And his hand in hers is rough and her nails dig into his. The slightest of discomforts, familiarities, something to remember. She was there with someone else and so was he, friends, though they didn't know it at the time. When you walk in with someone you walk in with everything. There was a decision to be made, the ratio of alcohol to ice water, conversation and aloofness, things were getting complicated. And if you'd asked him how his night was going he would act like he didn't hear to buy himself some time. And she had multiple trips to the bathroom to text her best friend what she should do. And the friends that they walked in with talked and got along just fine, had things in common, said words at the same time, made plans to meet up on another night. And the music grew louder, and the air was hot, and so much was said with so little, the smallest look, and that's what they were afraid of.
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