George
The pattern George was working on was complex and required a great deal of concentration; there were knit stitches, purl stitches, dropped stitches, and everything in between, and he was so fixed on what he was doing that he almost didn't hear the door open. Indeed, when El's voice cut through the quiet, it was only through a great deal of self-control that he managed to keep hold of his needles. Truthfully, they had seen each other so little that he'd nearly forgotten they were staying with him. But before he could do anything about it, they were there in the living room, and he was sitting there with his knitting, and there was nothing to do or say about the situation other than to accept it as it was.
Using a colored placeholder, he made a mental note of where he'd gotten to in the pattern and tagged his place before setting the piece aside, leveling a crooked grin at them. Was he embarrassed? Perhaps a little. Was he going to show it? Absolutely not. "Hello, love," he said with all of his usual cocky confidence (even if he was dying a little, inside), as though unbothered by his sudden vulnerability. "How was the beach?"
Using a colored placeholder, he made a mental note of where he'd gotten to in the pattern and tagged his place before setting the piece aside, leveling a crooked grin at them. Was he embarrassed? Perhaps a little. Was he going to show it? Absolutely not. "Hello, love," he said with all of his usual cocky confidence (even if he was dying a little, inside), as though unbothered by his sudden vulnerability. "How was the beach?"
