Word Count: 1085

“You should let me ask you out sometime.”

Paris was in the middle of changing his shoes, replacing his ballet slippers with a pair of worn converses for the journey home. He looked up from his place on the wooden floor. Around him, the other dancers were preparing to depart the studio, splitting off into groups after a day of practice and rehearsals. A few had extended the invitation to join them, but Paris had already turned them down. It had been a long day. He was ready to go home, eat, rest for an hour or two, and then maybe head out for a quick patrol if he didn’t fall asleep before he could force himself out the door.

The Nutcracker Prince, or the dancer who had the part, stood in front of him. Luccio Rossi was a moderately handsome young man fresh into his early twenties, tall and blue eyed, with dark, curly hair. Most of the company preferred to call him Ross, and he just so happened to fall into the 50% statistic that had been observed of male dancers—to the great disappointment but eventual acceptance of a few hopeful females, and to the great satisfaction of the other males who comprised the 50%. Paris had eyed him a few times—it was hard to ignore such an attractive person when they were working in such close confines—but found that his interest was not quite there.

Ross was just another moderately handsome young man in a sea of others—a very good dancer, yes, and though months ago Paris would have jumped at the chance for a little fun, he discovered now that his heart just wasn’t in it.

“I’m not available,” Paris said. It was hard to mask a smile at the earnest look on Ross’s face, but he managed it by looking down at his shoes as he tied them.

“Already dating someone?”

“Not at the moment, no. I just went through a messy breakup a couple of months ago. I guess I’m not ready to date again just yet.”

It surprised him to hear himself say it, but that didn’t make it any less true. The more he considered dating, or even returning to his previous habits, the more he balked at the thought. He had a pretty good idea that he knew what the cause was already—another handsome young man who, at this time, would be closing up shop and heading home to his big apartment and his adoring dog.

It wasn’t that he was in any way hopeful that he and Chris would ever get back together—it was an occasionally amusing thought, but not one he expected would come to fruition. No, it was more the fact that no one else could ever possibly compare.

And that made him laugh, because Chris had been so different and so perfect because he was so ordinary, and the world was full of ordinary people, yet none of them struck his fancy, not the way Chris had, and if the likes of Luccio Rossi couldn’t attract more than the occasional glance from him, he didn’t think any of them ever would.

“Ah,” Ross said, as if he’d expected something of the sort. When Paris finally looked up from his shoes, he saw that Ross was smiling benignly. “Maybe some other time? When you’re more ready?”

“Maybe,” Paris allowed. “Don’t count on it, though.”

“Not your type?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve just decided to focus on other things for a while. Relationships are too complicated. I need some time to do stuff for me, get my head on straight, figure out where I’m going…”

“And is one night asking for too much?”

Paris stared up at him and instantly noticed the suggestive gleam in his eye. He’d seen it far too often in far too many different circumstances to miss it so easily.

A tiny part of him, the wild, immature, irresponsible boy he’d been for the last handful of years, itched to accept the proposal. One night stands were so much less complicated. He could have used the stress relief, the moments of freedom that came with giving himself to someone who wouldn’t look for anything more the next day.

But then there was a larger part of him, the more grown up part that the wanton boy had evolved into being, the part that told him he was worth more, deserved better—that part gave a determined “no,” and put up the walls to close the other, smaller part out.

“I’m not really into that anymore,” he admitted as he stood to his feet, hoisting his bag onto one shoulder. “Been there, done that, not really interested in going back and doing it again.”

“Ah,” Ross said again. If he was disappointed at all, he didn’t show it. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

A small smile worked its way onto Paris’s face. It was still nice to know when he was desired, whether or not he planned on acting on it.

“Anyway,” Ross was quick to change the subject, and Paris appreciated his inclusiveness and friendly attitude despite the refusal, “a group of us were going to go catch a movie. Footloose.”

“You expect it to be any good?” Paris wondered, his brows rising in both curiosity and disbelief.

“Of course not!” Ross laughed. “But there’s no harm in seeing for ourselves. You should come with us.”

Paris thought of plenty of reasons why he shouldn’t go—he had to cook dinner for he and his father, he was already tired, there was patrolling to be done—but he soon realized that all of that sounded more like excuses than legitimate reasons. He could pick something up for his father to eat on the way home and fill his own stomach with popcorn and nachos at the theater; he’d stayed up for longer periods without sleep before and it hadn’t bothered him at all; and though he felt a sense of obligation toward his senshi duties, he didn’t have to patrol if he didn’t want to.

He could worry about that some other night. There wasn’t anything wrong with taking a night off to hang out and be young.

“Sure,” he finally agreed. “I just need to go home and change.”

Ross grinned as if he’d scored some sort of victory. “Would offering you a ride be too much?”

Paris found himself chuckling softly and shook his head. “No, that’s not too much at all.”