Give me more slow dancing with no music, arms wrapped tightly around each other, breaths mingling.
She's sitting on the couch, tucked into one corner, looking small and sad, her eyes heavy and wet. He feels his heart ache for her, wants to help her, always. And the only thing he can think to do is move forward and offer her his hand.
(It certainly isn't the first time he's surrendered to her.)
She looks at him in confusion, her brow furrowing and her chin trembling, looking so lost that he can only do one thing. He simply reaches down and takes her hand, tugging her gently but firmly to stand, pulling her without hesitation into his arms. She goes without resistance, not taking her hand back and unconsciously bringing the other up to rest lightly on his chest. With that, Red starts to move, just swaying slightly from side to side, taking her with him.
"What are we doing?" she asks quietly, a whisper, really, just breathing the question to him.
"We're dancing, Lizzie," he answers just as softly, slowly moving his free arm to rest around her waist.
"But there's no music, Red," she murmurs, sounding a little amused now and he's so happy, even if it's technically at his expense, loving the thought of her fondly shaking her head over his silly antics.
"Oh, that doesn't matter," he whispers, bringing his cheek to rest ever so gently against hers, silken and soft, warm and lovely. Perfect.
Lizzie.
"We'll make our own."
