The goth bar wasn’t his usual haunt. When he went by there, he was only reminded of that one off, last time with Luna in the back room, and felt the remnants of regret that they didn’t get a decent last memory together. Tonight though, he’d been at a bar not far away, and he felt a pull to go in, and try his luck.
A drink in hand, he bobbed his head a little in time with the music, sipping as he watched the people move around him. The best part about goths was their propensity, sometimes, to wear very little, and have it all be black and shiny. One lovely creature was wearing only a fishnet body stocking and a very short pleather skirt, and he followed the curves of her body as she passed him, and as he did he looked up.
Luna. Of course it was her. Of all the nights, of course she was here. She hadn’t seen him, so he had a moment to take in her glossy straight hair, and the way it fanned out as she moved with the music. He’d meant to turn away before she caught him looking, but he didn’t, and she looked up and saw him, and he couldn’t not look.
Hi, he mouthed back, lifting one hand in a small wave of greeting. He should go. He should really go. This was her space, not his, and she wouldn’t want him there. And yet.