Re: Train tracks: Oliver & Gwen
When Oliver looked up, the look was something like a wince of pain. Eyes tight against the threat of a coming dusk, and the dark thread of his eyebrows gathered tight, contemplatively knit. His mouth was a flat line, the bridge of his nose wrinkled. Being unfriendly had always been a method of self preservation, which was convenient since it was kind of his default setting. His brother, Jude, would get lovingly exasperated and explain that Oliver was all bark and no bite, but Jude wasn't here, and Oliver was left feeling an intense kind of alexithymia in the afterglow of his loneliness. Particularly now.
Hey! Oliver stared. There was carnation pink chalk dust on his face, it looked like freckles. He considered her, and then he considered the colors on his hands and the stretch of tracks before him that were laid out like a child's paint palette. There was a weird feeling inside of him, it was almost unrecognizable as the first stirrings of embarrassment.
He hadn't thought anybody walked the tracks this far. "What are you doing out here?" Not hey in return, not any true greeting. Just curt words and pinched brows… but he didn't wipe the dust off of his hands or his face. He wore it like brutal, unforgiving honestly.