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    Summary

    “…You better not step on my feet.” Kaelix huffed, half-resigned as he put his other hand on Zeal’s shoulder.

    “You’ll survive,” Zeal replied, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. “I don’t even think you’d dance better than me, but you didn’t see me making a problem out of it.”

    Kaelix tsked, but let his body get even closer to Zeal’s until both of their bodies aligned perfectly, like an instinct. “Well, who told me to be generous enough to agree with whatever this is.”

    Zeal’s hand that curled around him tightened, warm and sure. “We all know exactly why you’re going along with this.”

    Or: the bartender and the bouncer trapped by the rain after the live house's closing hour, accompanied by an antique gramophone given by a regular—and they (Zeal, mostly) take full advantage of it.

    Language:
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