I move back a step so I can take him in. He’s wearing another green shirt, but this one is plain and short-sleeved, ink trailing down his arms. Dark jeans once more, fitted well enough to have been made for him. He smells good again, although it’s a scent I can’t identify. Looking at him and knowing that we’re about to go on a date makes me feel strange; it feels like my insides are reaching for him.
