—It was only until that moment that she really paid attention to his accent, which was slight, almost faint, but as pleasant as his pacing, or his voice, or the smoothness of his expressions as he spoke; she smiled at the realization.— It's quite far, and expensive to travel there. But, oh, how I would love to go someday! You see, I'm obsessed with history; specifically with written history. And Mesopotamia was the mega of written history! Utterly fascinating! —she had gotten carried away by her excitement, and blurted all her elation.— I'm so sorry... I tend to speak too much, and too fast when I'm excited.— luckily, they arrived to the entrance of her building, and the doorman immediately opened it for them.— Please, be my guest.

-He certainly looks like someone from Middle East. Just by the big and long nose, sweet sharp eyes and skinny lips. His skin isn't pale, but also doesn't look like he has sleeping under the summer sun. Also his face looks young for his age. At least until his expressions betray him.- There isn't too much people who goed. But is a good place to travel. Well, if you like nice views and a lot of ancient cultures. -He stay quiet after that. Walking and follow her like a tourist with a big bag of these "japanese croissants".- You got a good ethnic mix. You has been raised in both cultures?

—She followed him into the bakery, and smiled at his reflexion on the Shio pan, nodding, but soon returned her attention to his face and its details, listening carefully to his account, and marveling at imagining his origins.— I've never been to Iraq. —she said, rather expressing her new longing to do so, but soon attended his question.— Oh, not really, barely a year. But I'm hāfu, which means... I'm half Japanese, and thus, my local manners come from my mother. —as soon as they left the bakery, she started walking slightly ahead from him, just to guide him toward her house.—

It's okay, Ciel. -He didn't answered the first question, inestead of that he goes to the bakery counter to buy some Shio pan.- It looks like salty croissants. Well, not that much. -He smiled effortless. Wrinkles form in his forehead- I am from Iraq, I lived in Baghdad until I was 40. How long have you been living here? You already have some of the local manners. -When he speaks, his voice sound realy warm atending to express his confort. He goes out of the bakery at that moment.-

Salty, and you?—she answered, and she had already started to walk, guiding him to the bakery.— Oh, please, call me Ciel, I'm done with this country's formality... Which reminds me, where are you from? —she gazed at him over her shoulder, trying to avoid being too invasive, she didn't want to make him nervous.—

Great! My first nickname. I like it, as I like blue. -A kind and warm smile covers his face, showing hir barely perfect white teeths below the mustache. He nodded at her, then cross the street.- Do you prefer sweet or salty, Miss Venusian? -He tooks something from his suit. A small wallet cover of letters of diferent alphabets.-

—She understood, and retracted her hand almost clumsily, redirecting it toward her hair, posing a strand of it behind her ear, almost shyly.— Oh, dear me, how very rude of me, I'm very sorry. —she apologized, and tried to hear his name, only to squint at the unpleasant sound of the police siren. She remained open-mouthed for a bit, and when she recovered, she thought rude to ask again for his name, and just smiled.— Very well, dear, I'll call you "Blue" form now on, how do you like that? —she inquired mischievously, and nodded at his mention of the bakery.— Indeed, there is one on next street. Now, shall we?

-He has to decline the handshake, by the most gentle way he knows. A step back.- Sorry, I don't like physical contact. -He smiled, a sweet blush covers his cheeks.- Pleased to meet you, Ciel. And... oh, my name is... -An police siren sounds at the same time a car comes to the scene of the accident.- ... but you can call me as you like. -He resumed the walk, carefully about being close to her.- I think I saw a bakery on the next street.

—She started walking toward the nearby bakery, moving right beside him, patiently. As the question landed, she had to stop, and turned to see him looking for his gaze.— Oh, I'm so sorry, where are my manners? —she hit her own forehead softly as a reproach to her clumsiness, and offered him her right hand to the front.— My name is Ciel, Ciel Venusian. It's lovely meeting you. —she said rather gleefully, and squinted when she realized she hadn't heard his name.— I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name...

Thanks for understand. And that's a good question. Who are you? My name is... -A klaxon sound in the street, two cars crash at the end of the avenue.- ... Oh, that's awful. -He looks surprised.-