When the cat's away, the mice will... do mousey things, like make sure the coast is clear for the 11th time before making the choice to get the hell on with it. In other words, Navy man went bye-bye and Tim slipped into Kate's peripheral because it seemed like a good idea at the time.
With the clock ticking and his own self-awareness rising to dangerous levels threatening common sense, he clears his throat. "Hey! Kate. One sec--"
He digs a hand into his coat pocket. Then digs into the other coat pocket because he's a dunce at times who forgets simple things and he totally didn't misplace--
anyway, he's still talking because otherwise he'll get all flustered or whatever. A chatty, automatic, chipper kind of voice that's not all too out of place in a high school rotunda between classes. He says, "You know how we find pieces like snapshots of the town, before--" He thinks, well that's a depressing turn already. He course corrects and wonders what the fuck compelled him to open his mouth at all.
"Okay, look, I'm bad at this. I don't know if Christmas is a big thing for you."
Master detective that he is.
He presents a... thing with a hat in the open palm of a hand. Tim's expression is screwed into appropriate apprehension of his dumbassery. And his tone follows suit. He explains, "I was breaking down some cabinets in the house and found this little dude."
He assumes it's a dude because it has no pants.
"I tried to clean it up a little, but anyway, I thought of you, and I, uh."
How to say you're sorry without ever feeling sorry, and definitely without ever saying the word.
Tim has apparently run out of words; he's not used to... sincerity, or spur of the moment things, and he wonders if he's as flushed as he is tongue tied. He (lamely) offers up the... toy? decorative item? again, and looks like he's ready to bolt.
Confident that the poor girl will be trained to not reject an olive branch outright, Tim says a very shy kind of, "Merry Christmas?"
The. fucking. end.
"I swear it's not a cat toy, it just looks like one because of how small it is."
shh........ dec 27th??? random af
With the clock ticking and his own self-awareness rising to dangerous levels threatening common sense, he clears his throat. "Hey! Kate. One sec--"
He digs a hand into his coat pocket. Then digs into the other coat pocket because he's a dunce at times who forgets simple things and he totally didn't misplace--
anyway, he's still talking because otherwise he'll get all flustered or whatever. A chatty, automatic, chipper kind of voice that's not all too out of place in a high school rotunda between classes. He says, "You know how we find pieces like snapshots of the town, before--" He thinks, well that's a depressing turn already. He course corrects and wonders what the fuck compelled him to open his mouth at all.
"Okay, look, I'm bad at this. I don't know if Christmas is a big thing for you."
Master detective that he is.
He presents a... thing with a hat in the open palm of a hand. Tim's expression is screwed into appropriate apprehension of his dumbassery. And his tone follows suit. He explains, "I was breaking down some cabinets in the house and found this little dude."
He assumes it's a dude because it has no pants.
"I tried to clean it up a little, but anyway, I thought of you, and I, uh."
How to say you're sorry without ever feeling sorry, and definitely without ever saying the word.
Tim has apparently run out of words; he's not used to... sincerity, or spur of the moment things, and he wonders if he's as flushed as he is tongue tied. He (lamely) offers up the... toy? decorative item? again, and looks like he's ready to bolt.
Confident that the poor girl will be trained to not reject an olive branch outright, Tim says a very shy kind of, "Merry Christmas?"
The. fucking. end.
"I swear it's not a cat toy, it just looks like one because of how small it is."