Re: James/Fisher
James was here, and he was standing right there, and he looked so incredibly gorgeous and sexy and he was putting a flower on Fisher's jacket. It was black. A black rose. God, James was just so... perfect. How could anyone look at him and not see how perfect he was? He was smart and geeky and weird and handsome and stunning and just... perfect. Every inch of him. With a small, bewildered smile, Fisher let james pin it on him, feeling like this had to be a dream. It was just too incredible.
The spell was broken a little as James scowled, stealing the glass from his hand. "It, I... Lyle," he mumbled, watching James swallow it down easily, a little envious. Pouting just slightly, he sighed. James had stolen his drink, though he was making up for it fast with those hands on his hips, and that sexy smirk on his lips. Starting to get lost a moment, Fisher hummed happily, then realized what was actually being said to him. "Wha... dance? With you?" In public like this? No, that was... no. No no. How could they? "But it... we're..." He didn't want to say that he couldn't do it in front of all these people, because that sounded really awful, but that was the truth of it. These people knew him, even if he didn't remember all of them, and they knew what a mess he and James were involved in, and they'd stare and criticize and glare and he could already feel the seething radiating from everyone. "No, James," he said softly, almost in a whimper. "Can't we just... stay here and just watch people?" In the safety of the sidelines...?