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There’s a small, historical old movie theatre in one of the quieter parts of town.
You know the one; the parts that are mostly run down from how long it’s just been there and filled with old farts that have refused to move in over forty years because they’re just that old and stubborn, and you might as well move mountains with the willpower you’d need to crack bone and teeth alike. It “speaks” to the city’s cultural heritage – a neighborhood that hasn’t been run over by multi-story plain white condos that'd make an architect from the seventeen hundreds cry.
It’s called The Grand Narukami Theatre.
It’s been family run for the last few five hundred years, ever since one of their ancestors became shipwrecked on some distant sea shore that didn’t exist anymore, or so the story goes. He doesn’t actually know the specifics beyond some vague mention of this ancestor loving to act and renovating some long-abandoned temple until it became the old, quaint movie theatre he finds himself in front of today – you know, the one where half the lettered lights aren’t working and where the wallpaper’s been peeling for the last decade?
He actually doesn’t know the current owner, either, but he’s sure he’s seen her a few times; tall, with long pink hair and long legs, always with a mischievous twinkle in her eye like she wants to stir up some trouble. He thinks he likes her – he thinks he likes her long pink hair and her long legs, but probably not enough to actually watch a movie at her establishment, because he’s not here to see a movie. In fact, he’s never here to see a movie.
Venti?
He’s just here for a pack of smokes, really.
And he’s come here often enough that one of the ladies who work the front – some tough, no-nonsense woman – makes sure to put his favorite brand of cigarettes in the old vending machine they had out in the front. It’s a favor for a favor type deal – just a repaying of an old debt. Basically, she had a problem, and basically, he just went out and solved it – stuff like that!
So, he’s just here for a smoke, really, and well…
He’s here because there’s just something about the old Narukami Theatre, with its grand and vast history that no one will ever able to recount accurately; there’s just something about seeing the names of stars in light, even if only half of the lights were working, and there’s just something in him that wonders when his name will be up there, with the V crooked and the I dimmed in the evening rain as people line the streets to hear him –
And it just feels like the kind of night where something is just bound to happen. And if something is bound to happen, Venti needs to be there to see it. So, he excuses himself from the regular teenager loiters way up past their mommy’s bedtime, goes to the small vending machine to grab his favorite pack of smokes, and from the corner of his eyes, he thinks..
Oh, wow.
There’s a girl here.
There’s a girl here he doesn’t recognize.
She’s a pretty little thing in a little tight black dress, holding onto the strap of a matching black purse; the hem of it cuts right into the middle of gorgeous, plump thighs, and it leaves the rest of her smooth, pale, and creamy legs totally exposed to the night air, right down to her plain black flats with little bows on them. And when he says that dress is tight? He means that dress is tight – it clings to her like a second skin, revealing just about every curve the girl has, and she has several of them! The perfect impression of a perfect hourglass figure, he’d say.
And oh, if he was any more desperate, he’d wrap his hands around those perfect, swinging hips like a dying man wraps his hands around his last, precious jug of water in the desert. And he can’t help but to be moved by how subtly her bust sways with each occasional rock of her heel, seemingly free from any constraints… Oh, he’s in love, he knows it! He’s in love, and love is the name of whatever god brought this girl onto him!
(Well, he knows it’s not really love – not at all, in fact – but… is there anything wrong with pretending, even if just for a moment?)
And, her hair…
Her hair is really nice, actually.
It cascades off her shoulders like a waterfall; it flows like the ancient rivers in Liyue, long and winding, and eternal. He can see how she runs her hands through it, how she’s keeping it down – she probably uses it to shield herself from the world, a curtain of pastel blue to remove herself from whatever situation she finds herself in and how blue and how soft that curtain must be!
He can imagine running his hand through himself (if he ever got the privilege) and thinking it must feel the same as running his hand through a thousand velvety strands of fine silk – the kind he’d never, ever be able to afford. It’s about the only pop of color on her too, save for a sole red clip that keeps half of her bangs at bay from her face…
As much as he likes what he’s seeing (and of course he does, what kind of fool wouldn’t), he does have to wonder what a girl like her is doing in a place like this – some old, small historical movie theatre where the wallpaper’s been peeling off for the last decade and where half of the letter lights don’t work – and all alone, to boot? Is she… waiting for someone?
And then, that’s when he finally sees it – she’s nervous.
Her eyes keep darting every which way, never settling on any direction for very long as her feet shuffle awkwardly and antsy. Her hand runs down the length of her purse, and every now and again, she takes out her phone and sees that there’s nothing (nothing new, he’s assuming) and sighs as she clutches the strap of her purse even tighter, to the point where her knuckles are turning white. She seems so lost, afraid, and alone when he looks at her…. Like a little piece of the heavens that wasn’t supposed to be here, superimposed in a place that wasn’t fit to have her.
He sighs, as he bites the inside of his cheek.
Realistically, he knows it’s really none of his damn business . He doesn’t have to get involved in the life and times of some random, anxious woman he saw on the street (no matter how drop dead gorgeous she is, and she is ). He doesn’t have to stand there watching her either, he chides himself. He can just… walk away. He should walk away.
Because right now?
They’re just two perfect strangers who just so happen to find themselves sharing the same space due to sheer coincidence. She has her reasons for coming out this late to this movie theatre, and he has his reasons for coming out this late to this movie theatre and they don’t have to collide. They don’t have to collide, it’s really none of his business, and he has enough problems already, so really? He should just walk away with his pack of smokes and forget the girl ever existed.
But then, he looks at her again. He sees how she sighs for the nineteenth thousand time at her phone that night, and how she stares off into the distance, fidgeting and nervous and anxious and entirely unprepared for anything the world might throw at her. She’s all alone, and she has nothing and no one, and..
A part of him knows he probably looked sad like that too, once upon a time.
Didn’t you want help then?
(Plus, he doesn’t like how one of the regular teenager loiters is eyeing her up and down, seeming to size her up for…. Well, Venti can trust he’ll behave himself around a woman, but you can’t trust a teenage asshole for shit.)
Armed with the knowledge that this is definitely a bad idea (one of several he’s had throughout the years), he goes up to where she’s standing and leans against the wall. “Hi!” He says, with an easy smile. “You come here often?”
It’s cheesy. It’s so cheesy – but hey, if it works...!
“….,” she looks at him for a split second before her face turns a cute shade of pink and her eyes dart away, her hands wringing at the strap of her purse. She’s definitely still nervous, he knows that for sure, but she’s making no move to walk away. She just… stands there, quietly. Like a deer in the headlights.
It’s… probably still safe to keep talking to her….?
“No?” He chuckles. She doesn’t answer.
He sighs, giving a half little smirk. “Alright, alright. You got me. That was a pretty bad line, I’ll admit. And it’s fine if you don’t, you know. I just haven’t seen your face around before, and I was curious.”
“Um,” she finally mutters, biting her lip. “I’m – I’m just waiting for a friend…”
“Oh, really?” He says, raising an eyebrow.
A friend, huh. Or did she mean a boyfriend ?
He does wonder….
(… Why does the thought of her having a boyfriend make him sad? He barely even knows this girl… He needs to really pull himself together, huh…)
She nods. “Yes! She just hasn’t showed up yet, so…” She takes a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. “I’m probably just worrying for nothing! She always likes to be fashionably late and come at her own time, so…..”
Oh.
Oh.
He sees how it is.
And he can spell it from here.
Her “friend” is probably the one who wanted to have a fun “girl’s night out on the town” and is probably the one who dragged this poor girl out here. Even if said girl may just be a little bit hesitant about going out so late at night, her friend ropes her in anyways, and maybe even suggests the outfit she’s wearing right now (not that he necessarily begrudges her for that)!
But… there’s just one problem here, isn’t there?
Said friend is now a no-show and Miss Perfect Stranger probably doesn’t know what to do! She says that her friend is just like this and that she’s done stunts like this all the time, but it doesn’t seem like she’s gotten a call or a text from her friend in ages – not since this whole night started, from the way she was sighing at her phone earlier. Nothing! Nothing at all!
Kind of shitty, he thinks! Kind of shitty friend to make this wondrous beauty wait all by herself so late at night in the cold with nothing and no one!
And sure – there’s always the possibility that she’s just late. Maybe she ran into some trouble! People always seem to run into trouble in this town. But couldn’t she give her friend a call ? But couldn’t she give her a friend a text ? Was this woman so careless as to simply leave radio silence, leaving this lovely lady to tune into nothing but static?
Now, who would leave this beautiful woman all high and dry like this?
(Come to think of it, it’s probably even worse that it’s a friend – especially one she knows pretty well, it seems.)
“My name’s Venti,” he says, with a wide grin.
“Venti…?” She tilts her head just a little, and he loves how her hair just slowly shifts with her, like laze about clouds.
He nods, smiling wider. “Yep! That’s me! I sort of live around here, I guess!”
She frowns, just a little. “… Why did you tell me your name? I haven’t introduced myself yet…”
He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well! I figured I’d make it easier for you if you wanted to report me to the police. Names have power, you know. You can look up a guy named Venti who lives around this theatre, but you can’t really look up ‘guy who smokes and looks kind of sketchy’.”
“Oh,” she mumbles, biting her lip again. “Names have power, huh…?”
“It’s just from some old folktales I was reading a while back,” he shrugs as he grins. “They say things like names have power – because if you know the shape and the sound of a name, you can summon whoever it belongs to.”
“Though, it was specifically talking about gods and demons,” he explains, “and how you shouldn’t just casually toss divine names like popcorn, because you never know how they’ll answer. And they might not answer how you want, you know.”
He shrugs again. “But hey, I figured normal names probably have some kind of power, too, right?”
She smiles as she brushes back a strand of her hair. “I’m Ganyu. And no, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Summon a demon?” He chuckles. “Yeah, I figured. You don’t exactly look like a heretic.”
And then, she laughs.
She laughs like bell chimes in the summer; she laughs warmly, and bright, like a dozen songbirds in the spring. Her whole face lights up for the first time this whole night, as her hand covers pale lips, and honestly? He’s in awe.
It’s… a really nice laugh.
“That too, I suppose,” she giggles, violet eyes sparkling. “But, I meant that I’m not going to report you to the police.”
“Well, it would be kind of awkward if you did,” Venti says as he jokingly sighs. “But… I wouldn’t really blame you, you know? Some guy just walks up to you, it’s late at night, and it’s not who you’re looking for… I’m surprised I haven’t been slapped yet! You don’t go out much, do you?”
“Ah… no,” she shakes her head and scratches her cheek awkwardly. “I’m usually so busy at work, I barely have enough time to eat and sleep, really… I have an important secretary role in a powerful company, so…”
“So, they basically need you to function?” He guesses.
She looks surprised as she nods.
Ah, a humble office worker, then! He can easily imagine her in a short, dark pencil skirt and pantyhose, leaning over a desk… And maybe she’d call him sir, and ask if she could get him some coffee…
“What do you do for work, Venti?” She asks, leaning in a little.
“Huh?” He’s cut off from his dreaming by the sound of her voice, but well – well, that’s probably a good thing..
“I asked you what you did for work, Venti,” she repeats.
“Oh, um,” he awkwardly laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nothing much. I don’t…. I don’t really have a career. I just sort of clean tables when I’m able, and sweep the back alleys of bars. I didn’t go to school, so…:”
It’s probably the most embarrassing part of his life (right next to daydreaming about a woman while being right next to her). Honestly, he probably just wasn’t cut out for the system, if he had to put a name on it – he barely made it through high school because he was the class clown, and because being the class clown was a lot more fun than suffering through the fifteen lecture about math that week.
And when it came to college? He was just too poor to afford it – Venti didn’t exactly come from the best part of town, and he didn’t exactly come from the best family, either. His grades were suffering either way, anyways – so there was no way he’d be able to keep or even get a scholarship to anywhere, no matter how much fictional talent he thought he possessed.
So, what’s a sad, poor outcast to do? Manual labor and minimum wage as soon as he graduated, of course. And he hasn’t been back to school since. He hasn’t even tried…. He doesn’t think he’ll get anywhere.
“It’s okay,” she says with a soft smile. “I studied business because I didn’t have anything else I was interested in. It’s what my parents and my family expected of me, and so, I went for it. But that’s… kind of boring, isn’t it?” She laughs, just a little. But it’s sad. It’s sad.
(She must think she’s pretty sad, even next to him.)
“I don’t know, Ganyu,” he smirks, putting a hand on his hips. “Being so crucial to a big ass company to the point where they’d just fall apart without you? I think that’s pretty cool, actually! Not a lot of people can say they’ve made themselves so indispensable! I think that’s something to admire!”
“I suppose so,” she giggles as she brushes back yet another stand of her hair. “It’s just… I think it’d be fair to say I just live to work, and nothing else. I don’t really have any hobbies or interests, which is why I went into business. It’s simple, it’s efficient, and I don’t mind the monotony of a keyboard, sitting at a desk, day in, day out…”
She sighs.
“And I love my work, I do. I wouldn’t change it for the world – there is a sense of power and responsibility that I know I grasp in my hands. It’s an honor, really,” she says as she takes a breath.
“But, I suppose I do ask myself…. As I grow older and so do all my friends… I wonder if I’ve really lived life,” she muses as she stares off into the cloudy night sky. “I used to say it all the time that work was my hobby – but then, I got told that’s not what a hobby was. But I don’t know anything else, so… Have I been limiting myself all this time?”
He falls silent as it starts to rain. He sighs; damn it. He didn’t bring an umbrella.
And he didn’t bring a proper answer for her, either. He really wishes he did – he wishes he had the magical potion that would just make all of this better, but he’s got nothing. Nothing at all.
“Venti,” she asks, barely above a whisper.
“Hmm?” He looks up at her.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” she says, carefully, “what are you interested in?”
“….” He doesn’t say anything as he finally opens his favorite pack of cigarettes, and shakes one out of the box. “…. You don’t mind?”
She shakes her head. “No, the friend I’m waiting for is a smoker.”
“Cool.”
And with that, he takes out a small, metal lighter and fumbles with the trigger. Sweaty hands, it’s always his goddamn sweaty hands. He doesn’t really like talking about himself. He doesn’t like looking even more pathetic than he already does. But she opened up first, and she trusted him first, and the least he can do is return the favor. So, he lights up his cigarette, takes the longest drag of his life, and exhales, watching the smoke dissipate in the rain.
“So,” he starts. “I really like music, and I really like storytelling. I like them both. I like to tell stories through my songs, basically,” he says as he rubs the back of his neck for the fifth time that night because he’s just shooting himself in the foot here. “I… haven’t really made it in the industry yet, so I support myself by doing odd jobs here and there. Right now, I support myself by working at Angel’s Share, while I wait for the right person to notice me. Hopefully, they like alcohol – because this is the steadiest gig I’ve had.”
“I see,” she nods.
“I mean, I knew it’d be hard. Of course I knew it’d be hard,” he says, as he takes another drag. “A sad guy with a guitar and a dream, saying he puts real meaning into his music?” He laughs. “That’s like a dime a dozen in this town, you know. I’m not special . I don’t have this…. magical talent that everyone covets. But I’m stubborn, so I keep trying, in the hopes that one day… I’ll finally make it.”
As he exhales, he’s expecting her to just slowly nod along and then to just ignore him from here on out. He’s expecting her to just laugh, maybe, or to give him a look of lukewarm sympathy. He wouldn’t exactly blame her for it, either. He wouldn’t even listen to himself, half the time – who cares about some petty asshole, some sad sack with some cheap guitar who thinks he can make music? Fucking no one, that’s who. No one wants to listen to some whiny asshole.
But Ganyu, this stranger up until now? She does none of that. She just… smiles warmly at him, smiles genuinely.
“I hope you make it, Venti.” She says. “I think there’s something to be said about real passion, and how it can drive one forward, no matter what. It must be so wonderful to have something you’ll never give up on – to have a real reason to get up in the morning, every day, even if it feels like all of it is the same…”
She’s a good one, he’ll give her that.
“Not everyone can say they’re still pursuing their dream after all this, after all. I think that’s something to admire.” She giggles, and he just stands there, a little speechless!
Son of a – she stole his line!
He loves it.
And just like that, her phone finally rings a cute little tune, and she picks it up.
It has to be her friend, he thinks, judging by the look of utter and sheer relief that just washes over her face as she hears her friend’s voice on the other line.
Her “friend” (he’s a little salty it took this long), funnily enough, is pretty damn loud – he can hear her yelling out the speaker from about where he's standing and he isn’t even standing that close to her! He would sort of hate to know what it must be like to talk to her in person and hungover (which admittingly is his default setting), but he can’t help but to be curious too… Maybe he needs that sort of loud, rowdy energy in his life.
But well, here’s the gist of the situation he’s able to get from what he hears and what Ganyu responds to.
Her friend’s name is Beidou, and Beidou is a self-made woman who runs a shipping and freight company. Said owner of said company recently had some new hires, and one of the new hires was sort of having trouble on his first few days on the job. Beidou complains “the poet fucker” (interesting choice of words) hadn’t really seemed to do much else but sprout flowers from his mouth, but he’s got a good work ethic so she keeps him. He ends up accidentally damaging goods while she’s texting Ganyu and in a rush to make sure he didn’t fuck up anymore, Beidou just presses send on her text without checking it.
It turns out that Beidou had sent the wrong address, and after about over an hour of waiting at the correct location, she’s just seen the text, and she just realized it was wrong.
“What is this, some sitcom?” He says out loud, and Ganyu laughs. Beidou asks what she’s laughing at, and Ganyu dismisses it with a little wave, saying someone at the front of the theatre told a joke.
“Whatever, just come to the train station,” her friend says. “I’m already on the track and I’ll take you home. Plus, I’ll buy you your favorite for lunch tomorrow to make up for all the trouble!”
“Okay, I will,” she says as she nods, and the call ends. “Oh – I’m sorry. It looks like I’ll have to go now,” she tells him as she pulls out a small, black umbrella from her purse, opens it, and starts walking away.
And as she starts walking away, as her footsteps start to echo in his head, and as she slowly becomes a blue and black blur under old neon, flickering lights, he’s fearful and anxious, like tar is churning in his insides and sticking and tearing apart everything. And something in him knows, it just knows – he lets her go now? He’s never going to see her again. And he, he just –
“Wait!” He calls out.
She stops, dead in her track, and glances back. “Hmm?”
Frantic, Venti searches his jean pockets like an absolute madman, turning them inside out thrice over, all while Ganyu watches on, clearly a little bit amused, but also mostly very much confused . She probably didn’t stop just to watch him tear his pants off, in the middle of the street, to boot…
And yes, he knows – he knows this must looks absolutely fucking ridiculous right now, as desperate as he seems, trying to grasp for something completely and utterly invisible to her. But it’s only due to sheer coincidence and circumstance that they just so happened to meet under the marque of this old, historical movie theatre, right? She was only here due to a mistake by her friend, right? She’s not going to come back, and if she isn’t going to come back and he won’t ever see her again…
(He admits that finally, he does feel something. He doesn’t want to let go of the girl with the silken blue hair and the sparkling violet eyes who speaks so softly and laughs like songbirds. Maybe it’s not love, maybe not yet – but he feels something and…
Is it really so bad that he doesn’t want to let go of a miracle?)
And finally, after three miserable minutes, he finds it!
It’s an old business card, the pristine white having long since faded and the cardstock crumbled and wrinkled, vaguely smelling of dandelion wine. He had it printed on the advice of an old friend – an old friend he really should visit by now – because business cards were portable and easy. A good business card had all the information one needed at a glance, and it would help when he needed to make connections. Who knew the old blockhead’s advice would help him win a girl, potentially?
“Here!” He says as he hands it over to her. “In case, you know, you ever want to find me again. You business people love your cards, right?”
She laughs, smiling wide as she takes it in between slim, delicate fingers. “I suppose we do. Thank you so much, Venti. I promise I’ll find the time to listen to your music soon.” And with a surprise kiss to his cheek, she finally wanders off into the night, disappearing like a dream.
You know, he thinks it’s fair to say he’s in love, finally, as he places a hand over his cheek and sighs happily.
Later that night, at home in his humble little apartment – where the floor is consumed by dirty laundry and half-finished music sheets, where the walls are utterly plastered by old band posters from the eighties and old paintings from his high school days and where everything smells faintly of beer and broken dreams – he’s scrolling through the comments on the website that he had made himself for his music, held together by party glue and popsicle sticks.
There’s a notification, and he clicks on it.
The profile picture features a girl with familiar flowy blue hair, like the ancient rivers in Liyue, long and winding. She’s in a white button-up shirt from what he can tell, with a red scarf tied at her throat. There’s another woman next to her, muscular with a dark eyepatch and torn t-shirt, and a wide, toothy grin. He snickers. This must be Beidou, then.
“I really enjoyed your music, Venti!” The comment reads. “I think you really have a way of putting emotions into words that’s almost impossible to describe. They make me feel like I’m in that moment, that I’m the one in the song, feeling those same things you might have felt when you sang and wrote them. It’s powerful stuff, and I’m really looking forward to the next one! : D”
He smiles, blushing – but just a little.
There’s a small, historical old movie theatre in one of the quieter parts of town.
You know the one; the parts that are mostly run down from how long it’s just been there and filled with old farts that have refused to move in over forty years because they’re just that old and stubborn, and you might as well move mountains with the willpower you’d need to crack bone and teeth alike. It “speaks” to the city’s cultural heritage – a neighborhood that hasn’t been run over by multi-story plain white condos that'd make an architect from the seventeen hundreds cry.
It’s called The Grand Narukami Theatre.
It’s been family run for the last few five hundred years, ever since one of their ancestors became shipwrecked on some distant sea shore that didn’t exist anymore, or so the story goes. He doesn’t actually know the specifics beyond some vague mention of this ancestor loving to act and renovating some long-abandoned temple until it became the old, quaint movie theatre he finds himself in front of today – you know, the one where half the lettered lights aren’t working and where the wallpaper’s been peeling for the last decade?
He still doesn’t know the current owner, either, but he’s sure he’s seen her more than a few times; tall, with long pink hair and long legs, always with a mischievous twinkle in her eye like she wants to stir up some trouble. He thinks he likes her – he thinks he likes her long pink hair and her long legs, enough to actually watch a movie at her establishment, because probably not, because he's not here for her.
He's here for Ganyu.
As he grabs his favorite pack of smokes from the vending machine, from the corner of his eyes, he thinks…
Wow. There’s a girl here.
There’s a girl he recognizes.
She’s a cute little thing in a big, oversized cream-colored sweater with a black pencil skirt and plain black flats, with little bows on them. Her long, flowy blue hair is tied neatly back in a ponytail, and she’s carrying a plain brown messenger bag over her shoulders. She holds onto to the strap of her messenger bag with a loose grip as she occasionally rocks on her heels and acts like she hasn’t seen him standing there for the past ten minutes, but that’s okay – she’s cute enough to forgive her for any trouble.
And, honestly?
As much as he liked how she looked on the first night they met (and he did really like it), he thinks this look is just… perfect on her. She looks comfortable and cozy, and she just seems to… shine. She looks like she belongs in a quiet corner of a café, mocha in hand, typing away at whatever comes to her head. She looks like she belongs on a bench in the park, tossing peas at a pond full of ducks.
(She looks like she belongs on the corner of his bed with her shoes off, laughing and smiling as he shows her his latest works, asking her what she thinks, what she likes, and just… being there. Just being so wondrous and beautiful. )
Yeah. He thinks he really likes it.
“Hey!” He chuckles as he walks up to her. “Glad to see you could make it!”
“Of course!” She says as she smiles back, pushing back a loose strand of her hair. She sighs, just a little, as she fiddles with her strap. “I’m sorry it took so long for us to meet and to clear my schedule… Every time I thought I might have been able to take some time off, there was more work to do! It took Beidou yelling at Ningguang in her office before I finally had a day off…”
He laughs, being able to perfectly imagine a tall, dark haired woman with tattoos and an eyepatch, just marching up to the door in a pristine office building and threatening to kick it down if she didn’t get an answer.
Yeah, that was Beidou, he’s come to find out (but he’s actually really thankful, because Ganyu’s schedule would have been impossible to clear, otherwise).
He laughs, as he does a mock bow. “It’s okay! For you, my lady, every second has been worth it.”
She snorts as they walk up to the front booth together, muttering under her breath about how cheesy it was, but she’s still smiling, so he thinks he won out, in the end. The tough, no-nonsense woman who works the front slides him a bit of a discount on his tickets – her way of probably saying ‘thank you for finally coming to see an actual movie here and thank you for bringing a new customer’. (Or maybe, it’s because her old problem came around and Venti had to solve it. Again.)
They take their seats and get comfortable at the back of the theatre, where the light wouldn’t bother her eyes too much (too many hours sitting in front of computer, she sighs, too many hours sitting at a computer). And where of course, she could maybe fall asleep on his shoulder halfway through the film as he finishes their bag of popcorn – he wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t mind at all, especially as she lays her head on his shoulder in that exact moment and shuffles around just a little bit more.
The lights dim, the theatre gets all quiet, and then…
And you could see it change
Look past the blinding light
Look past the blinding light
Just keep talking now
Tell me your favorite things
Tell me your favorite things