If you feel like night is falling
A bright laugh answers Melita's alternative, ever prone to considering the mess of the world. "That'd do just fine too," he grins, unbothered by the possibility as their hands fit together and their feet find a tempo. He leans, trusting her to maintain her grip, his own curling tight around her as they begin to pivot into a wild twister of laughter and windsung hair. Hers trails long after her, a comet by all rights as the bonfire gilds it in amber glow.
"READY?" he shouts over to her, features sliding from delight into mischief. "On the count of three, we let go and try not to fall." Or puke, once the world tried to keep spinning after they had stopped. "One," he counts, fingers tightening firmer, as if suspicious she might try to release her grasp early. "Two," he calls out, increasing the speed briefly as they turn. "Three!" He staggers around as his legs try to find balance, his hands straightening outs of hers. The world tilts to and fro, and if he's not doubling over in search of stability, it's breath after the glee of it all.
"READY?" he shouts over to her, features sliding from delight into mischief. "On the count of three, we let go and try not to fall." Or puke, once the world tried to keep spinning after they had stopped. "One," he counts, fingers tightening firmer, as if suspicious she might try to release her grasp early. "Two," he calls out, increasing the speed briefly as they turn. "Three!" He staggers around as his legs try to find balance, his hands straightening outs of hers. The world tilts to and fro, and if he's not doubling over in search of stability, it's breath after the glee of it all.
Iskra
I wanna be the one you're calling
