From The Dining Table [H.S]

Fate

Primrose's POV:

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That's the sound the clock made as time slowly ticked away, chipping away at the long, mundane shift I was working. Half term finished today, so all the families retreated with their beach chairs and flip flops back to wherever the fuck they came from.

No, I don't mean to sound rude about it, however, I just feel that people take the seaside for granted. They assume that every time they come to the coast, the bar will be open, the ice cream shops will be serving - it's a mockery. The business they bring is very much appreciated, yet, I just wish they wouldn't litter everywhere, and crowd our beautiful beach with wind breakers.

Maybe I'm just being petty... anyways, back to the clock.

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This entire thought passed approximately 17 seconds. It's a violation to be completely honest.

Angel was sweeping the far corner of the bar, jamming to RuPaul's iconic Cover Girl in his airpods.

"Cover girl... put the bass in your walk." He sung to himself, swivelling his hips side to side as he swept.

"Head to toe... let your whole body talk." I sung unintentionally: recalling the lyrics from the hundreds of DragRace episodes I've watched with him. Walking round the bar, I stood in the middle of the room, and clapped loudly to get Angels attention. Confused, he turns around and takes one AirPod out.

"Was that you?" He asks, looking at me with a puzzled expression as I stood in with my hand on my hip.

Without saying a word, I began to walk up and down the wooden floor like it was a cat walk. One foot in front of the other, swaying the hips, letting my arms guide the way. Stopping infront of Angel, I gave him a sassy finger snap, before whipping my hair round and strutting down the room again.

"Okay, I see you." Angel said, pulling his phone from his pocket and disconnecting his air pods. Before I knew it, CoverGirl was blaring from the restaurant speakers, and Angel was preparing to walk our imaginary runway.

"Let me show you how the real queens do it." Angel announced, before closing his eyes and fanning his face as if he was composing himself.

Standing at the other end of the room, I watched as Angel powerfully stepped his way towards me: his arms secured on his waist, and his eyes focused on mine. When he reached me, he spun around quickly, before falling down into a slut drop, then slowly rising up again - keeping complete focus on me.

"That's, how you walk a runway." He says proudly, flicking his hair behind his shoulders. Angel walked with such confidence, such beauty - he could make an entire room of people drop to their knees as soon as he enters. I've always envied him for it. Whenever we go out - which is rarely - I walk in, and nobody looks, but Angel walks in and everyone is in awe. All the girls are whispering to one another, saying 'wow, look at him. We need to have a drink with him.', because they all love the gays, and all the men are saying 'wow, that's one good looking bloke.'

"Miss girl, don't look so sad. Not everyone can be as perfect as me. I'll teach you." He offers, putting his hand out for me to take.

"Teach me?" I ask, letting him guide me to the other side of the room.