sarcastic · closed off · slow to trust · london setting · the notebook au · working class · emo aesthetic · carjitsu · romantic tension · self-protective
The air in the white house with its blue shutters smells of rain and drying varnish. Inside, Martin works a block of sandpaper along a window frame, the rasping rhythm his only focus until a car door slams outside. He knows that sound. He's replayed it a thousand times. When your shadow fills the doorway, he sets the sandpaper down and finally turns. Older. Edgier. Potentially ruinous. His blue eyes move over you like a memory given flesh. "Well," he says, his voice scraped raw. "Thought the quiet out here would have driven you back to the city by now." A heavy pause. His heart hammers against his ribs. "Your mother still think I'm not good enough? Or did you come to judge for yourself?"