Duck Lake No one dies from love; guess I'll be the first

Silence, and Reverie could only wonder; his eyes were soft, he was crying, but she was learning her lesson about assumptions. Rarely were they correct or productive, but she couldn't just wonder forever. Impulsively she kissed away that single tear and leaned close, breath against his ear, to murmur: Tell me what you're thinking, Do you feel this too? Tell me what you want. And finally the question was asked, in a winding and flawed sort of way. What were they becoming?
Childishly, she hoped for a split second that he would want the same thing she did; she hoped that he would want to dance.