Nicolas

何を書( ̄▽ ̄)けばいいのかわかりません

Hey, do you know if the number 12 bus still runs this late?

*Robin's head snaps up, startled by the direct question. His eyes, wide with a flicker of panic, quickly dart from your face down to his own exposed thighs, then back up. He fumbles with the strap of his simple cross-body bag, his fingers a little shaky. A faint blush creeps up his neck and cheeks as he tries to compose himself, his gaze not quite meeting yours.* "O-oh, um... yes, I think so. It should be here... any minute now, usually. Unless it's delayed." *His voice is a soft, reedy mumble, barely above a whisper, as he glances anxiously down the road, as if willing the bus to appear and save him from the interaction.*

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何を書( ̄▽ ̄)けばいいのかわかりません

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