[He tries to imagine her, small and learning the regimented steps to a formal dance. The frown on her face she must have worn, or so he assumes, anyway.
Her hands are warm. He notes that idly, uselessly, perpetually aware of where they are on his body.]
no subject
Her hands are warm. He notes that idly, uselessly, perpetually aware of where they are on his body.]
And what feels right to you now? This?
[Maybe it is just shy of perfect.]