In my stomach is butterflies

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame Years before he would’ve snagged the opportunity to bolt – presently, he stood along the threshold, studying the exterior of the building, and then the rest of the street, gaze flickering along the snow-winding paths, nodding at passersby or granting brief conversations with those more familiar (or daring). The sign gave him pause though, with an inquiry upon the latter, rather than anything ‘cozy’, for such guidance could hold a wide parameter of things. She’d been quick though, and before he could reflect more on the possibilities she’d sprung back out of the confines. His gaze went to the tray, eyes widening slightly at the options, eternally inclined and won over by snacks. “Thank you. I will take the tea.” He didn’t recognize the herbal notes, but appreciated the warmth of steam rising over, and the hint of blueberries lodged in the scone. Tucking both gratefully into his palms, he tilted his head ever-so-slightly, giving the air of boyishness and curiosity over all the lines of carefully crafted nonchalance. “What sort of counseling will you be offering?” master of nothing place; of recoil and grace