything is perfect, or as close as it can be. Once upon a time, he didn't care about a clean, organized space to live in, and he much less entertained the idea of company; let alone renting out a room in his apartment. Oh, the times, they are a-changin'.

In record timing and with a final glance over the sizable apartment, tidied up and with the animals put safely away, he hears a knock on the door. Deep breath, asshole, and don't scare her away, is his final thought before he unlocks and opens the door with a friendly smile.

Sexual attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Romantic attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Aesthetic attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Sensual attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Emotional attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Intellectual attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme

@cemrexduymaz

The ex-agent has been sitting for a bit, just drinking and watching out the window - a brief break from the madness of all the people chatting and rubbing elbows. He's just about to get up when something feathery hits the window, hard, and startles him. The thankfully close-to-empty glass goes flying and gets him in the shirt, and he puts a hand to his chest, looking to the nearest bystander who might've experienced the same thing. "Oh- oh my god... what was that? A fucking pigeon?" He's laughing before he can help himself.

Awkward. It's fucking awkward, Silas has decided, to essentially agree to a lunch date with one's ex. But, he's here and he's even made reservations, because imagine how fucked up it would be to suggest a restaurant and wait an hour and a half just to be seated. As if he needs help making shit worse than he already does.

He's opted for The Smith, sent her the address and time and everything else, even though it's all overpriced and he's going to favor liquor more than food. He already has, actually, while waiting at their table for her and sipping on his lychee gimlet.

Communication: Please Don’t Talk To Me | Talking To You Is Okay | You Talk Too Much | I Wish We’d Talk More | Our Convos Are Balanced | I Love Talking To You | Never Stop Talking To Me Friendship: Strangers | Awkward | Just Met | Working On It | Good Friends | Best Friends | A Little More Than Friends Datability: No | Not Sure | Never Gave It Any Thought | Probably Wouldn’t Work | Maybe | Let’s Give It A Shot | Absolutely | Marry Me Attractiveness: Ugly | Just Not My Type | Undecided | Cute | Very Attractive | Drop Dead Gorgeous | Nosebleed

[SMS 11:37 PM - UNSENT]: Do you ever wonder what our lives would be like if I hadn't fucked everything up? [SMS 11:39 PM - UNSENT]: I don't know. That's a stupid fucking question, entertaining these fucking what ifs. [SMS 11:41 PM - UNSENT]: One of these days I'll be able to put into words, into actions, how fucking sorry I am.