Fenris’ eyebrows hit his hairline. People didn’t ask him out. It was just … absurd was the only word coming to mind, mostly because he was having a difficult time scraping together any coherent thought that wasn’t completely disjointed and scattered. He often felt mildly terrified when being cornered like this. There was too much left unspoken, too many unknowns. Even if Rosalind wasn’t suggesting anything romantic, he didn’t know that. Fenris barely knew how to navigate true friendship, let alone a romance. How was he supposed to anticipate what was expected of him?
After a tense moment of silence, he forced his hands apart (realizing, only belatedly, that he’d been clenching them together quite tightly). "I …" Fenris took a breath, then another, until his heart rate slowed. "… will consider it." That was good, right? It wouldn’t drive her away? Like Isabela, he’d become accustomed to seeing Rosalind frequent the café. If neither of them ever visited again, it would be difficult to adjust to complete solitude again.
He stood abruptly. "I’m sorry." For what, Fenris didn’t elaborate. At the very least, he seemed to look as though he regretted even attempting to make normal conversation. It had obviously been a bad idea.