π§Work in Progress Wednesday ποΈ
βWell, Fitchner au Barca, why don't we continue this conversation somewhere a little drier, and warmer?β He offers me a hand. My eyes flicker between it and his face. I eventually fix my gaze on his, and it dawns on me that he's quite possibly the most stunning individual I've ever seen. Beautiful eyes that seem to shine in the dark, beautifully high cheekbones, a beautiful, chiselled jaw. He looks down at me with a smile that is patient. And beautiful. I lower my knife and put my calloused hand into his beautifully-manicured one. He hauls me to my feet and in that moment, my concussion-induced nausea gets the better of me. I pitch forward and vomit on his beautiful boots.










