[u]Dogs of Love: Night Three[/u]

https://youtu.be/MSch10KzYAo

	The wind blew vigorously against his chest as an open shirt fishman serenaded the two, standing atop a floating platform that did not distract from the cliff side view.  The moon hung low over the ocean, its reflection blessing the rustling waves with it’s pureness, reaching up the cliff and illuminating the side of Penne’s face.  Isaac gentle rested his fork to the side of his entrée, a lightly glazed salmon with a small hint of some identified herb, and smiled at her, like he had rehearsed a hundred times when the production ended at the end of day two, and smiled.  “Do you believe in gods?” he asked her.

	Penne chucked.  “I suppose I do,” she replied, neatly dabbing her face with the napkin and placing it gently back on her lap, leaning of the table and resting her head sweetly on her palm.  “Why do you ask?”

	Isaac looked off into the view, counting to five in his head before looking back.  “You see, I never did before today, before this moment.  I sailed seas only trust myself, my weapon, and the knowledge that the only thing I could look forward to in the end of this, this show, was a cold void that in many ways, matched my heart.”  He looked down, careful to show the smallest hint of emotion, but not enough to overdo it.

	“And?” Penne asked, lifting his head with a finger and gifting him a radiant smile, “what do you think now?”

	“I,” he hesitated, “looking at you, here, in this place.”  Isaac tapped his finger against the table, as he often did when was nervous.  Penne had taught him many things in the two full days he spent with her, the most useful of which was the art of lying, something she excelled at greatly.  All he had to do was believe it, believe that it was real, pretend he was someone else, somewhere else, and play his part like he could in any other situation.  “This all can’t be an accident, can it?  I may have only known you for a few days, but I have never felt this way about a person before.  I keep playing it through again and again, but the only thing that makes sense, is divine intervention.  Penne..”  He made sure to add weight to his breaths, forcing each to come fasted until a red hue found his flesh.  “It could only be one thing.  L-“

	A stray noodle found his lips.  “lasagna,” she smiled.

	“Lasagna,” he affirmed, seeing the words flood of hashtags hit the bottom of the elevated screen from the corner of his eye, confirming that they were the most interesting thing happening tonight, and also letting them know that both would be safe for the night.