Ships and Space, Part 2b

And, to cap everything off, the taxi was definitely going to get there late. He checked in on his phone to let her know, then started to gaze exhaustedly at the colliding and separating lights dancing through the hovercar window because he was, apparently, a masochist. The task of designing spaceships more or less entirely by yourself is, in a word, difficult. But being in the very specific situation he was in was… uncomfortable.

The taxi pulled up just outside the slightly haggard early-colonisation period cafe that peered anxiously into the street. Beside it was a dark-dressed beanied woman who was most definitely not going to be there at any other time.

He composed himself, exited the cab, and waved for the driver to leave before he directed himself fully at her, and smiled at her in a way he had observed to be cheery and attractive.

Your moustache is stupid.

He looked to the side.

Stupid in a hot way?

She closed her eyes for a second, then smirked.

Hot in a stupid way. Let’s go inside.