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William T. Spears ([personal profile] dead_serious) wrote in [community profile] thedispatch 2020-06-18 09:20 pm (UTC)

[ That frown turns into a slight scrunching of his nose and he pulls his face back from her hand. ]

Stop fussing over me.

[ Though she just fixed his hair, he feels the need to do so himself. But, once satisfied, he turns to head up a floor to Corrections. He won't say it aloud, but there's always a small part of him that's grateful for his subordinates making errors on their reports. Visiting his partner to correct the mistakes allows him a brief reprieve.

With the paperwork in order, perhaps in record time, William is free to spend the evening as he'd hoped. Diner, a bit of dancing, wine and talk of anything but work. It's just what he needed after the stress of the day.

But, then the moment comes where he fishes around the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Suddenly, he's feeling as though there are butterflies in his stomach, something he can't say he's ever experienced before. He brushes it off, convincing himself there was nothing to be nervous about, and turning to her, takes a steadying breath before setting one knee to the ground.

It's not long after that he finds himself outside the door to Grell's flat, knocking quieter than he ever has. ]



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