FINN
Stormy eyes flick across to the doorway at the sound of October, and while Finn's smile crinkles the corners of his eyes more than it's visible behind his scarf, it's nonetheless genuine. His coat is off by now, and he stands quietly by to allow her to unwind the scarf, revealing stubbled cheeks made rosy by the cold and the softest suggestions of dimples. "I think it went well," he murmurs, as he always does. Unless he doesn't think it went well, in which case he says it was fine.
"Somebody asked if I would teach their son how to play," he continues, ducking out from beneath the loops of fabric and ruffling his curls out. "I didn't know what to say, so I told them I would check with you." Which is awkward and lame and entirely true. "How was your day?"
"Somebody asked if I would teach their son how to play," he continues, ducking out from beneath the loops of fabric and ruffling his curls out. "I didn't know what to say, so I told them I would check with you." Which is awkward and lame and entirely true. "How was your day?"
