The scowl deepened, instinctively stepping away from the female as one hand lifted to cuff where she had touched, as if having expecting her to leave a mark. “A…drink?” he repeated, slightly perplexed by the sudden offer. Jeez, was she trying to hit on him? Strange way of showing it. “Uh…yeah. Sure. I guess.”
"Lovely,“ She trailed a finger down his arm. "It’s this beautiful art gallery in the heart of downtown. It’s got imported wines from Greece…Italy…France–mm. There’s an accessible roof, too, best view of Chicago.” Lacing their hands together, she closed some of the distance between them. “You look like you could use some fun."
“Oi.” Cue a displeased scowl, roughly pulling his head from her grasp, lifting his hand to swat hers away. Perhaps he would be slightly turned on were this any other situation, but he wasn’t fond of the way that chill was running down his spine. “You’re messing with my hair, of course it does.”
“Don’t be a baby,” she teased, flicking his wrinkly forehead. Perhaps those ugly marks would look textured in gray. “Wanna grab a drink? I know a place that’s to die for. It’s so great, you wouldn’t even think of wanting to leave."
He recoiled a bit at her touch and arm muscles tensed in a start to swat her hand away yet no definite movement to do so was made. Only when her fingers found their way into his hair did expression appear to harden. “What’re you doing?”
“…Does it matter?” She echoed his words in a form of mockery, her hands never ceasing their work.
“Mmhm, it does, and damn…you have a lot of worry wrinkles.” She reached up and rubbed his forehead with her thumb, face expressionless. Her other fingers nestled within his locks of hair.
