[Nope. Sorry. It doesn't really make him feel better at all. In fact it gives Freddy butterflies in his stomach and this is a young man who's pretty sure his is made of dwarf-forged iron. That's saying something. He doesn't say or do much of anything else until White's right there waiting. You've bitten off more than you can chew, dude. He crumples up his wrapper, wipes his hands, then climbs out.]
So what kind of dance are we gonna do?
[No hands touching? Just a boogie? Oh please oh please let there be touching.]
no subject
So what kind of dance are we gonna do?
[No hands touching? Just a boogie? Oh please oh please let there be touching.]