[ Controlled chaos. That's the best word for how she dances. He watches her, glowing with sweat, dark hair sweeping. Feels how her grip on his hand is so tight and her movements so dizzying that you can't stand still, can't think, can't survive unless you flow with her. An impartial observer would think she's on Ecstacy -- she seems so damn high. But he knows she's just immersed in the beat. Floating as if on ether, no anchors or weight. ]
[ Free. ]
[ He keeps his motions subtle, corresponding with her rhythm instead of the DJ's. The music is weird, iterations of piano and electronica melding with dissonant blasts of drums. But it seeps into him in a way that is familiar, enlivening. Little by little, he relaxes. Enjoying the anonymity. Enjoying the moment. ]
[ Lightly, his hand squeezes hers -- a moment of deep sensory déjà vu. ]
no subject
[ Free. ]
[ He keeps his motions subtle, corresponding with her rhythm instead of the DJ's. The music is weird, iterations of piano and electronica melding with dissonant blasts of drums. But it seeps into him in a way that is familiar, enlivening. Little by little, he relaxes. Enjoying the anonymity. Enjoying the moment. ]
[ Lightly, his hand squeezes hers -- a moment of deep sensory déjà vu. ]