[ The little things might go unnoticed--have gone unnoticed--but they're starting to cling together and look a lot less little. The dancing decor. The sick, stiff feeling of Cheryl against him, even the tightness in her stomach when he loops an arm there too to pull her up. The rusty, too-familiar smell that makes his teeth buzz in his skull. All little things, until she sets the cherry on top: murderer.
[ Quentin stills, grip on Cheryl loosening so that he can move around to her shoulder and try to catch her eyes. ] Hey.
no subject
[ Quentin stills, grip on Cheryl loosening so that he can move around to her shoulder and try to catch her eyes. ] Hey.
Whattayou mean? What're you talking about?