They've fallen into a sort of routine here, these nights — no two exactly the same and yet, some things always present. It comes by virtue of the hour: soft murmuring and little touches and the artificial isolation of two young people, entirely in their own world. For Dustin, it almost feels like they've been enveloped by an opaque bubble, within which there's no one but them and dead poets and stars; these meetings are still novel, but he's gotten used to this.
But now, a noise. Singing, actually. The bubble pops, and so, he jumps.
Dustin catches Lucy's hand as she reaches out to him and, just as instinctively, cuts a hard right, pulling them both through the first open doorway he sees and (hopefully) safely out of sight.
Dustin & Lucy
They've fallen into a sort of routine here, these nights — no two exactly the same and yet, some things always present. It comes by virtue of the hour: soft murmuring and little touches and the artificial isolation of two young people, entirely in their own world. For Dustin, it almost feels like they've been enveloped by an opaque bubble, within which there's no one but them and dead poets and stars; these meetings are still novel, but he's gotten used to this.
But now, a noise. Singing, actually. The bubble pops, and so, he jumps.
Dustin catches Lucy's hand as she reaches out to him and, just as instinctively, cuts a hard right, pulling them both through the first open doorway he sees and (hopefully) safely out of sight.