closed: samuel mitchell. @fakesmilcs
location: nightclub, 1am.
❛ friends of yours? ❜ dove says nonchalantly as she leans against the bar next to sam, eyes turning towards a group of soccer players who seemed like they were a couple drinks too deep. most of the time she was trying to sneak away from sam, who had become so adept at keeping a watchful eye on her even when she didn't appreciate it, yet even when the universe afforded her time to run… she couldn't help herself. maybe that was cruel. she looked back at him, uncertain as to how much he'd had to drink, if anything. she, of course, was stone cold sober… if you ignored the typical lines of coke she'd done to get her through her shift. ❛ unless you're stalking me at work now, too? ❜














