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Nicky continues to stare into the space ahead of them, burnt orange fire roaring. "Teach me how to dance Geordie?"
"No thanks, I've sworn off dancing with Catholics." He's used this line a few times now, each variation adding to some private weight of realisation he can't quite reach.
"It's for Mary," Nicky emphasises, "I've invited her to my Auntie's wedding,"
"And you cannit dance? I've seen you in the halls -" he takes a purposeful sip of his beer, swishing the liquid around a bit, strong grip on the glass. " - and you can't be as bad as you are at. This is a different type of dancing man,"
"One which I can't do. Which, if you remember, is why I asked you in the first place,"
Geordie turns to look at Nicky. "Come on," he pulls his feet off of the table, "before I change my mind," (said like it's his idea). He almost pulls his hand, the action feeling like the natural next step (for the taken up offer of a dance, he reminds himself, not with Nicky). He doesn't, just stands in the middle of the brown threadbare carpet. He gestures for Nicky to put a hand on his waist; he does take his hand this time.
"Come on man," he tightens his hold so that Nicky has to tighten his grip on Geordie's waist in turn. "You're supposed to make Mary feel, well, you know,"
'Safe', Geordie doesn't say. He thinks it coherently for barely a second but the thought engulfs him. He trails off, and Nicky fills in.
"Yeah." He wonders if he'd really thought about his close they'd have to stand. He can feel something uncomfortable that can't be awkwardness (because this is Geordie in front of him) but definitely also isn't excitement (see last reason).
"Have you not got any music?" he asks.
Geordie makes a movement with his face without the accompanying shoulder movement, but the quirking shrug is clear. "Nothing which I imagine your Auntie will play. They always play the same shite at weddings."
"Something you like then. That fits," he specifies - God help him should they end up abandoning this in favour of something like The Animals, or worse yet try to muddle through - Mary's toes would be black and blue.
Geordie's eyes are blue, dark in this light but dazzling never the less above white shirt and black tie.
Geordie puts on something appropriate which Nicky only vaguely recognises. His voice gets progressively quieter as he instructs him.
"Mary should take you to the wedding - for this and to impress the auld biddies," Nicky laughs.
"It's your Aunt - you should take me." It's hard to pass off as a joke when they are like this.