DANCE YOUR HEART OUT

The room is in absolute chaos, even Sabina, who had been so patiently watching with that amused expression of hers, seems appalled, her chair back from the table, scowling at her grandsons, shouting something at them. Honestly, there's so much shouting and noise going on that Trita can't even single out a single voice and sentence.

Aleric is saying something, Naemi is saying something to him as she pulls him back from the table protectively. The two of them huddle together inside the wings that extend from her back as if this is a serious, dangerous situation they need to ready themselves for.

Jurrien is out of his chair, seemingly as upset as Dolan, but he backs up slightly instead of lunging forward as Dolan had in attack. Unlike their father, Lunath and Shand have also stood up and backed away, more yelling at Dolan to stop than Jurrien who is yelling at Kvanne for being an incorrect idiot of some sort and other more colorful words.

Trita is the only one at the table at this point, staring wide-eyed at the scene, not because of what Dolan had done but because of what Kvanne had said. Ruined this family? She... Kvanne really holds that level of blame over her head? Maybe the better question is could he be right? Jurrien does have a job, he works for her, but it's not like it's phenomenal pay or anything. The only point she can see wrong in that is calling his relationship with Cazmi "casual" because those two are anything but. They're so completely hooked on each other and anyone who took five seconds to watch them would see that.

But. What he said about Dolan... She blinded him and tied him up... Did she ruin his life when she left? She knows it hurt him, about as much as what he said that night hurt her, but did she ruin him? Did she screw everything up for him, make him isolate himself from his own family, cause this tension to grow for years? Is this all because of her? Trita chews hard on her lip.

A small voice tries to speak up through the chaos, somewhat sticking out in her mind, but she's so lost in her thoughts that she has no clue where to turn to even find the voice's owner. Naemi looks over to Yvaine, eyes focusing, trying to read an expression past the shadow of her long red hair.

"Yvaine...?"

Suddenly, to everyone's surprise, Yvaine of all people acts first, reaching out and grabbing Kvanne's arm, pulling it back to keep him from following through trying to return Dolan's attack. Honestly, she's not the strongest, she probably couldn't actually hold back any true attempt of a punch like that, but the shock Kvanne feels from her desperately grabbing his arm like that makes his fist stop mere inches from Dolan's jaw.

She sniffles to herself, shoulders shaking, pressing her face to Kvanne's side, mumbling something into his shirt.

"I... I just wanted everyone to get together... I just..."

The sound of her trying to speak through her hiccups and sobs is heartbreaking, it's the sound of something very pure and good-intentioned shattering on the floor beneath uncaring boots. It's such a flip from what the tone had been that the entire room falls silent and listens.

"I just wanted. I wanted us to get together and be a family... I want us to be a family bef-before, for the baby... I just."

Trita sits back in her chair, not expecting this twist in the drama at all. Even Naemi, who had been trying to help Yvaine wrangle all the family together for months now, is caught off guard, leaning in to hear better, make sure she hadn't misheard anything.

Kvanne looks so rigid, like he may never move again, letting her cry into his side, trying to coax her into lifting her head so he can hear her better. Yvaine listens, but not in the way he was expecting. She rips herself away from him, lips quivering, hands balled into fists, clutching the fabric of her dress tightly, eyes red and tears still streaming down her face.

"I'm pregnant! I w-wanted to let you all know I'm pregnant. That's what I've wanted for weeks now, that's ... That's all I've-"

There's something angry in her expression for just a moment that gets choked out by an even more upsetting look of defeat and heartbreak. She doesn't wait for anyone to say anything, she just turns and runs out of the room towards the more closed off, isolated formal foyer, throwing herself down in the obviously rarely-used couch, clutching a pillow to herself.

The shock in the room is clear, and just as loud as it had been before, it falls silent just as fast, everyone standing stock still, fidgeting a little, awkwardly not knowing what to do with their hands.

Shand is the first one to speak up, lifting up a half-hearted cheer, trying to make the room more light but only succeeding in making it more awkward.

"Yaaaaaay, cousin! Uh, congrats! Been getting busy in the bedroom I️ see. That's, wow. How very sweet."

Shand elbows Dolan in the back, still stretched across the table with his hand bunched in Kvanne's collar, frozen by the news himself. Jarred from his stupor thanks to Shand, Dolan releases Kvanne's collar, smoothing it down a little for him before retracting his hand.

"Wow, uh. Congrats. Dad. That's, uh. Super great. Growing little family. Good for you."

Although he's not being intentionally barbed like before, there's something softer and more broken in his voice, something desperately sad, like this is the natural finale to all the uproar and the discord, somehow. Like it's somehow gutting him even more than coming across the table to slug his brother had.

He climbs down from the table, dusts his knee of all the crumbs as everyone filters into the next room. Lunath is the one at Yvaine's side immediately, holding out a tissue and taking her hand and trying to ask her excited questions to distract from how everything had gone so wrong.

Kvanne and Trita are the last two left in the dining room, and Kvanne can't help but throw her an almost-blank look, one that still holds traces of malice, as he brushes off his shirt and follows the others into the room. His eyes are wide, and everything in his movements is a little slowed, as if his limbs had fallen asleep. The rest of the family is crowded around his wife and he can't even get close to her, but somehow that feels fitting. He feels so far away anyway.

How long had she known? He can't imagine her keeping it a secret from him, trying to organize all this, waiting to tell him and everyone else at the same time. He hadn't understood why this had been so important to her, only that it was for some reason, and now he understands but. Something about it still stings. He should have known first.

Sabina is strangely absent until she emerges from the kitchen with two ice packs from the freezer. She throws them down on the coffee table and jerks Kvanne and Dolan by their collars toward her. It's awkward at her height and she nearly chokes both of them in the process. She says nothing, but glares at them both through squinted eyes as she roughly slams an ice pack onto the side of Kvanne's face and one onto Dolan's hand. They both stay submissively silent.

Trita is left alone in the dining room, awkward, isolated, completely out of place. She shouldn't be here, she shouldn't have come at all, Sabina should have known better. This was all a mistake, moving to back to Portland was a mistake. Hell, maybe moving away from it in the first place was a mistake. Maybe her entire life is a mistake, it seems to fit the general feel lately.

That last cold glance Kvanne shot at her... She really is lower than dirt to him. Maybe it's for the best this way, maybe it's for the best that everyone in the family believes him and cuts her out.

Slowly, she stands, but not to join everyone in the other room, but to get to the front door. She passes by the foyer on her way, looking at the little family unit try to piece itself back together and enjoy the news. She really did ruin this moment for Yvaine, didn't she? Trita works her coat on then slips out, standing on the curb for a long moment, not caring enough to flip her hood up over her head, not how the rain irritates her ears. She just stands there waiting until a Uber shows up. Without a word to announce her departure, she slips into the car and heads back home alone.

The rest of the party can't last too much longer after that. Yvaine is in no condition to happily talk about the baby and no one knows how to be in the same room as Dolan and Kvanne. Slowly, one by one, group by group, people start to filter out.

First it's Shand and Lunath, then Jurrien, Naemi and Aleric, leaving Sabina and Dolan left. There is some painful silence as the remaining few try to decide the best way to move forward. Eventually, they settle on following example and leaving like all the others.

By the time they're all gone, Yvaine is up in the bedroom, sitting in front of her vanity, eyes slowly moving across the small crystals scattered about and the reflection of the larger ones hanging throughout the room, as she absentmindedly runs a brush through the ends of her hair. It's not really to brush her hair but more to stay busy.

She must lose track of time because Kvanne joins her in the room eventually, walking over to the dresser to pull out his sleepwear. The silence wears on her too much, so she breaks it first, finally paying attention to the hair as it pulls through the brush.

"I'm sorry, dear... I didn't... I didn't mean to get in the middle of things, I know that was between you and your brother. I should have just left it alone."

"No, no I'm the one who should be sorry. I️ should have let it go and instead I️ caused a scene as if I️ didn't know any better."

Kvanne prepares for bed quickly, watching Yvaine out of the corner of his eye. She's brushing her hair so absentmindedly, and it breaks his heart to see her so hurt. He can only keep up a front for so long.

He goes over and stands behind her, taking the brush gently from her and working it through the ends of her hair for her as he looks into the vanity mirror at her.

"Truly. I'm sorry. I️ wish I️ had known, I️ wish you had told me. I️ know it's not an excuse, but. Now I️ know why you put so much effort to get everyone together, and I️ could have helped more. I️ could have made sure everything went smoothly. I️ could have held in my temper. But I️ turned this into a disaster for you. Tell me how I️ can fix it."

"No, I was being too hopeful and childish. I know the Fox family situation and still I..."

Yvaine frowns deeply, looking down at her lap. Her eyes feel tired from all the crying and her throat feels raw, like maybe she'll wake up tomorrow and her voice will be gone.

And all over a situation, a family state she should have known she couldn't change over one dinner. It's the way the family was before she married into it, who is she to think she can fix it at the drop of the hat? Or at all, really?

As she stares down, her stomach just naturally feels like it catches her eye suddenly. It's been doing that more and more. She's not really even showing all that much yet, but she knows what's there. Who's there. Her hand instinctively moves to cradle it, a smile mixing in with her frown, giving off just a general feel of sadness that continues to wash out anger from her expression, even if it's not being replaced for a better emotion.

"I guess... I guess I was just hoping that maybe we could all be a family for the baby. That he or she could grow up with their uncles, aunts, and cousins, have a big family with lots of get-togethers, live a full life. And a naive part of myself thought maybe that could start with tonight. I'm sorry, I should have known better, I just got swept up in it all."

"I️ will find a way to make that happen. We'll make that happen."

An earnest tone takes over Kvanne's voice, something almost urgent as he lays the hairbrush down and kneels beside the vanity chair, hand moving to hover for a moment over Yvaine's before covering it, held against her stomach. He stares at it for a moment, as if still trying to wrap his mind around everything, move from the bad and all his failings that night onto the good.

A smile slowly pulls at his lips and he looks from their hands up to her eyes.

"We're going to have a baby. Me and you. I️ can't... think of anything that could possibly make me happier."

He leans in to let his forehead rest against hers a little, taking comfort in the proximity, the intimacy and casual nature that they always reserve for when they're alone. It's sweet and it's simple and the thought of raising their child, a mixture of the two of them, a living testament to their love toddling around this place, makes him feel warm in his chest and incredibly proud, humbled, thankful.

"I️ will make this family come together if I️ have to swallow every ounce of pride I️ have. Our child will not grow up in this dysfunction. I️ will promise you that. They're going to have a good life. I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure of it, you have my word, for both of you."

Hearing the softness take over his voice, seeing how in love with this baby he already is and how that love translates and spills over to the way he's looking at her, like he couldn't possibly love her anymore but somehow does... It just makes her heart start beating and the frown on her face is quickly replaced by a genuine smile. She takes her free hand, bringing it up to the side of his face, gently letting her fingers rub along his cheek and jaw, feeling the day's worth of stubble that she knows he'll shave off tomorrow morning. He always prefers a clean face, especially for his job, but sometimes she enjoys long weekends where he doesn't feel the need to shave and she can see a small shadow by the time work starts again.

"For the record, you haven't missed months or anything. I just learned I was pregnant not even a full month ago and the doctor said I noticed pretty early so at most I'm two months in. We still have seven long months before we meet our little baby."

And that only makes her all the more excited and impatient, her thumb rubbing along the soft silk of her nightgown, trying to imagine what it's going to be like when she can actually feel and see what's happening, all the changes in her body to make room for their new addition. How it'll probably make her cry on the spot to feel them kick for the first time or how she'll have a valid excuse to only wear dresses every day because of her belly. The idea of walking downtown with her arm in his, the two of them just beaming with every step.

She pauses, lifting her forehead from his to look around their room for a moment, humming to herself.

"We'll need to find a place for a crib... Oh, and then we need to decide which spare room we want to make a nursery. Maybe the one across the hall from us?"

And they can get Uncle Dolan and Uncle Aleric to help build furniture, Naemi would be their go-to for design and shopping, she's always had an eye for things like that. Jurrien could help them research names, maybe even get his boyfriend to come over and help with the search. Not to mention, she knows Sabina will be around for the whole process.

The image of the house full, the entire family working together, happily preparing for the newest member has her tearing up again, but she controls it more this time. Yvaine shakes her head slowly, placing her forehead back to his. It's probably foolish to put too much stock in that dream, given how dinner went tonight, but something in her remains hopeful that, somehow, it could happen.

Dolan doesn't even make it into bed that night. Shand and Lunath fly up the stairs ahead of him, not wanting to talk about the occurrences that night or even really look at each other. They each have their own lives now, in a way, and Dolan's old hang-ups and his problems aren't a priority for them. Nor should they be.

Dolan hadn't kept all these feelings and the story of what had happened that night bottled up inside for so many years for nothing. He hadn't meant for it to come out in any way, fuel this bitterness. But all the regret and the longing, maybe it's rotted him from the inside out and it's seeping onto everyone he loves now. All because he made the stupidest mistake of his life and was too scared to fix it while he had the chance.

He goes straight to his office down in the garage, slamming the door behind him despite being totally alone in there. Falling back into the chair, he throws his feet up to rest on the desk, pushes the chair back a little to recline, and tries to close his eyes. Sleeping in here has always been easier. Even after all these years, he still remembers what it was like to fall asleep with her, and it's haunted him ever since. It's easier in a place like this, an office, somewhere he'd never been with her before.

Except now he has, hasn't he? His eyes keep flitting open to the memory of her standing out in the bay, looking at all of the cars, a controlled but hopeful smile on her face.

God, there he goes putting his own spin on things again. Interpreting everything wrong. She'd only wanted to catch up, to be amicable and try to get on with their lives, and they hadn't even been able to do that. Especially after tonight, Dolan is sure that she'll never want to speak to him, to look at him even, ever again.

Can he blame her? He'd ruined all this for them. With his stubborn desire to be right, to throw things back in Kvanne's face and prove that he knew best. Damn. How could something that simple have gone so, so wrong. He replays it over and over in his head every day, a penance of sorts, making himself relive through the worst day of his life continually in order to somehow punish himself for bringing it on them both.

The clock is ticking so loudly he can barely think. He's not sure if it's been minutes or hours before he pushes back from the desk and bolts from his chair as if suddenly electrified, standing at the garage door for just a moment before bolting out into the rain.

He can't live with this terrible feeling, the guilt, the weight of it eating him alive, for even one more night.

It had been... Awkward, to say the least. Getting home, seeing Sive, Darcin, and Cazmi all watching a movie in the living room, asking her where she was. She had managed to mumble out enough of a reply to buy her the time she needed to get to her room and slam the door, locking them out.

The worst part had actually been when Jurrien got home, when he asked if she was there and then had to explain to the others what happened. It had stung to hear the event replay, the hear the words repeated by someone else, because she knows that's going around Portland now. Trita Airin ruined the Fox family dinner. The news of the town just like she's sure she was the news of the town when she left back in high school. There is never any "starting over," just constant haunting.

For the next hour or two after Jurrien's story, people had filtered past her door, stopping to listen into the room or ask if she needed anything. Even Sive, of all people, had knocked, asked if Trita wanted to get a drink with her. But, no, the only time she felt comfortable leaving her room was when they had all gone away, into their rooms for the night. Then and only then did she find the courage to push off her bed from staring at the ceiling and go walking into the kitchen.

It's quiet, save for the rain, and the light from the open refrigerator makes her hair look translucent as she stands in front of it, mindlessly staring inside the conditioned box, letting the cool air out in the way every mother tells a child not to. Just like earlier, nothing really catches her eye.

And then, yet again, there's more knocking down on the studio door. She has half a mind to ignore it. It's late, nearly midnight, no one should be knocking at this hour anyway. Whoever this person is should get the memo. But the knocking doesn't stop, in fact, it gets louder, so much so she's afraid it'll wake everyone up.

More than that, a small fear starts to bubble up that maybe... Maybe something is happening down in the studio. Yes, the money is locked up, it always is, but she's not about to let someone trash the place looking for it or anything else to steal. She's worked hard for what little she has.

Trita grabs a bat near the steps leading down, taking her time to make sure each footstep on the old wooden steps is silent, bat at the ready. Pausing, she waits to listen, determine if anyone is in the studio, trying to formulate a plan of attack. But nothing. No one is inside... But there's still that persistent knocking.

Well, it could be a trashcan that rolled away from somewhere and is now hitting into her door. It's pretty nasty outside right now, sheets of wind and rain. She peeks around the doorway into the studio and sees a form that definitely isn't a trashcan so she feels along the wall and flips on the outside light. The illumination just outside the glass door reveals... Probably the last person she would have ever expected to see. Then again, she's been thinking that a lot lately.

Bat still in hand, she gets to the door and unlocks it, opening it up to let the person inside, take shelter from the storm.

"You... You're soaked. What in the world were you thinking?"

She keeps an eye on him warily, locking things back up, trying to gauge his answer before he speaks. He looks panicked, frantic, out of breath. Not the look she's used to seeing on Dolan, not now and now way back when either.

"You okay?"

"I️."

He goes to try to brush some of the hair out of his face, mop the wetness away with an equally wet sleeve. Try to take a deep breath and put back on his calm and collected face, try to gather himself up to tell her that he's fine, that everything's okay.

But damn if he isn't sick to death of lying like his life depends on it.

"No, actually, no, I'm not okay. I️ need to tell you how sorry-"

He does try to push the wet hair off his forehead and out of his eyes now, but it feels matted and heavy and it takes a little longer than he wants, makes him look even more desperate and addled. But hell if he cares now.

"I'm so fucking sorry for tonight. I️ didn't know she was going to bring you- I️ mean, that's not. It's not like I️ wouldn't have wanted to see you. I️ just, well, now you know how things are in my family, and I️ figured you'd just be content to never hear from me again, especially after that date-"

He cuts himself off and inwardly cringes at his wording, at how slowly his walls are just slipping down and he's telling it like it is, letting his heart wander back out onto his sleeve again and it feels horrible, like he's dying, like he's exposed and vulnerable and the kill shot is going to come in at any second. But something about letting the walls go back up feels even more deadly and threatening tonight.

"I️ just needed to tell you that I'm sorry because it was horrible, and awkward, and I️ know what it seemed like and sounded like, but none of that was your fault, it really didn't have anything to do with you- I️ mean, kind of, but not really, it was just. It's me, it was my fault, and I️ was the one who started this, and I️ was the one who ruined everything, and then I️ let that become an issue and I️ let it turn into the disaster you got to witness tonight and. Fuck. I️..."

He keeps staring at his feet, hesitant to make eye contact with her, hesitant to even outwardly acknowledge that she's in the same room as him, afraid that will make him clam up and keep him from purging all of this from his system.

"I️ swear I️ didn't come here to make excuses, but there's just been a lot of bad blood between me and him for a long time and it's not your fault, it was just. It was my fault, and I️ was the one who let your name get all wrapped up in it because I️ was a stupid fucking kid who didn't know anything about anything back then and now I️ just. You've deserved an apology from me for a long time, so there it is. And one for tonight too. And another one just, for anything else that I️ didn't cover cause I️ know there's a hell of a lot. So."

Water keeps dripping off the end of his nose onto her studio floor and it makes him feel even more out of place, like he's breaking into her life and wrecking it all over again and maybe now that he's said his piece, that's enough. Maybe as much as he's ruined things, this is all he can do.

"I'll. I'll just go now and if you never want to see me again, I️ get that. I'll leave you alone, I️ just don't want you to feel uncomfortable or on edge or anything cause of my family and everyone so I️ just. Just, yeah."

Trita watches him fumble all over every single word he tries to say for longer than she thinks she can stand. Something about the way he stands there is so broken, so different than the person she knew in high school. Yes, she knows that time changes people, time has changed her, but this... Seems completely different. It's too off, too different.

Actually, all of Portland feels different. He has kids running around, his ex-wife lives with her, Kvanne harbors more anger than she thinks she's ever seen in one person, the Fox family that always seemed inseparable in different ways can no longer stand each other. Everything is so different than how she left it. She just has to wonder if it's her. Is she looking too deep into things? Did she cause all of this?

Trita sets the bat down by the front door, holding her hand up to him.

"Wait there for a second."

Walking by him, she opens a small closet, taking out a few short towels, mostly used for sweat but they'll have to do. He hesitantly reaches out for them, only taking them from her when she nods to encourage him to do so.

"Dolan. What... What happened?"

It's a loaded question that she's not even sure she knows the meaning of. What happened to him? What happened to Portland? What happened to his family? What happened to her? What? All of it, none of it, any combination of it... She's just lost. She's so incredible lost, nothing makes sense anymore.

"To us. What happened to us?"

Oddly, that's the one point she wasn't expecting to slip out of her own mouth. Her eyes widen as she stares at him, inwardly reeling from her own question, trying to figure out a way to take it all back. How are they even supposed to begin talking about something like that? You can't, there's no way.

She laughs awkwardly, shoving another towel at him, mumbling to use it on his hair specifically.

"S. Sorry, shouldn't have asked that. I. Well. Thanks for apologizing for tonight. I shouldn't have been there, it's really my fault. I'll try to not crash anymore family functions. I don't belong there, Kvanne wasn't wrong or anything. I'm just sorry it had to boil over like that."

The shell shock from her question freezes him, keeps him holding the towel out extended in front of him while he still drips rainwater on her floor. God, he should tell her. Shouldn't he? But that would just be piling excuse on top of useless excuse that won't fix anything. The damage is done, has been for a long time. Dolan can't imagine that anything as simple as an explanation, a stupid and bad one at that, could fix it now.

But he can at least speak to what she says to try and cover it all up.

"No, it was. Kvanne was wrong. Kvanne was wrong, I️ was wrong, we. Ugh, fuck."

He lets out a rush of an exhale, a bitter chuckle on the end of it as he lets his arm drop to his side, his fingers fisting in the towel and clenching hard.

"We're both wrong. And we have been for years, and we both know it. It's just. We're both... we both have a lot of regrets and honestly it's easier to blame the other one than to open our eyes and realize we did it ourselves. That we're to blame. And at the same time, nobody is. And it's just..."

It's a fucking rotten way to live. Not really even a way to live at all. He can still feel his stomach clenching and churning, feel his hands shake. This feels like another one of those moments he's been dreaming about, fantasizing about for years. But just like their little date, he knows fantasy has to stay fantasy. There's no way this ends like his mind wants it to when he falls asleep and he has the freedom to be an idealist.

"Do you... you wanna know what happened? Really?"

He lifts his eyes slowly and chances a look into hers. God, it hurts. There's hurt in her eyes too and it's a cutting reminder that he could have easily prevented all of this. How different things would be now if he had. What he wouldn't give to go back. But he can't. Doesn't she at least deserve to know? Even if she's moved on, even if she doesn't even like him as a friend anymore, doesn't she deserve to know that she's been on his mind every day for years now?

"Will you tell me?"

She feels her eyes narrow at him slightly. There's some old bitterness that tries to bubble up, but she's mostly looking for a lie, for him to back out, to admit this was a mistake.

Years ago, back when they ended, she asked for a reason. She never got one. All she got was a rushed ending completely out of left field. And maybe that's what hurt the most. There was no time to plan for the inevitable because it wasn't supposed to be inevitable. There were no signs to warn her, to let her prepare herself. Just one day they were the happiest punks completely in love and the next day they didn't speak, never spoke again until years later and so much hurt, so many years of damage, had been done.

"You know. I don't hate you. Maybe I did way back... You know. But I don't hate you. Hell, maybe I blamed you for some of the things I was going through, but I can't tell you the last time I ever thought about hating you. I was just..."

Trita lets her eyes wander from his face to the rest of her studio, taking in the empty room, listening to the echo of her voice. Everything they did was supposed to be together, even this retirement plan that she was forced to put in place decades early, it was supposed to be what they did together. Yet here they are, distant and lost, completely different walks of life. How did it come to this?

"You. If you were so unhappy being with me back then, the least you could have done was drop some hints, lead up to the breakup. I didn't see it coming until we were too lost in the fight. Why did you even date me in the first place?"

An uneasy chuckle comes out again, and he pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, squeezes his eyes closed.

"That's the thing, I️ was. I️ was never going to break up with you, it wasn't. That was never going to happen. It was never supposed to happen."

He feels his shoulders start to hunch in, trying to pull him away from this, so he backs himself against the nearest wall, slides down it to sit on the floor. His eyes search the ceiling now, trying to avoid hers at all costs. He has to get this out, for the first time in years, he has to say this. Suddenly he doesn't know how he's held it in for that long without it killing him, because he feels like he'll die if he has to sit alone with it for even another moment.

"You, you remember that was the day we were planning for that competition in DC, right? I️ had just... you went home to pack and I️ went home to pack and we were gonna meet right back up and go out and do our thing, like always. Nothing was wrong, it just."

He shakes his head and breathes deeply, tries to make his words make sense. He can see Kvanne come into his room like it had been yesterday, see his arms folded and that scowl on his face.

"And Kvanne had been on my case, he'd been. Well, you know. He thought it was silly and stupid, the dancing and the traveling and he'd never come out and say it but. But that night I️ was packing stuff up and on top of the world and he came in and told me how I️ was throwing my life away and how I️ wasn't thinking rationally which, you know, pissed me off."

He swallows hard, tries to displace himself from the memory of those feelings, just as strong as ever.

"I️ was furious, and told him to go to hell and all, and he asked me how in the world I️ thought you and I️ would stay together through all of it. Through traveling and competitions and all the lights and other people forcing their way in and I️ just, you know. We had the five year plan."

It brings a hint of a tight smile to his face for just a fraction of a second. They'd poured meticulously over that plan, making it and crafting it and changing it, plotting out their future together so no piece of it was uncertain. They'd had it set in concrete years before they'd even graduated.

"And I️ laid out that five year plan for him, I️ yelled it to his face, and he. He laughed at me. And he said if I️ thought for one second that it wasn't all about dancing, then I️ was out of my mind. And I️ said fuck you, that the five year plan was about us being together, nothing more, nothing less. That's all that mattered. And he just said... prove it."

Dolan's eyes start to burn in that way he hates and God, if he can't keep it together now, after all these years. About to cry like a damn child. She deserves a rational and untainted explanation, and here he is barely able to get through it. He sniffs back that unexpected flood of emotion and chews on the inside of his mouth for a moment.

"And you know how Kvanne and I️ were. Or are, still. I️ was fucking furious. I️ wanted to throw in his face how wrong he was, and not for a second did I️... well I️ stormed out and went to meet you and I️ thought it would be simple, I️ thought I'd ask you about staying back, and you wouldn't care, and I️'d have my answer to throw in Kvanne's face and shut him the fuck up. And I️. Damn idiot, I️ didn't consider then about the work and the effort and how you'd been dreaming about that future your whole life. So I️ didn't... I️ never wanted to actually stay, I️ just...never expected you to hesitate."

His chest shakes a little with an uneven breath as he shifts, starts to study the puddle under each of his boots instead of the ceiling.

"And when you did, I️. I️ guess I️ panicked. I️ felt like a fool, I️ felt."

He shrugs, words grinding to a halt in his head. All he feels, all he can remember feeling is heavy, deep dark red. Raining. Closing his eyes and praying everything was a nightmare he could wake up from.

"I️ didn't understand and I️ didn't know how to fix it, and I️ let it all slip through our fingers because I️ was a fucking stupid arrogant kid who wanted to prove his brother wrong more than he wanted to be happy, I️ guess, fuck if I️ know."

Some things are crystal clear and others are so blurry. The day after, that night. Why he'd stormed out instead of staying and working through it, explaining what he'd been trying to do and fixing the whole stupid mess. Those are the moments he wishes he could have back.

He grinds the heel of his palm into his eye, trying to make it stop burning, that feeling like he's on the edge of falling apart.

"I️ just.. I know I️ didn't want to break up with you. I️ never did, I️ never have, not for a single damn day after."

She watches him calmly, trying to keep her expression in check, trying to keep herself from falling so hard right now, from wishing for too much.

Even if he did just say he never wanted to break up with her, it feels too early to hope, too stupid to think maybe this is worth saving years later.

"You know... I thought we were in it together. I thought the reason we were always going to work is that we shared the same dream. All in high school, people told us high school sweethearts never last, they always come crashing to a painful end and. I don't know. I thought fuck those people because we were different. Those other sweethearts were too different, had different paths to go down, but we were different. We wanted the same thing and that was going to help us beat the odds. The only people our age on the same page and doing serious planning."

Rather than awkwardly stand over him, looking down at him, she steps to the side and slides down the wall so they can sit beside each other, several inches between them, but closer than they've been in years. It still feels too distant for her liking but any closer feels too pathetic, too pushy.

"It should have worked. We loved each other like crazy and our futures aligned. It should have... We should have been perfect. We were perfect."

She pulls one of her legs up, resting her chin on her knee, the other stretched out in front of her, feeling the studio floor under her heel.

"We were going to travel, be the best competitive duo in Europe, and then, after a major competition that we, of course, would win, you were going to get down on one knee in front of the whole audience and propose to me. That's what I always imagined our future would be like. We'd be that team that gets older and people start asking us about retirement but we keep sweeping the stage with the younger dancers, so why stop? Then, once we really couldn't take the travel anymore, we'd settle down in a city, Paris, New York, and open our own studio together. Live out our retirement."

Turning her head, she rests her cheek on her knee now, looking over at him for a moment. There are a few more wrinkles than she remembers but it's still the same face, just tired, just worn down, broken. But it's still Dolan. Still the man she thought about, wondered about, a million miles away, living a life without her.

"That's what I was thinking about when I was packing for DC. Then... Then you started talking about staying back in Portland and it felt like everything I wanted, dancing and the traveling and that ideal little future with you, was going up in flames. I never wanted to stay in Portland, I told you that for years, I thought you were the same way. But. I."

She digs her nails into her palms, jerking her face away, looking out over the studio again. It's hard to see him sitting beside her like this, to remember being so desperately in love with him then suddenly having it all ripped away, to have him yelling at her and then have her screaming back. Everything escalated so fast that night. Then the next morning she was on a plane alone.

"Maybe I pushed my dreams onto you. I'm the one that made you take a dance class with me back in eight grade. Maybe I didn't realize that our goals were different because I was too busy making you reach for mine with me. You could have hated dancing for all I know, I wasn't really looking for those signs. It was... Pretty selfish of me to assume everything was okay."

With her sitting beside him now, it feels like too much to talk, to speak at a normal volume. Every word she says hits him in the chest and all the dreaming they’d done together, laying in the back seat of that corvette, sitting together on some moonlit beach up the coast somewhere, leaned back against lockers in between periods, it all comes back. The plan, everything beyond it, the things theyd filled in the in between spaces with in their minds. Its all passed now, none of it is left. So how can he still want it all so badly?

“I️ loved the dancing because I️ was doing it with you. I️ just. I️ just wanted to be with you.”

It comes out almost as a whisper, as something he’s terrified of saying out loud, admitting, but has to get out of him anyway.

“We could have stayed, gone, I️ didn’t care, but. I️ let Kvanne get to me and that. Those five seconds where you hesitated. It made me scared. That maybe I️ wanted you more than you wanted me and. And that he was right.”

He shakes his head again, leans it back against the wall, closes his eyes.

“But I don’t know how letting you go solved anything at all. He still threw it in my face every day. Told me to find some steady job, reminded me how he’d been right about you, told me I️ needed to move on and find someone else, reminded me how he’d always been right about everything else. And at that point, I️. I️ knew it was my fault but it was easier to blame him. To think that he took you away from me, and. And then I️ just got tired.”

He feels tired now, like the weight of every world that’s ever existed is sitting on his chest and his shoulders and even though the story’s out now, he feels. Like he’s still hiding something. Everything.

“I️... I️ kept up with you for years, and. It took me a while but I️ eventually was really glad for you. That you were out there sticking to the plan, being the one of us with a backbone. But then after...”

Its not the place to bring up that awful man theyd met at the restaurant, or what knowledge of his existence had done to Dolan. How he’d lost himself in the drinking, gotten married to try and force himself to move on, gotten divorced because he realized it was all a lie anyway.

He opens his mouth but his words still on his tongue and he feels like he might throw up, but he clenches his back teeth and makes himself say it.

“Never for a day did I️ stop loving you. Even when I️ was so angry and I️ didn’t understand and couldn’t see what I’d done, even then I️ never... I️ never stopped. Kvanne was right about one thing, I️ just. I️ could never get over you. Shit, I️ mean, I️ can’t even sleep without-“

He cuts himself off with a click of his tongue, chiding himself, reminding himself not to turn this into a pity party or some emotional crapfest.

“You’re right. It was perfect, everything about it. It was. It should have been.”

"You know, I only danced with Kynton because I had to. And then I dated him because... I don't know. I was just lonely. I was desperate for that feeling. You know, how whenever we got off the stage we'd run back behind the curtain, make out a little, got to Carlo's, then make out more in your old car? That feeling of everything fitting together like it should. I craved that. I looked for that, I told myself Kynton could give me that."

Now, discussing the less than glamorous side of it all, she feels the need to pull both her knees to her chest, hugging them to herself, using them as some sort of anchor to get past all of this. It feels wrong, crused, to talk about Kynton with Dolan in the same room. And she knows why. She knows exactly why.

"All I wanted was you... And I tried to find you in Kynton but. He. He was nothing like you. God, I fucked up. I fucked up everything."

In a movie, that would probably be the point the character would cry, but she can't find any tears right. She's spent years crying, maybe there's nothing left to give. All she can manage is a bitter laugh, disappointed in herself, pressing her forehead to her knees.

"For years I spent my life micromanaged by him. Being told when to eat, what to eat, why I shouldn't be eating. What parties to go to, what to say, how to dress. Getting locked in hotel rooms because I needed to 'rest' while he went out on the town and enjoyed every city we stopped at. It was nothing like our plan. I was supposed to be out there, with you, trying everything the world had to offer, creating a list of cities we had sex in like stupid high schoolers think is cool."

And not selling her soul away, not developing eating disorders, not signing her rights and brand over. Living a fulfilled life with someone she loved, that's what she should have been doing. It makes her laugh again, roll her eyes even though he can't see it. As if noticing he can't see her expression, she shrugs her shoulders half-heartedly, finally picking her head up, but keeping her gaze straight ahead.

In the mirror on the other side of the room, she can see herself. She's older now, too. But not wiser. Not happier. She carries the same sort of tiredness on her face as she saw on his. Yet. Still. In the reflection, she catches a glimpse into another world, a peek into how things could have been, how they could be sitting side by side like this but talking about the repairs they need to do to their studio, or how they can't wait for their date-night coming up. Not this.

"I... Would have been happier staying here in Portland with you. That's the sad ironic truth of it all. My dream only ruined me in the end. The one thing I couldn't give up turned out to be the worst possible thing for me. I should have know, I should have stayed. It wasn't worth it in the end. Nothing was. And I'm sure that's very validating to hear afer all these years. I don't care if you say you were right, I was wrong. I don't. But... Now you know."

He almost can’t let her finish before he jumps onto the end of her words, his tone more forceful than its been all night. But he still can’t look her in the eye.

“No, I️ should have gone with you. You deserved to go, you deserved every bit of what you’d worked for and then some, and I️ wanted to go with you. That’s the fucking dumbest part of it all. I️ was supposed to, and I should have. I️ just. I️ let five seconds tear apart the only solid and sure thing I’d ever had in my whole life and I️. God, I’ve spent every day since wondering how I could have ever been such a fucking idiot.”

He props his elbows against his knees and grinds his forehead into his hands, thinking if he can put pressure on his face then he won’t cry. When was the last time he cried, even? That night, all those years ago? He’d cried then. He’d jumped in that car and sped up every interstate road he knew so fast that he’s still amazed to this day that he hadn’t wrapped that car around a tree, or a telephone pole. He’d drove it right off the road, onto a deep shoulder somewhere he couldnt find his way back to now if he tried. He’d sobbed and hit the steering wheel so hard his hands had bruised. He’d cried himself to sleep in the drivers seat on the side of the road.

Has he cried since then? Has he really even taken responsibility truly for what happened since that night? All the years after had been spent brushing it aside, living in it perpetually but denying that it had been his fault, throwing it off on his brother, hating his family, pulling away from everything and everyone around him. Because if he didn’t have Trita, then what was anything else even worth?

“I️ just. I️ know it’s barely worth anything now but. If I️ could go back. God, if I️ could go back. I’ve played it over in my head a million times. If I️ could, I’d do every single thing different. I would have never slammed that door, I️ would’ve.”

A hot tear snakes down beside his nose and he rubs his face viciously, angrily, his fury directed for the first time in so many years finally at the right person.

“I️ would’ve been on that plane with you. I️ never would have spent a second away from you. I️.”

He covers up the way the anger floods into sorrow, sorrow he can’t handle right now, with another short, choked laugh.

“Oh well. You don’t wanna hear any of that. That doesn’t do us any good anymore.”

"No. I don't want to hear it."

The more he talks, the more her nails dig into her legs, the more she can feel her shoulders tensing.

She doesn't want to hear it... Because she's already redone that moment over in her head more times than she can count. Over and over, every sad lonely night, every miserable long day.

"I should've run out after you, I should have ripped that car door open before you drove off and made you talk to me, made us work it out. I should... I should have listened and stayed. We didn't need to travel. I wanted it, God, I wanted it. But I didn't need it. I needed you."

In a very daring move, she chances a glance to the side at him. The way he presses his eyes, keeps to himself, is huddled away from her, yet still raw and open. She knows that look. She's been there before time after time. And something tells her he has, too, but maybe not to this extreme.

"And you don't want to hear me giving all of my excuses either."

Something tugs at the corner of her lips, something like a smile, and she's not sure why. Nothing about this moment feels like she should be smiling, him crying, soaked on her dance studio floor, her broken and tired, washed up and run down beside him. Both eaten alive with regret.

But seeing him here again gives her some level of comfort. She doesn't feel alone in her spiraling thoughts because he's there with her, as selfish as that may be.

Probably a poor judgment call, but she reaches towards him, gently rubbing his arm, trying to comfort him but also herself.

"I think... Now we have to wonder. Well. I mean... What happens next? What do we do now? Do we just pick up and move on? Again. I... As sad as this is to say, I don't know if I have the energy for that... I couldn't even do it the first time. I didn't want to do it the first time. I didn't want anything but you."

Her hand on his arm jolts him, makes him jerk his hands away from his face so it doesn’t look like he’s crying or about to or anywhere close, but when he turns his face to her there’s a sad smile waiting for him, something that makes him swallow back again, brow furrowed.

“I mean, I️ know. I️ know you’ve been places and you, you’re practically famous and, well. I️ change oil.”

He hates it when he says it, but it feels like it would most kill him to fully embrace that hopefulness, that jittery maybe that’s working up through his stomach and making his heart beat so hard. It can’t just be that easy.

“That’s, thats the reason I️ ended up glad for you after so long, I️ never wanted to hold you down or hold you back. You were always too good for this place.”

Her hand stills on his arm and it feels like she’s going to pull back, and God, he can’t stand the anticipation of that. He brings his other hand to rest on top of hers to keep it where it is, inhaling deeply.

“You’ve got to know I️ still love you. I️ can deny and run away from a lot of things, and I️ certainly have. But never that. If... if we never saw each other again, I’d still love you til the day I️ die.”

Something in his voice chokes at that. He’s known it, deep inside, but he’s never said it out loud before. Who would be have said it to?

“Do you... is there anywhere to go from here? What do we... what can we...?”

He turns now, angles himself more toward her, latches his gaze onto her eyes, and she meets them almost magnetically, so much so that his breath hitches. God, they’re kids again. High schoolers again. Its the first time, their first time, in the back of this old junky car in a junkyard theyd broken into. The same car he’d bought later, fixed up over he course of months, her sitting on the hood reading their textbooks while he worked, slapping the hood to tell him it was time to take a break.

Her eyes are the same. Different in some ways, yes, but he still sees that girl in there. That one that had always held his heart in the palm of her hand, the one he could never live without.

“Can we...?”

"You're a mechanic and I'm a dancer who can't dance anymore."

His hand his rough, rougher than she remembers it being in high school, years of mechanic work, of tinkering with cars, have put different callouses on his fingers and palms. But, under it all, there's still a familiar warmth to his skin, a familiar sense of home that she's craved for years, looked for everywhere but could never find.

Dolan arches an eyebrow at her, but she shakes her head, angling herself towards him to match the way he's facing her.

"I don't own my rights anymore, Kynton has them. The dancer known as Trita Airin can't dance in competitions anymore, not without her... Manager's approval and hell if I really ever want to talk to him again, much less ask him for anything. I told you, I was a fucking idiot. I did dumb shit."

It makes her laugh again, sagging her shoulders more than shrugging them, really wanting to move past that fact. Now doesn't seem like the appropriate conversation nor time to delve into that screwed up situation.

"We're both a little washed up now, huh? But."

Her thumb tucks under his, the best she can get to actually holding his hand without actually doing so, still trying to read the situation, determine what's okay and what's not. Everything about him is so inviting, it always has been. Even her memories of him tried to lure her back, intoxicate her on their own, because everything about him just feels right. People used to make fun of him in high school for being unapproachable, but he was the only person she ever felt like was being true and open.

And she can feel that all again, right here and now, decades later.

"Maybe that means we're on equal ground again. Two sad ex-dancers, ex-lovers still very much in love, just looking to be whole again. I wouldn't... If the searching was leading me back to you, then that's probably the best thing to ever happen to me since high school."

Her thumb rubs over his hand, across the exposed part of his palm and his heart beat picks up again, the tenderness in that small bit of touch washing over him like a tidal wave, taking air from him. It takes a few long moments before he remembers how to breathe.

“So are you saying...”

He’s never heard his own voice so soft, so tentative, so unsure. Something in it barred against hopefulness, yet at the same time desperate for it.

His eyes rove slowly up from their joined hands back to her face, but she’s looking down at their hands too, her face as soft looking as his voice and he realizes maybe this was never as fragile as he’d played it over in his head to be. They were the fragile ones, two kids who thought the world was going to bow down before them, two kids who had to be beaten up instead by it more times than they could count in order to come back and understand the real value of home.

Not Portland. Her. Its not a decision he makes or even a thought that crosses his mind, but he pulls his hand from under hers and cups her jaw, strands of silky hair caught between his rough fingers, and he stretches out as much as he knows how until his lips catch hers. His eyes are wide open and hers are too.

It feels intimate, jarring at first, staring into each other’s eyes from so close. But it starts to feel safe and protected the longer he stays that way, not even breathing against her.

She's not really sure what she was expecting after a talk like that, but it certainly wasn't a kiss. Maybe a hug, maybe falling asleep against the wall together as they reminisce. But not a kiss.

Completely by accident but fueled by shock, she jerks back from him, stares at him with wide eyes, her heart pounding in her ears. Her lips are hot and her breath already feels shallow when they haven't even really done anything. Everything just feels like a livewire. It's familiar but like a trinket in the attic collecting dust.

Like she's been dead but is alive again. This is what she's been missing, this spark, this feeling of belonging and living, being alive for more than just making it to tomorrow.

By the time she notices his expression, she's busy touching her lips as they tingle. He looks hurt, sad, as if he completely read the scene wrong, hesitantly backing away with a terrible look, like that of a kicked dog.

"N-No! I'm sorry. I just. I. Yeah. I."

The words escape her to try to explain this to him so, instead, she reaches out to him quickly, snagging his face with both her hands, pulling his lips back to hers.

It's there again. Home and peace, the safety she's been craving in the man she's been missing all her life. They just mold together so well, their faces were meant to be pressed together like this. She knew it in high school but she never appreciated it like she should have. Like she does now.

It makes her hum a little, playfully wrinkling her nose at the smell of oil on him. That's not too far off from back then either, back when he was working on that piece of junk they both loved so much, but it's stronger now. Because it's his life. That passion to fix cars, the thing she spent hours watching him doing, helping him study through, is his life. While she wishes he was off dancing with her, some deep part of her loves that he kept working, kept on with this other hobby of his.

Trita shifts, scooting herself closer to him so they don't have to reach out as far, so they can naturally just lean and fall into each other, having to angle her head back as the closer she gets, the more he towers over her. God, she's even missed how tall he is. She's not a short woman by any means yet she still loves that he has a solid six inches on her.

She all but folds herself up under him naturally, like it’s muscle memory and he swears he feels his breath hitch in his chest, except he’s not breathing in anything but her. Pure instinct takes over, like this thing they’ve done a million times over has always been waiting just in the background, ready to remind them just how close together they were always meant to be, just how stupid it was to try and stay apart.

She moves closer and so does he until he’s pulled her up over his legs, into his lap, and his hands are twisting around the waist of her shirt.

She takes a second to catch a breath before exhaling it into his mouth and God, he catches the air like he’s hungry for it, like he’s been dying to breathe this way and hasn’t had any air like it since he’s seen her last. Truth be told, he’s remembered this feeling. Remembered it the whole time. But over the years he’d convinced himself it was made up, that he’d inflated them in his mind, turned them into some fairytale to torture himself with more and more.

But now he knows for sure, he’d been right all along. Nothing in life had ever made him feel like this except her.

That realization burns in his throat, makes him mouth more urgently at her until their tongues are brushing against each other, their teeth scraping at the other’s lip and he makes a sound into her mouth that he hopes sounds like an enthusiastic hum, but is really a moan- a completely, hopelessly consumed moan.

Nothing about her has changed, has it? Her body, every dip and curve, his hands had them memorized and they’re all still the same. Its a surreal feeling, and part of him is stuck in wondering how, wondering if he’ll wake up if he pinches himself. But the greater part of him is insistent on living in this moment for the rest of his life, even if it is a dream.

Trita can't help but let a soft laugh exit her nose more like a shaky breath. She remembers this. God, she remembers this well, has spent more nights than she cares to admit remembering this. His desperate hands, the way his lips move. Even sitting on his lap feels the same.

Everything just feels right and- Is she going to think that exact phrase every second she's with him now? Sure seems like it. Not that she's really complaining because it's perfect.

She leans forward, melting against him oh-so willingly, bringing her arms around his neck to lock him in place. Probably a little too aggressive, but she plays into it, forcing her tongue past his lips, taking control of his mouth, not really giving him an opening to do what he wants.

And, somehow, he still tastes the same. Something deep, a bit wild, savory. It's perfect. She greedily makes little lapping noises as she works to keep his taste on her tongue. And she's not sure if he's intentionally doing it, but he's pulling her shirt up, cool air rushing up her back, sending a chill down her spine. It has to be intentional, right?

Just to test the waters, she moves her hands from his neck down to the hem of his shirt, grabbing fistfuls of it before she sits back and clear yanks it off over his head. That's when she freezes, holding his shirt in front of her as she openly stares down at his exposes chest. He's as broad as he was in high school but all that work as a mechanic has really paid off for the rest of his body. She traces the lines of defined muscles all along him, bringing the shirt up to her mouth so she can bite it to stop the thoughts she has from slipping out.

She reaches a shaky finger out to drag down his sternum then across the lines of his abs, taking in the sight of it all, giving him a pleased little noise as she does.

"D. Damn, Dolan. Okay, show off."

The laugh that escapes her is every bit as uncontrolled as her laugh from earlier, doing nothing to mask how red her face is. He's even more picture-perfect than he used to be.