This isn’t their first song and dance. It’s not the first time that Dara has been purposely bratty or dramatic in order to get the attention she wants. That’s just who she is.
And Avi loves it. Or so Dara guesses. Otherwise, she’d surely have gotten tired of it by now.
“There are quite a few other things you can do for me.”
There’s a moment where she can reach out and take Avi’s hand if she wants, to stop her, to go with her, to make sure she knows she still wants to. But it rings true to Dara’s fears that if she does, those around them might notice. If they’re noticed, then…
She reaches forward, long arms coming in handy as she slips her hand into Avi’s.
“Don’t just leave me.” A small whimper, another pout, quickened feet to catch up the too large distance between them before she’s by her side and their fingers somehow end up intertwined.
The contact gives her pause. She stops-- full stop-- and it only takes two of Dara’s lengthened strides to catch up to her. The weight of the model’s hand wrapped around her own quickens Avi’s pulse. It’s not a revolutionary thing, you know, feeling her girlfriend’s hand in hers. They’ve held hands.
In one of their houses or a party with a very, very small, very close guest list.
Never at an event like this.
( Avi knows no one here gives a fuck. Neither of them is the most famous person here. Neither of them is going to be a topic of anyone’s conversation, especially not for doing something as harmless as holding hands walking through a crowd. But still.. for Dara... )
Turning around, she finds herself face to face ( well... face to breastbone ) with the blonde and tips her head back to look her in the eye. They’re close-- close enough that she can feel the heat off Dara’s body through the fabric of her shirt. Fingers wind around longer, more elegant ones. Her gaze is intent.
“I’ll never leave you. You know that.”
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