Drunk Texting | T. Drake ✔

[25]

She had been watching Tim Drake and how he was effortlessly handling the whole event and a small smile spread on her face.

Of course she wanted to get out on the dance floor as well. But the only person she wanted to accompany her was currently a little preoccupied.

A while passed and she had almost started to feel a little frustrated, sitting there all by herself, forcing herself away from the night's glamour just because she didn't want the press to turn anything into a scandal.

But then a rather wild thought crossed her mind; how about she just focus on what she wanted rather than worrying about what people would think?

Her lips curved into a smile as she typed: tell you what, just fuck the press. I can't do this whole pretending anymore.

The reply came rather suddenly as if he had been waiting for her to text him: Irina, are you sure?

Let them wag their tongues all they can. All I want right now is a dance with you.

Just then she spotted him right across from her. Not too far but not close enough either. Just one dance?

I don't know, let's dance the night away.

His reply was rather expected since out of the two, he cared comparatively more about public reputation. But more so he cared about her reputation. I still want you to be very certain of this. There will be no going back after tonight.

Irina let her eyes savor him once again, taking in his perfect jawline and apparently delicate frame as she typed: I don't want to go back. I just want you, Tim.

At that their eyes connected and a slow but unmistakable smile crept over his face.

So fuck the press and get your ass down here this instant.

As if in response, Tim walked up to where she was seated despite the fact that heads had started to gradually turn in their direction and the press people who were chilling at the bar had started to come back to their senses.

He stopped right in front of her, a dazzling smile on his face as he offered her his hand, "may I have this dance?"

Her red lips curved into a smile as she placed her hand in his, "certainly, Mister Drake."

It seemed as if even the musicians had sensed the delicacy of the moment as Pachelbel's Canon began to play in the background, its rhythm softly overlapping with each other in a rather inviting manner.

He held her gently by the waist as they twirled together on the dance floor, her hand resting on his shoulder and her face donning that absolutely stunning smile. She looked radiant and so did he such that it seemed as if the two had simply forgotten every other presence, and entered a realm of their own.

All the camera flashes and the paparazzi faded into nonexistence for them as they danced together, giving such a perfect closure to the event which could not have been planned otherwise.

As the music slowed down, so did they until her head was resting on his shoulder and his hand was entwined through hers, gently twirling to the dimming rhythm.

And just as the final note struck announcing the end of the song, instead of the trance being broken, Irina looked up into his blue irises placing both her arms around his neck in that very familiar gesture that the two had shared multiple times before in secret.

The only difference was that millions of people were watching them both at the event and via live broadcast. But it seemed as if nothing else mattered to the two.