Will We Talk? by Sam Fender ❤️❤️
"I don't usually do this kind of thing"
Does it change the way you think of me?
Thinking isn't his forte.
"If you dance with me, darling
Will we talk in the morning?"
Mmmmmh I had fun with this one! Tell me what you think, Josie!
The blue lights of the party were reflected in Neil's eyes as he extended a hand to Andrew. There was a question there, they both knew it, outlined in electric, icy blue and decorated in shades of auburn and gold.
A question and a challenge and a dare.
An answer to the question Andrew had asked him so long ago.
This was Neil's answer. An invitation hidden in his palm and in the tilt of his head towards the dance floor.
It was a bad idea, Andrew knew, to say yes to the man who’d broken his heart once before. But this was Neil, and the lights turned his hair chestnut brown, and Andrew could never really say no to anything when it was them.
Andrew placed his hand in Neil's.
He led them to the dance floor, slid his hands along Neil's shoulders, nodded and let him place his palms on either side of Andrew's waist.
It awoke something trembling and shaky inside Andrew, watching Neil watch him as they slow danced to something a song that Andrew didn’t quite register. Something soft, a murmur of water over the stones of a brook.
There was an intimacy in the way their steps moved around each other’s, a familiarity he knew came from years spent playing together in sandpits and chasing each other down dimly lit streets at midnight.
When Andrew tilted his head up the barest amount, Neil leaned down and brushed their lips together. It was achingly soft, and Andrew wanted to hate it, hate Neil.
He tried, he really did though, when Neil pulled back midway through the dance. His eyes had gone cold, a flat, lifeless blue that sent tension crawling down Andrew's spine and stiffening his shoulders.
Neil turned those same eyes on Andrew, and he knew. He knew what Neil was going to say before he said it.
The words were hollow, like the shell of the man now standing in front of him. This—this wraith, this corpse, wasn’t Neil, and Andrew didn’t know what to do with that knowledge.
“I’m sorry,” Not-Neil repeated.
He pushed through the crowd, and by the time Andrew managed to get to the doors, Neil was gone.
