Kelsey Helynn
Bannana Muffins
Quote:
Short story about my avatar written by Kiddlet
He wasn't sure how to react when she walked over to him, bit her lip, and shyly asked for a dance.
He stammered a bit, predictably, and glanced around in a panic. He wasn't the type to get invitations -- not from pretty girls, with candy-floss pink hair and cyan-blue eyes and ... uhm, peach-pale skin !! because yeah that was a good adjective -- and he thought, instantly, that it had to be a trick. She was asking him on a dare, and when he said yes, the jocks were going to leap out and laugh and there would be much laughter at his expense, and embarrassing photos all over the internet, and --
She asked him again, this time a little desperately. He hesitated, again, and without thinking, nodded. Her face lit up with relieved glee, and she lead him out on to the dance floor.
I don't know how to dance he realizes with sudden panic and she laughs, a soft and gentle kind of sound, guiding his hands to her hips, and not saying anything about the way he trembles. She slides both her arms around his neck and smiles, encouraging him to sway with her, and he is enthralled by the way she can move in heels so high.
The song changes and she grins, impishly, not giving him a chance to react -- she drags him further out, laughing and prancing, and he has no choice but to join in the new dance unless he wants to force his way out of the crowd (which he really doesn't with her smiling at him like that oh no).
More dances, more songs, and he doesn't understand why she is paying him attention now, after so long, why she is dancing with him despite the stares of disbelief and the sarcastic remarks when she hasn't even noticed he was alive for so many years.
She grins at his expression and twists and turns and loses herself in the music, and after a while, he finds himself laughing too, forgetting all his reservations and just letting his skirt flutter as he spins around with her, heavy in his boots.
And she doesn't care at all.
The music fades, the crowd disperses. They are the last to leave, reluctant to part from the sanctuary of the dance floor. Tomorrow there will be questions to answer, rumors to deny and reality to face, but as long as they don't leave the hall -- as long as they don't exit into the night air -- it will always be tomorrow's problem, and far enough away not to worry.
But eventually they are forced to, and she shivers in the sudden change of temperature, tilting her head and smiling as he settles his cape around her shoulders. It is too measly to do anything, to provide any warmth at all, but the way she looks at him he could believe it contained enough warmth to heat the entirety of Africa.
He didn't want her to leave. He told her so. She laughed, pleased and amused, and asked him to walk her home.
They didn't speak as they wandered through the streets, taking the scenic route, both aware when the night ended, they would be back to reality, and would likely never speak again. That was the way it went -- ships passing in the night, never anything more. Social etiquette would not allow the princes to mingle with the paupers.
She lived in a mansion, a palace, an abode fit for a queen. He walked her to the door and stood at the bottom of the steps as she slowly walked up, hesitating at the top.
She speaks to him then, haltingly, apologizing and asking for forgiveness in the same breath, then ignoring it all in the next. He is helpless to do anything but listen, staring at her, thinking that if he didn't look away soon his brain would explode and that he really should be paying attention to what she's saying but all he can think is that when she walks through that door it's going to be over and --
Come here she orders him, softly, and holds out her hand. He leaps at the chance, springs up the stairs ...
... trips and falls over his own feet in his haste, slamming his face into the concrete and tasting copper even as he cries out. She is at his side instantly, pulling him up, and at first he is confused by her laughter, by her amusement at his pain and humiliation, until he sees the tears in her eyes and understands.
So he begins to laugh too, and they sit on the step, his nose dripping blood down his shirt and her head resting on his shoulder, giggling and laughing in the darkness and waiting for it all to be over.
There isn't much of a choice, really, because when the night is over, they will have to part ways. What else can they do but enjoy what's left ?
