[ oh my god these spam messages are so— gauche. and it’s almost difficult to keep these on read when they don’t stop. plenty of pauses and some asking later, a young man of eighteen, just bordering his next year makes it to the front of a sunset bakery. when he types, he hardly does it with his thumbs; he’s using a stiff index finger to poke at every letter he needs, occasionally clicking his tongue when he types at the wrong one, but doesn’t give up in locating the backspace to try again. ]
I HAVE WHAT I NEED
[ there, even if it took ten whole minutes. now he can look up to get a better view at the awning, adjusting his fedora to give him visual space. he certainly looks like eren— sans any draconic features. his face seems just a touch softer, his hair at chin length rather than to his shoulders, and . . . well. he’s zoning out right then and there. that, or he’s taking his time with his observations. ]
no subject
I HAVE WHAT I NEED
[ there, even if it took ten whole minutes. now he can look up to get a better view at the awning, adjusting his fedora to give him visual space. he certainly looks like eren— sans any draconic features. his face seems just a touch softer, his hair at chin length rather than to his shoulders, and . . . well. he’s zoning out right then and there. that, or he’s taking his time with his observations. ]