Sharped Dressed Man [Ciram]

It had been a week since Saylor had thrown herself into his life. The past seven days had been full of a building friendship that made him feel complete for the first time in longer than he could remember. They had trained together, not risking a sparring match against one another yet but still taking the time to watch each other as they threw knives and spears, attempted to shoot arrows into a target, and tried to tie the other up in literal knots. He had laughed more than he had with Emery, and again and again he was struck by that fact. Even when he completely embarrassed himself with the bow and arrows, barely managing to hit the target let alone anywhere near the bulls-eye, it only left him making jokes about himself. There was a much more relaxed feeling to their friendship, the ability to make mistakes and the freedom to admit them that had never shown up when he was with Emery. The thought left him contemplative more than upset, a change that had not subtly crept up on him but had pounced like a tiger in the night - like Saylor had pounced at him that first day.

There was also a tension to it though, moments when he would find his mind grow too focused on her and his vision would land and rest on her face to slide lazily down her form. He felt tense at times, unsure of what he should do because he felt like there was something he should do other than laugh and play. Over and over he repeated his words to her that first day, and the words to himself. A promise to be friends, no hint of anything more. Or was there? The ghostly memory of her lips would touch him at times and it took more effort than he would have thought to keep it at bay. There had been a couple moments where he had almost given in and placed a hand on the side of her face to draw her lips to his. It wouldn't do, though, he had told her they would just be friends. Friends didn't kiss friends, not with the desire of never wanting to part. Not with the wish to do more than kiss.

Now he stood in front of a restaurant - a very fancy and expensive one that his mother had always sworn was the greatest place his father had ever taken her - his hands awkwardly tucked into the pockets of his dress pants. Glinting, a watch rested around his wrist, silver and elegant. He gritted his teeth as he looked at it, a flashing reminder that he wasn't in comfortable clothes. His shirt was a pale green, a colour that made his eyes spark and flash even brighter than the watch. They were filled with a sour misery, discomfort an itch on his side. The jacket he wore was in a classic style, tailored for his form and leaving him looking highly distinguished. Yet, for all his rich apparel, he couldn't help but wish he was dressed in training gear. Of course, he would not be allowed into the restaurant wearing such "common clothes" - not with the reputation they had to maintain as the district's prissiest place to eat.

He wasn't quite sure how it had come to this. It had started with him mentioning that he wanted to spend some time with her outside of training. They had talked it over for a bit, taking time to think about what they could do and what time they could do it at. Saylor had wanted to go to dinner with him, something he had considered himself but was a little nervous about asking. She had wanted it to be a fancy occasion where they would be able to dress up and have some fun. It had taken him by surprise some, but after a moment to process, he had found himself agreeing to take her to a nice dinner. With his mother's constant comparison of other eating places to this restaurant, Rolex figured this would be the place to go. It certainly looked fancy, and not a single person entering wore anything remotely like jeans and a t-shirt. For all he for completely acceptable clothes, he was beginning to full under-dressed.

Checking his watch for what felt like the fiftieth time tonight, he searched around for any sign of Saylor. Their reservation - this place was too popular not to have one - was for 5:30, the last check of his watch had revealed it was 5:19. He knew he was early, but from everything he knew about Saylor she was very precise about being on time. Surely she would be here by now. His foot tapped as a growing feeling of urgency pressed on him. She did know how to get here, right? Most people knew their way around the District and Saylor didn't seem the type to get herself lost. Another glance at his watch showed him 5:20. There was ten minutes for her to get her, he needed to breathe and relax. Hadn't it taken him longer to get here due to his fancy getup, Saylor might even be in high heels which could be slowing her progress down. All at once the realization that she might just be wearing a dress hit him. A slow flush crept over his face and he promised himself that he would not let his eyes wander.

Trying to calm his breath from the short gasps that had struck him, he stared at the ground in front of him as though using the ground's non-moving state to hold him steady. Finally composing himself again, he snuck another glance at his watch; 5:21. "Rolex!" The voice came from his left and he turned to look that way. Spotting Saylor making her way over to him he tried to keep his jaw from dropping, substituting for that he attempted to say something more respectable - something a friend would say. "Saylor, you look..." He couldn't really come up with anything nearly suitable. "You look really good." Friends can say that, right?