The alarm went off for 8 am on the dot. 

Frankly, Sorrel was already awake. He couldn’t stay asleep, even after he drifted off a few times. Maybe it was the pain on his shoulder. Maybe it was the anxious fluttering of his heart. Maybe it was just his chronic illness, yet again! He felt like he could just attribute everything to his stupid specific version of Kaori Syndrome at this point— so fucking rare that that damn Dr. Schmidt joked about calling it “Sorrel’s syndrome.” He didn’t really like that joke, anyways. And, because of this chronic illness, Sorrel also felt like absolute shit as he rolled out the bed. He felt nauseous, but nothing was in his stomach— what would he will himself to have for breakfast? Just some toast? [color=B1A2C7]Would it be rude if I ate something before the date?[/color] 

Sorrel ended up lying to himself and reasoned himself something along the lines of [color=B1A2C7]Yes, surely it’d be rude if I just make myself something, even if it’s like 8 in the morning…[/color] He didn’t really want to open that box of thought at the back of his head also saying he didn’t really want to throw up in the morning and pretend everything was okay at lunch. Maybe it was best if he showed up super hungry, so he’d actually eat something instead of absently pick at it despite the fact he made it himself. Maybe..l he was straight-up overthinking everything. He probably was. This was his first time, after all, going out on a date— hell, this was his first time meeting up with someone because said someone wanted to see [i]him,[/i] not because of debate teams or studies or activism. 

The outfit Sorrel ended up on was made by himself, at least the fabric parts— he was a good seamster, he knew, and he made many good garments with his specific fashion sense. It was getting pretty hot, given how the spring’s slowly transitioning to summer, and he felt it appropriate to wear a pretty light green floral lace top with a flowy poet-sleeve kind of design to it, some brown pants with large light-brown patches sown onto them, and, of course, a [i]healthy[/i] amount of jewelry. Two pretty chains acting as a belt, a pearl necklace, a jadeite pendant, and some large golden moon earrings. He even decided to wear his dreads down and let them flow in their own pretty way, taking care to clip on some loc jewelry he seldom wore that matched the pretty gold of all the chains. 

He looked in the mirror for a bit— it seemed he took… a significant amount of time trying to get ready, and procrastinating on getting ready, and doing chores, and… everything else. It was 11 am, and he finished the housework, and he fed the slugcat, and he checked on the bees and moths, and he told everyone that needed to know he’d be out for a few days at a motel, just in case. The white splotches on his neck and face still felt strange to look at— Sorrel still remembered when his eyes were a normal color and when his skin was an even tone. On the other hand, he felt absolutely [i]beautiful[/i] at that moment— he rarely got to dress out like this! It’d be so much fun, even if he came looking a little too cute… 

The large  (and equally fashionable) satchel was first filled with a few changes of casual clothes, and then hidden by a checkered cotton mat. He made sure to put in all his medications, for obvious reasons. Then went in the food, the drinks, the forks, the knives, the plates, and…. A lot of silk thread, bundled up neatly and wrapped in a neat-looking bag— a little present for Elijah. 

Sorrel finally put his sling on, taking care to keep the bandages hidden under his shirt, and looped his satchel over his neck so it’d rest on the opposite side of the bandages— right where he had his sling. It was awkward, maybe, but at least it didn’t feel excruciatingly painful! 

And, finally, Sorrel set off, looking pretty for his first date in the downtown park by the chipotle.  He pointedly ignored a very familiar pink-haired goat guy, giving him a wide berth from that chipotle… why was he cursed to run into this dude again and again? What kind of expedition was that news guy on? 

It was 11:45 ish, by the time sorrel arrived. Where should he go..? Should he start wandering around by the picnic benches? Should he send a text? Should he just… start looking around for a large pock-marked cutie? 

He swore he didn’t think of the last part.