They push themselves into the ice cream shop, pressing into the line and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the other customers, even as they look out-of-place. It's far closer contact with the average civilian than Luther is accustomed to; normally his whole life is held apart from the rest, locked away behind the walls of the Hargreeves manor.
Old favourite is his first thought, his immediate knee-jerk response, because his tastes have always been simple: plain chocolate, no decoration. It's what he always ordered back in the old days.
But these aren't the good old days, are they? Los Angeles feels fresh and new and like all his nerves are keening on a knife-sharp edge, afire from Allison's mere proximity. Everything about this evening feels different and more alive than ever before, so why not?
"Something new," he says, looking up at the menu. "How about Hazel's Pumpkin Pie? That sounds good. Kind of like Mom's home-made pies, except in ice cream form. Do you have a favourite?"
Because she knows this shop, and so can have an actual preference; she has this whole other life where she could, perhaps, have accrued more complicated tastes in dessert in all the years since they last did this together. It shouldn't matter; it's such a small thing to miss, but he misses it anyway. Favourite music, a developing taste in cocktails, everything she's picked up in the two years that they've been apart and the paths of their lives have started diverging. The split in the road that was never supposed to happen.
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Old favourite is his first thought, his immediate knee-jerk response, because his tastes have always been simple: plain chocolate, no decoration. It's what he always ordered back in the old days.
But these aren't the good old days, are they? Los Angeles feels fresh and new and like all his nerves are keening on a knife-sharp edge, afire from Allison's mere proximity. Everything about this evening feels different and more alive than ever before, so why not?
"Something new," he says, looking up at the menu. "How about Hazel's Pumpkin Pie? That sounds good. Kind of like Mom's home-made pies, except in ice cream form. Do you have a favourite?"
Because she knows this shop, and so can have an actual preference; she has this whole other life where she could, perhaps, have accrued more complicated tastes in dessert in all the years since they last did this together. It shouldn't matter; it's such a small thing to miss, but he misses it anyway. Favourite music, a developing taste in cocktails, everything she's picked up in the two years that they've been apart and the paths of their lives have started diverging. The split in the road that was never supposed to happen.