Then we looked at each other and realised this was a strangely attractive thought. And then how utterly odd we were. So I felt I had to post about it to give you all another chance to laugh at me.
And, since it won't fit anywhere in the story I'm writing, I'll put this here :
His eyes are shut, shut tight; he doesn't need to open them, the keys under his fingertips are old friends. And his mouth is open, breathing stuttering and shocked, but he never says a word; the only sound in the half-dark, gasping near-silence is the clicking as long fingers type, desperate, over and over.
Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.
Happy Tuesday, Fiona.
(Odd. But you knew that.)