10th February 1979; 14:00 The flat above Puddifoot’s
@c-alecto
It was weird, how easily one night could turn into two. Nights into days, and then time blurring completely. But that’s what it felt like. They had ended up at his apartment that night, the night of the formal, and here they were on his bed, some time in the early afternoon of the third day in a tangle of limbs and sheets. They’d moved from the bed a few times. Sometimes into the kitchen, to the shower, the sofa. They’d slept, they’d fucked, and they’d talked. Drugs had been pulled out once or twice, and they’d talked some more, and some more. Percy was starting to feel like he knew the witch better than he knew himself. It was a weird feeling -- completely foreign. But it wasn’t unwelcome.
“Pass me a smoke?”
