the recovery project [2]

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fiona

the piano seems to soothe elijah— from what, she doesn't know. his hands are warm as they hold hers, and she doesn't want this night to end as they sit at the table long after they've eaten.

she stands up suddenly at the shift in the song. "y'know what? i love this music."

"huh? me too."

"dance with me," she states simply, not caring if there's tons of other couples in the room, all seated at their tables in formality.

his eyebrows furrow as he shakes his head slowly. "what? you know i can't see, and we're in the middle of a restaurant—"

"too bad," she takes his hands, pulling him towards the clear space by the windows.

"how many people are staring?"

"sh," she murmurs, and then kisses him, arms hooked around his neck while she stands on the tips of her toes. their tongues don't 'battle for dominance' or 'mold together.' he's just kissing her, and she's just kissing him and she doesn't care about how many people are staring. she doesn't care she doesn't care she doesn't care.