TWINE:
"...I'm not late, am I?"
It's asked as a convenience, more than a genuine question— the clock strikes five the moment Twine takes his seat, almost unnervingly so. If he was worried about missing a date, it certainly didn't show; it'd been lackadaisical at best, the snail's pace he'd taken to make his way towards their table of two.
If he'd wanted to show up a couple minutes early, he could've put in the effort. All signs point to a conscious decision. "I would've...
