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“Fancy a dance, sweetheart?” he whispered, to sober ears more of a whisper-shout. he was too far gone to feel embarrassed by the intimacy of the nickname with nobody around.
Lance watched as Keith automatically put his gloved hand in his, not even registering the gesture. Finally, his mulled wine eyes flashed with recognition, a half-smile forming on his stained lips. his sock-wearing feet stood with lance’s bare ones, the kitchen floor cool in the moonlight streaming from an open window.
“there’s not even music, darling,” Keith whispered-shouted back.
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Bookmark Notes:
“Fancy a dance sweetheart?”
“There’s not even music darling”
TOOK OUT MY HEART RIPPED IT TO PIECES AND DIDNT APOLOGIZE