Dax and Tai-San "talk" in His Room
Dax left the Cafe silently, he was tired of not being able to break his thoughts of May, his anger at the situation, his anger with himself. He didn't know what he wanted when he arrived back in his room, was he hoping to find May in there? Was he hoping that she'd be in there, reading his note, and the minute he opened the door, she'd forgive him and he could make it up to her? Possibly, but he didn't expect it. His stomach lurched as he turned the knob on their room and found...it empty. Sighing, he headed inside, closing the door but not shutting it, leaving it open just a crack. He moved to his dresser, there was nothing to do, some Hen Party, he wondered why there wasn't a Stag Night planned, but he didn't expect he'd be invited anyway, after all, he was just that schmo living in the office complex with May.
Dax fiddled with her jewelry laying across the top, touching things, looking at the reminders of his place, here with her, remembering the bits of his note. I wish you were here with me now, your head against my chest, I long to hold you again, it felt so true right now, I will still be here, for as long as you let me stay. Dax let his hand go up to the necklace, fingering the beads, as if that somehow made him closer to May. He frowned, god what was wrong with him, twisted up over a girl. He flung himself back onto the bed and lay across the width of it, his legs dangling over the edge.
Dax fiddled with her jewelry laying across the top, touching things, looking at the reminders of his place, here with her, remembering the bits of his note. I wish you were here with me now, your head against my chest, I long to hold you again, it felt so true right now, I will still be here, for as long as you let me stay. Dax let his hand go up to the necklace, fingering the beads, as if that somehow made him closer to May. He frowned, god what was wrong with him, twisted up over a girl. He flung himself back onto the bed and lay across the width of it, his legs dangling over the edge.
