#basic title is basic

the dance floor in the middle of the room was full of people, though rules had needed to be put in place an hour or so in when one of the von schweetz triplets tried to initiate a dance off and ended up falling over a table as a result. that was where he was now, not really dancing, just goofing off with thorn and oberon, swaying while talking, that kind of thing. it was a miracle they’d gotten him up in the first place.

oberon’s gaze went over thorn and morgan’s heads about ten minutes in, eyebrows scrunching together as he spotted something on the far side of the room. “is that nerina?”

morgan didn’t want to look, but he did anyway, turning around to see what oberon was talking about. nerina was a girl who often exuded an air of confidence, back always straight, head always up, but right now she looked nervous. her perfectly done nails tapped against each other as she approached a boy off to the side. he was probably a couple of years older than her, over a head taller, and morgan didn’t recognise him personally, but from his posture and clothes ( which to him just screamed ‘douchebag’ ), he found he didn’t want to.

“she is not about to ask him to dance,” he heard thorn say behind him, laughter in his voice.

morgan’s sentiments exactly, but they were all proved long as the fidgeting stopped for a moment and she looked at the boy with a hopeful smile on her face, a rare sight for her. she said something, he looked up, clearly disinterested, said a few words, and turned away. it was a short exchange, but it was enough. nerina’s face fell for a moment before she schooled her features and turned to face rosalind and celandine. she pretended to be okay, morgan could tell that much, but as soon as they were gone, she sat down at one of the tables and drummed her fingers against it.

one of her nervous habits.

“ouch,” oberon said, pity seeping into his voice. “at least it looks like she’s taking it in her stride.”

but morgan knew better. this was just the outer layer, the poker face of nerina blue-thames, the person he could spend hours on end arguing with about anything and everything. she’d practically sealed their fate the first time they’d met and she’d said, “i’m nerina blue-thames and your daddy blasted toilet water in my daddy’s face.” he’d seen that face make plenty of expressions, and while she had variations of her father’s trademark poker face, this was not one of them.

it was only when he saw the tiny tear slip that he felt propelled to do something.

“i’ll be back,” he said to thorn and oberon, only half-turning to address them, and so he missed the exchange of money behind the boys’ backs, the two bills being shoved into oberon’s pocket. he was already halfway across the room by that time.

it was only when he was a few strides away that he faltered, wondering what to say. why was he here in the first place? he was supposed to hate her, wasn’t he? was this the whole ‘girls are confusing’ thing his father had been talking about a few weeks ago? he hoped not.

when he finally did stop in front of her, her small face looking up at him with annoyed and -- was that apprehension? it confused him for a moment before he realised why, that she probably thought he was here to make fun of her. after all, it was something he would do.

and so he blurted out the first thing that came to mind, outstretching hand with a, “wanna dance?”

nerina was clearly surprised ( and rightfully so ), though she was quick to school her features. to his surprise, she took his hand and stood, the air of dignity he’d come to partner with her returning despite the slight redness of her eyes.

she headed towards the dance floor, stopping for only a brief moment to look back at him. “well, are you coming or not? you did ask me to dance.”