He climbs into the booth and she slides back to make room without thinking, her mouth warm against his as she kisses him back. It's natural and familiar and Fred doesn't question it, at least at first. Her books and fresh cup of coffee are forgotten on the table, and she's find it it hard to care.
Fred knows it's kinda crazy to think, but she can't help but think that he almost feels like home. There's something about snow, and shoes that pinch her feet, and it's like when something's right on the tip of your tongue and you just can't put your finger on it, a fleeting memory that Fred can't quite grasp.
She pulls away again, and pushes him away, palms on both his shoulders as she slides further into the booth.
"Okay, but how do you know me? This doesn't make any sense. I know that I've met you before— before Darrow, I mean— and I know that we've... I know that we've done that before, but how?"
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Fred knows it's kinda crazy to think, but she can't help but think that he almost feels like home. There's something about snow, and shoes that pinch her feet, and it's like when something's right on the tip of your tongue and you just can't put your finger on it, a fleeting memory that Fred can't quite grasp.
She pulls away again, and pushes him away, palms on both his shoulders as she slides further into the booth.
"Okay, but how do you know me? This doesn't make any sense. I know that I've met you before— before Darrow, I mean— and I know that we've... I know that we've done that before, but how?"