Dinner with a Dictator | Pagan Min

The Photo

Across the table, Alina scanned through her phone searching for a song; Pagan was seconds away from telling her to put it away – phones had no place at dinner – when her eyes suddenly lit up. She grinned at him from across the table and he quirked an eyebrow in response; Alina pressed play. The dulcet tones of Echo and The Bunnymen's 'The Killing Moon' filled the room and she stood and all but floated over to the wary looking dictator.

"What are you doing?" He asked, eyeing her smoothly moving form.

Alina twirled, "Dancing," she replied, "Don't tell me the King of Kyrat doesn't dance!" She held out her hand to him, and he stared at it with a raised brow. "Oh, come oooooon, live a little, let your undercut down."

If Alina felt ridiculous shimmying around by herself, she certainly didn't show it. She had the sort of completely unwarranted confidence that Pagan admired. That, in part, was why he took her hand and, with a heavy sigh, joined her on the 'dance' floor. Her victorious smile was glorious and well worth potentially making a fool of himself to see. Despite his best efforts to remain unattached, Pagan had become quite fond of his house guest, she was singularly the most charming person he had encountered in a long time (other than himself) and he over the last few weeks he had found that enjoyed her company immensely.

Though I know it must be killing time...unwillingly mine.

The song drifted around them, almost mocking Pagan as they danced; Alina looked...happy. Genuinely happy; her green eyes were bright but soft and she didn't seem to mind when he moved his arm from around her shoulders to her waist.

They were very close.

If he leaned in just slightly, he would have been able to plant a kiss on her forehead.

Or a little lower.

He didn't of course, but the thought was still there.

He will wait until...you give yourself to him.

Pagan couldn't really say how long they danced; it felt like longer than the length of one song. But eventually, Alina stopped swaying to the music and just stared at him, smiling as she usually did. "Thank you." She said, squeezing his hand.

"I didn't realise you appreciated dancing so much."

She laughed; he knew she would.

"No, for dinner," she looked down, almost coyly, "I wasn't sure you'd actually honour our agreement and eat with me every night, I know the King of Kyrat is a busy, busy man."

"Naturally," Pagan acknowledged, "But I always make time for my friends."

"Oh," she fluttered her eyelashes at him appealingly, "We're friends now, are we?"

Pagan tightened his grip around her waist ever so slightly, "Oh I'd say we're the very best of friends, my dear," he said smoothly, "Do you think I dance with just anybody?"

"I'd be insulted if you did."

The two stared at each other for a little longer than was strictly necessary, until Pagan finally released her. His gaze followed her back to her seat even as he walked to his own; she was particularly radiant tonight. Maybe it was her rather form fitting dress, or the way she'd styled her hair, so it fell over her shoulder in soft curls while her trauma-white strands framed her face.

Or perhaps it was the happy look on her face that made her glow.

Whatever it was, he couldn't look away.

"Take a picture Pagan, it'll last longer," she grinned, noticing his gaze, "Oh, in fact!" She hopped up again and came over to him, cell phone in hand; he hadn't a clue what she was up to this time. She stared at him, frowning in thought, before she shooed his arms from his lap and sat down on it. He barely had time to register the intrusion into his personal space, when she held up her phone with its camera on, Pagan was confronted with his own surprised face on the screen. "Smile!" He managed a smile, and Alina took the picture. "There," she said, "Ajay will be furious." She cackled and got straight to sending the photo to her brother.