admittedly, a couple of hours back, you weren’t a hundred percent sure you wanted to do this — hell, you weren’t even sure it was safe. she seemed nice, but the almost creepy kind — with her single-worded text replies and her slightly off-putting ways overall.

but, god, you couldn’t have been more wrong.

abby anderson, despite her knowledge in technology being slightly less than most, was one hell of an expert in smooth talk. a couple of drinks in, with the alcohol warming your cheeks and sending a gentle thrum of life through your body, her features seemed all that much more accentuated under the warm lighting of the restaurant that held the memories of her childhood.

from the bump in the bridge of her nose from times far more reckless and young, to the freckles smattered across her face and down to the hemline of her shirt (at least, that was all you saw), to the slight strain of her muscles beneath that pale blouse, you were relatively sure that whichever god was up there had just hand-crafted this woman and sent her down to yours truly.

and from that gentle smile and nod she’d given you just now, that slow look of nothing but appreciation and curiosity, you sure as hell weren’t leaving.

“so.. what now?” she asked, breaking the faint clutter of cutlery and dishes with her voice, lower now to accustom for the lack of people, having mostly gone home for the night. “i can take you home if you want, or… come to mine?”