you may say that i'm a dreamer
You shake your head at Oia sympathetically, also not understanding why they would choose such an unpleasant place for such a pleasant activity. You try not to focus too hard on the straight edges and hard lines, the unnatural cleanliness of it and the way it all smells dead. Instead you focus on Oia's hand in yours, keeping yourself calm so she is, too, as you find a spot near the back of the room from which to listen to the lecture.
Looking rather pointedly out of place as you perch upon your chair, you try not to tap your fingers on the desk too loudly. You are entirely unequipped with any sort of notebook or writing utensil, but you trust Oia to record every word said verbatim: you've always been more of a visual learner, anyway, and for someone so air-headed your memory is remarkably reliable.
Looking rather pointedly out of place as you perch upon your chair, you try not to tap your fingers on the desk too loudly. You are entirely unequipped with any sort of notebook or writing utensil, but you trust Oia to record every word said verbatim: you've always been more of a visual learner, anyway, and for someone so air-headed your memory is remarkably reliable.
