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The rightness of dancing slow, slower, slowest until, in the slanting light of the moon, they pull far enough back to see one another's eyes.
Not too far away wood snapped loud as the fire fed, but Francisco didn't hear, too busy cupping Kostya's jaw and apropos of everything saying "You're you."
Chapter 7, "A Loud Quiet," from "Sup From My Mouth" by AtlinMerrick.
I loved this scene so much; Siska trying so hard to bring himself back out of those awful memories, and Kostya gently picking up on his cues and giving him the grounding that he needs. Gentle movement, gentle music, gentle touch. Love, and love, and love. And when he's back in the here and now, Siska takes a long, careful look at this sweet perceptive man, and makes his choice.
How could I not try to draw that?
