[At least one of their hearts is hammering properly. What's the same, though, is how Ryder is also holding things close, her book probably crushing the graham crackers a bit between it and her chest, and the glass of mostly-drunk water held like she expects it to start flailing like a caught fish.
He's not what she expected, but at the same time she has no damn clue what she expected. Some things fit? And other things fit some other version of him half-imagined? But these two halves are put together to make a whole person and 2+2 is not adding up to 4 in her head. As preoccupied as she is, she looks almost surprised when he speaks again.]
Huh? Oh. [Right!] The...one with the bookcase.
[...]
Are you old?
[Ryder knows he can't remember his age exactly and all, but he should know that much, right? This is what her focus has decided to target, because it's not at all something that could add to how awkward this could possibly be.]
no subject
He's not what she expected, but at the same time she has no damn clue what she expected. Some things fit? And other things fit some other version of him half-imagined? But these two halves are put together to make a whole person and 2+2 is not adding up to 4 in her head. As preoccupied as she is, she looks almost surprised when he speaks again.]
Huh? Oh. [Right!] The...one with the bookcase.
[...]
Are you old?
[Ryder knows he can't remember his age exactly and all, but he should know that much, right? This is what her focus has decided to target, because it's not at all something that could add to how awkward this could possibly be.]