asanctuary: (∫ owls wisdom)
Moritz ([personal profile] asanctuary) wrote in [community profile] herbgarden 2015-11-07 02:06 am (UTC)

This guy's breathing funny. Moritz reluctantly plucks facts off this man, an unwilling victim of his own instinct to notice other people. This guy's acting weird enough that he kinda demands his attention, anyway, and while Moritz looks friendly and unassuming enough to get hassled on the street more than most guys his size would, he's still starting to find it a little bizarre beyond the straight discomfort he feels--

"A-- a drink?" This stranger...wants...to get a drink with him? Moritz looks behind himself fully this time, and then over and behind the slightly-shorter man's shoulder. There's no immediate view of a camera, but Moritz has the distinct feeling he's being mocked, and it's crushing. "N-n-no, no, I'm gonna hafta pass on that one, I'm--" He feels a flush creeping up his neck and the edges of his cheeks, humiliated before he's even had anything confirmed. Just the idea that someone might mock him by offering friendship and a willing ear right before he-- he--

"...What?" He asks miserably when the hand is offered. So many years of good ol' fashioned Southern hospitality make his hand twitch up in response, large fingers skirting over the almost-delicate bones of the stranger's - Morgan's - hand. Moritz poorly masks a small, broken sound with a cough, and gives a shake that's rougher than intended with his rush to let go. "I--" He doesn't want to share his name, he can't he can't he can't--

But at the heart of it all, the truth is that he wants it so badly he can barely breathe. Aware of how insane he looks, he still shamefully, desperately blurts out: "Moritz. 'M Moritz."

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