jesus, he's fucked up hasn't he. "i mean here." he states carefully. maybe she didn't get it. he didn't belong to himself here. he was a item. a TOY. but then he thinks of her. she was holy. she shouldn't be in that situation. "you're not going back in there." he reaches for her to pull her closer to him.
"you're misunderstanding me, magda, in there? i don't get a say in this. i have to be on at all times. that's what i am. to them i'm nothing? don't worry?"
"you invited me here," she mutters as he pulls her closer. magda has to make a conscious effort not to meet his eyes, she knew she'd only get lost in them. she always fell harder, didn't she?
she keeps looking past him, talking more to the door than to him. the singer didn't want him to see how much this hurt her, to see how much she cared. "why wouldn't i worry? i--- that's not a good place for you to be. i---" love you. "like you. i thought we could... talk? or something? not that i'd be watching you make out with everyone but me."












