A clock on the wall ticked past seven when Lucas arrived, sliding behind the wheel of a spotless car painted deep blue. The inside carried a soft hint of vanilla, lingering near the seats.
Far from Daniel's car - where stale pages mixed with spilled brew, its rear floor littered with dog-eared psychology papers.
Fine then, Brooklyn. Enough of measuring up against others. Just pause that habit right now.
Beautiful, you are, Lucas remarked when I climbed inside. Dressed in black denim with a collared top, he had clearly spent time on how things sat - hair combed just so, as if moments mattered more than usual. A glance showed everything without needing words.
Unlike Daniel - whose clothes always fit just right - he turned even messy dressing into something deliberate. His sloppy style? A quiet kind of mastery.
Stop. It.
"Thanks. You clean up nice too."
