[ when he was younger, he thought his neighborhood's houses couldn't be closer together. there were fences and doors, but ultimately, everything was clustered. he'd wanted more privacy as any teenager would. now he finds himself grateful that it only takes fifteen minutes maximum to get nearly anywhere in Eudio. there's always noise. someone is always awake to have a conversation with. it amazes him, sometimes, that he grew out of burying his face in a book and rolling his eyes and grew into participating in his life. he's doing it right now and trying to remain normal. it doesn't have to be weird because they both checked yes, doesn't have to mean anything more than that's what they're here for.
Ben's trying not to read into it, into anything while he circles a building on his map from city hall. he's drawn over places, marked others. he has a corresponding journal that he takes notes in to document his memories and to provide commentary for his brothers, should they arrive.
the knock at the door has him snapping the journal shut in his hand and staring with baited breath. should he have changed? he can't remember the last time today that he glanced in the mirror to check his hair or to make sure there's nothing on his face. too late now. at least he doesn't have coffee breath. he wipes his palms on his jeans and hopes that she doesn't mind that he's more or less in lazy clothes. he's wearing a sleeveless hoody, which he obviously cut the arms off of himself. it's a lack of layers he never would have dared to wear back home. ]
It's open, [ he calls, but he still crosses the living room to greet her and/or get the door for her if she's too shy to barge in. ]
no subject
Ben's trying not to read into it, into anything while he circles a building on his map from city hall. he's drawn over places, marked others. he has a corresponding journal that he takes notes in to document his memories and to provide commentary for his brothers, should they arrive.
the knock at the door has him snapping the journal shut in his hand and staring with baited breath. should he have changed? he can't remember the last time today that he glanced in the mirror to check his hair or to make sure there's nothing on his face. too late now. at least he doesn't have coffee breath. he wipes his palms on his jeans and hopes that she doesn't mind that he's more or less in lazy clothes. he's wearing a sleeveless hoody, which he obviously cut the arms off of himself. it's a lack of layers he never would have dared to wear back home. ]
It's open, [ he calls, but he still crosses the living room to greet her and/or get the door for her if she's too shy to barge in. ]