[ He leaves the Zune where it's plugged in, glancing back over his shoulder. He smothers a smile when he sees that the music must've caught her off-guard, though he decides not to call her on it.
Instead, he makes his way back to sit with her – though for a split-second, instinct nearly has him take the seat directly beside her. He falters before carefully lowering himself back in the seat across from her.
She seems to be enjoying it, and he wonders if she's conscious of those little tells – the almost unnoticeable sway of her body, the way she follows the rhythm with subtle taps of her fingers.
It's achingly familiar, and for a brief second, it feels like a stab in the gut.
no subject
Instead, he makes his way back to sit with her – though for a split-second, instinct nearly has him take the seat directly beside her. He falters before carefully lowering himself back in the seat across from her.
She seems to be enjoying it, and he wonders if she's conscious of those little tells – the almost unnoticeable sway of her body, the way she follows the rhythm with subtle taps of her fingers.
It's achingly familiar, and for a brief second, it feels like a stab in the gut.
He'll blame it on the gunshot wound. ]
Not bad, right?