FLEETING GIRL, STEP OUT OF YOUR OWN SHADOW.

“ hmmmm ? ” her voice feels odd, like it doesn’t belong to her. ( which, in and of itself, is not necessarily an odd concept to syd, but still. ) faraway. floaty. she braces an elbow on the bar, rests her head on a leather gloved hand, and turns to smile WINNINGLY at him. that always tends to shut him up, even when he’s right and has earned his gloating. and he is, of course, right. she knew better, but hey, tonight’s A GOOD NIGHT. and they haven’t had many of those recently. 

his eyes, sydney thinks, are the bluest things she’s ever seen in her life. every time she looks at him, it’s like she’s seeing his eyes for the first time all over again. it takes her a second, lost in those goddamned eyes of his, to realize he’s leaning in, and he’s making a wisecrack. 

she can feel his breath on her mouth. it’s so shockingly intimate it makes her want to scream.

she inhales, long and slow, like she can taste his breath in the air, and then SNORTS, inelegantly, at his comment. “ what ? ” she starts, her voice low, sarcastic, dry. “ you feel like seven minutes in heaven with ol’ dale over there ? ” her thumb jerks out, perpendicular to her forehead, towards one of the few other patrons, a heavyset man on the other side of the bar in a solid set of overalls that look like they haven’t been washed since ‘98.