arrowache

you don’t have to pick me up.   [ her hand lingered there for a moment,  then dropped back to her side.  perhaps a bit too intimate.  it was just dinner,  after all…  like she’d said,  beating it like a dead horse.  classic si. ]   and it’s like…  medium formal.  definitely no t-shirts.

*  he’d look down at her hand placed atop his chest,  a smile turning the corners of his lips upwards as he looked back up at her.    he’d oblige—  a quick but deep inhale & exhale before nodding once,  a curt downward motion of his chin.  *    right.    just dinner.    …  can i pick you up?    and what’s the dress code for this place?     @nemeseias

take a deep breath.   [ she rolled her eyes,  letting her hand settle on his chest,  just over his heart. ]    you speak too fast,  grant.  and again,  *it’s just dinner*. 

it was fine until *someone* got a piece of metal stuck in their forehead.

sheesh,  alright.    you’d think /you’re/ the one who’s got a piece of metal stuck in their forehead right now.    how was your day?     @nemeseias

*no*.

/ @nyxshots rahh

/   yes

╱     !

@qamble  /     >:))