The Question

The monitor cast a dull, sickly glow on his hauntingly chiselled face, glazing his stunning blue eyes with an ethereal lacquer. Onscreen the chat cursor blinked on and off, a silent metronome eagerly awaiting his input.

Rory Bradley:
Out tonight? :3  

The question hung in cyber-space with a palpable cyber-silence that set Rory’s mind racing. Had he been too forward? He was becoming acutely aware that they’d already been out the past two nights. Three nights in a row? People would think he had a drinking problem. Or that he had nothing better to do. And to top it off the irony of the colon-three emoticon had long been dulled by months of overuse. He began to berate himself internally when-

Seen ✓ 8:57pm

Rory’s runaway train of thought came screeching to a halt. The word stared at him blankly, brimming with unspoken intent beneath its innocuous surface. He stared back, hardly daring to blink, almost forgetting to breathe. Then his thoughts picked back up at full-speed; maybe he hadn’t blown it. Maybe the colon-three emoticon had been in use long enough that it was ironic again, a sort of reverse irony reserved for only the most ironic jokes. The inferno in his head began to subside and smoulder, though among the ashes one flame still burned bright; through it all the question remained. And a question needed an answer.
The ‘typing’ symbol appeared like a drum-roll manifested onscreen. Rory gritted his teeth in anticipation of the answer, bracing himself for what was to come…

Siddig Zeidan:
:3