She looked at him. Her brows crinkled slightly, her eyes a question. They didn't speak. She pushed her hair back and brought her knees up under her chin, stocking feet slipping between the cushion of the couch. He saw a small hole on the left shin of her jeans. He thought it an odd place for a hole. He thought of her stocking feet getting dirty in whatever mess had gathered between the natty cushions on the sofa. He looked from where her feet disappeared at her ankles to the hole in her jeans and back again. The mug in his hands was cold. Her mug sat on the floor next to the couch, empty. For a moment his eyes slipped up to hers. They hadn't moved. They asked still. Noise filtered through from the rest of the flat, an awkward soundtrack.
She spoke. "So."
He sighed, and regretted it. He put the cold mug down next to hers. "So."
He looked at her.