That One Time with the Sandwiches
Ariadne has spent the last twenty minutes of her Renaissance Architecture and Urbanism lecture glancing at her watch and tapping her foot, much to the annoyance of several of her classmates. When the professor finally closes his folder and dismisses them, she swallows and edges past students gathering notes and binders, a few snapping laptops closed. Stepping out the door, she slings her satchel over her shoulder, looking up and down the hallway as she tries to decide where he would opt to wait for her. The courtyard seems a pretty obvious option, but it's out of the way of the facade of the school, and she's really not sure if he would step past the facade.
When in doubt, she thinks, pulling her phone from the front pocket of her bag, check your phone. And, lo and behold, she has a voicemail. From Arthur. Which she proceeds to listen to.
"Outside the architecture building--that makes a lot more sense than the front entrance. Good job, Ariadne," she mutters, putting her phone away. She heads for the stairs, going down two flights, walking a little faster than she usually would. It's been a long two weeks, and she's been pretty amazed by how much she misses the workspace and dreaming and whatnot. And Arthur. And Dom, too, she's not going to lie. But mostly Arthur. Hence her motive for calling him.
She opens the door, scanning the little pseudo-courtyard in front of the building, and oh hey, there he is. She swallows again and tries rather ineffectively to smile.
"I just want to make it clear that I was not asking you out," she says, shifting her bag on her shoulder, tucking hair behind her ear, doing pretty much everything in her power to not stand still.
When in doubt, she thinks, pulling her phone from the front pocket of her bag, check your phone. And, lo and behold, she has a voicemail. From Arthur. Which she proceeds to listen to.
"Outside the architecture building--that makes a lot more sense than the front entrance. Good job, Ariadne," she mutters, putting her phone away. She heads for the stairs, going down two flights, walking a little faster than she usually would. It's been a long two weeks, and she's been pretty amazed by how much she misses the workspace and dreaming and whatnot. And Arthur. And Dom, too, she's not going to lie. But mostly Arthur. Hence her motive for calling him.
She opens the door, scanning the little pseudo-courtyard in front of the building, and oh hey, there he is. She swallows again and tries rather ineffectively to smile.
"I just want to make it clear that I was not asking you out," she says, shifting her bag on her shoulder, tucking hair behind her ear, doing pretty much everything in her power to not stand still.