I don't own ML
His feet are quick and spry, his hands guide her across the room. This is their song and a dance only perfected with years and years.
It's too lively to be a waltz but too nostalgic to fit right in with the modern world. It's just uniquely them with a paces that savours every moment with just enough vigour.
And sometimes the neighbours whisper about the old lady with the bright eyes of a devious fox and the youngster, barely twenty, who falls into step with her at every path.
They won't understand. They never will.
This is them, frozen in time.