He plays with my couch cushion and looks everywhere but at me, like he’s hoping I’ll start talking. We sit at opposite ends of the couch, Daniel scrunched into the corner and leaning against the arm like he wants to get as far away from me as possible. “Uh… so… how are you?” he says, shifting from one foot to the other just inside the door. “Oof, sorry,” he mutters as he knocks into me. I open the door wider and he shuffles in, the toe of his boot catching on the doorjamb. He gives me a nervous smile and shoves his fists in his pockets, ducking his head a little so his hair falls in his face. With his green eyes, it looks strangely Christmassy. He’s wearing black jeans and a thin red sweater under his leather jacket. His clothes fit well, and his usually messy hair isn’t quite so all over the place, and longer than I’ve seen it. Like he’s filled out, put on a little muscle, maybe. He was always kind of skinny, with a pointy chin and prominent wrist bones.
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