[Skirts. Adrian had to say that word, and it immediately short-circuits Trevor into a stunned silence. Trevor appreciates skirts. More accurately, he appreciates legs, and most skirts afford a generous view of the legs they contain. Sypha has nice legs; he'd like to see her in a skirt. Adrian also has nice legs...
Being in whatever this is with both of them has manufactured some inordinately strange trains of thought for Trevor. Clothing, for example. The notion of anything even vaguely attractive becomes a mental struggle between whether Sypha or Adrian would look better in it. They're about even so far, not that Trevor's keeping score, but it's a nigh-daily curse now.
But a toast. Yes. Trevor centers himself, takes up his glass, and draws a slow breath, because--
Words are hard. Finding the right words that won't sound ridiculous is harder still.]
To... [Something, he's tempted to say. But that's not what Adrian wants to hear.] To the luckiest man in the world, who's making a complete idiot of himself and enjoying every moment, because he's doing it beside you.
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Being in whatever this is with both of them has manufactured some inordinately strange trains of thought for Trevor. Clothing, for example. The notion of anything even vaguely attractive becomes a mental struggle between whether Sypha or Adrian would look better in it. They're about even so far, not that Trevor's keeping score, but it's a nigh-daily curse now.
But a toast. Yes. Trevor centers himself, takes up his glass, and draws a slow breath, because--
Words are hard. Finding the right words that won't sound ridiculous is harder still.]
To... [Something, he's tempted to say. But that's not what Adrian wants to hear.] To the luckiest man in the world, who's making a complete idiot of himself and enjoying every moment, because he's doing it beside you.