[ The rain is coming down in sheets outside, veiling the street in a thin layer of grey. It's a very peaceful sort of environment, one that Cecil certainly appreciates as he flips through the novel in his hand. His thesis is left handwritten on the table - a few pages of notes lettered neatly in blue ink and flowy handwriting, its fluidity matching the hair cascading down his back almost to his waist. For convenience he has his hair draped over his shoulder in front of him so it wouldn't get caught in his chair.
Except there are footsteps coming down the street now - someone running for shelter, it seems. There's a brief moment of hesitation before he rises, intending to open the door for whoever was coming in.
Whether he makes it in time is another question altogether. ]
LETS GO
Except there are footsteps coming down the street now - someone running for shelter, it seems. There's a brief moment of hesitation before he rises, intending to open the door for whoever was coming in.
Whether he makes it in time is another question altogether. ]