viridescere | ic inbox

[It takes a while for Laurel to get here, not because she isn't angry or hurt, because right now she's a bit of both, but also because she doesn't know what to say to him. She doesn't want to tiptoe her way around it, because obviously if Oliver hasn't told her by now, he isn't intending to, but she doesn't know just how blunt to be.

In the end, her words fail her, and she decides to get right to the point:]

Am I the reason you're here?

[in retrospect, he knows he should have probably called first. after all, turning up at someone's house, uninvited, when the sun has only just risen may be considered a bad time for a surprise visit. but he'd spent the majority of the night working off as much pent up energy as he could. he's been second-guessing his reaction to eobard's reveal and how much he'd cut himself off from the people he knows he'll one day consider friends, and that had easily transferred itself into the need to run.

but with the city slowly beginning to wake up, he'd known he'd run out of time. which is why he finds himself stood outside the door to oliver's apartment, a singed jacket in one hand and carry out container full of waffles in the other, as he tries to decide whether or not he should leave right now.]

Come on, Allen.

[a deep breath, and then he finally manages to force himself to knock. albeit, a quiet one. sorry for the early wake up call, oliver.]

Hey, Ollie.

( you know. keeping it casual — or, more importantly, keeping it familiar. lowkey.

sara doesn't even know what she's doing here, really. )

would you believe that i've already cracked my phone screen?

i've got the popcorn ready! cancel all your plans because i want a hug and to rewatch white men can't jump.

text | 7/12, late evening

no subject

text;

text | @speedy