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Summary
A lone man steps up to the table with high, sharp cheekbones which contour his face appealingly. He’s tall and thin, incredibly pale in contrast to his dark hair. He’s wearing a dress shirt and dress pants (a bit formal for a rock show, but hey! Newt’s not gonna judge anyone’s personal style). The stern, austerely set mouth at once raises up into a wide smile. The stranger’s eyes meet his, deep brown framed by thick, dark lashes, and an inexplicable jolt thrums through Newt’s body.
Newt Geiszler may or may not be totally ruined.
“Hey, man!” he says, quickly recovering and throwing on what he hopes is something close to a cute grin. “Thanks for coming to the show.”
The stranger takes a step forward and opens his mouth and Newt is not ready for the smoothest, most posh British accent he’s ever heard. “It was a marvelous performance.”
Oh, Newt Geiszler is beyond ruined. Newt Geiszler is utterly and totally fucked.
Series
- Part 2 of The Compositions-verse Collection