paris and dove.
Dove is not having fun. Just go home, they tell themselves, but then the what-ifs start to pile down. They don’t think themselves a paranoid person, per se, and yet it itches. Like a mosquito bite they try to ignore with all their might. They end up scratching it time and time again. As is to be expected from Dove Longbottom, their face is thunderous, their footsteps filled with ill-contained frustration and they think they might find some solace in the loud music played by the Bent-Winged Snitches. And they do, until their eyes fall on Paris. Paris who is looking at them. Dove looks away, Dove focuses on the guitar riff, the bass line, the vocals. They let their gaze travel and find Paris looking at her still and they stick up a middle finger. But Dove is like an oil spill right now, easily set ablaze and when they catch their ex staring at them still, at least a minute later, they stomp over. “Enjoying the fucking view, are we?” They gesture at the stage. “Disrespectful, not to pay ‘em any mind, if you ask me.”
@excvlsiors