DANCE YOUR HEART OUT

"Well, the problem is that any 'fame,' or whatever the hell you want to call it, is tagged under my professional name, so to switch over to a pseudonym would be somewhat like starting over in some regard-"

Her eyes fly open. It's only after she starts that she pieces together what he's proposing, what he means by that.

He couldn't. No, she's misunderstanding, reading too far into things. It had been hopeful to think they'd get back together ever again, sure. But it would be dangerously hopeful to assume what's on her mind.

Trita turns her head, not partially to sneak a glance, nothing subtle like that, but her entire head, even angling her upper body to face him. There she stays, staring, watching, judging and gauging.

"Did. Did you just suggest the two of us dancing together again? Like. In the couple's dance scene?"

Dolan is tense, quiet for a long pause, so quiet she swears she can hear her heartbeat and his. He's probably trying to make it appear is if he's just focusing on the road, but the way his brow knits and his hand twitches, she can tell that's not the case.

"Would... Would you even want to pick up dance again or would you just being doing it for me?"

There's a long period of silence with nothing but the engine growling under the and the occasional break of waves under them. The first noise Dolan makes is a quiet little chuckle.

"I️ was just gonna say that it I'm probably way too old to still be able to do any of that stuff, but."

He looks over at her to make his point, exhaling another short self-deprecating laugh as he directs his eyes back out the windshield.

"I️ more meant that... that if you needed to pick that brand back up again, use it to get around some of this legal mess that's tangling things up for you, I️ wouldn't mind it. I️ don't know if. I️ don't know if I️ can still do any of that. You've. You've been dancing ever since, you know. I️ haven't since then, at all."

It's not that he hadn't wanted to. But something about Trita being removed from his life made the idea of it seem ridiculous to him. Dancing without her, dancing in general. Honestly, when Trita left, everything started to seem beyond his reach. The idea of a life or of having dreams and having some semblance of a happy ending. Destiny, fate. Everything had just gotten hard and he'd accepted that maybe Kvanne was right. That he was coming down off an unrealistic, idealistic high and experiencing the real world.

But they're here now, and Dolan's real world is still trying to find its balance, to rectify things he's convinced himself to believe, convinced himself to abandon believing, over the years in order to just survive. Maybe she is a little bit like a drug. With her sitting beside him, he feels like he can believe in things again.

"I️ wouldn't be... I️ wouldn't be opposed to it. You know I️ always loved dancing with you. It's just. I️ don't know if I've lost that part of me. For good, I️ mean. It's been a long time. I️ don't know... would you even want that?"

His voice takes on a doubtful tone as he turns to search her face again.

"I. Well."

It's a bit of a loaded question to suddenly think about. Her gut reaction is to tell him that's all she's ever wanted, to drag him back out on the floor or a stage and light up a room, just the two of them.

But it's complicated now. Complicated in a way that shouldn't reflect on him, and it doesn't, but it sure does impact him.

"I don't really know how to explain everything you've missed since high school. 'Words escape me' sounds too romantic, but it's true. I literally don't know where to begin with half this stuff."

Maybe there's no reason to explain it all right this second, and part of her wishes she would never have to explain it. Ever. But, that might be impossible if they truly are getting back together finally. However, one issue at a time. Anything else would overwhelm them both.

Trita pulls on his arm, pulls so his hand is on her lap and she can play with his wrist, his fingers, tracing along all the creases that have formed from age and work. They're part of who he is, they show the years he's lived, the years she's missed. In that regard, they're precious. Odd, to think signs of wear and tear could be precious, but here she is.

"I haven't danced with anyone since I went to Europe, so ten years ago. I've just been solo performing. After you and then the fatal mistake that was doing that national US tournament with Kynton, I just couldn't bring myself to dance with a partner anymore. No one was as good as you and I was afraid of meeting someone else like Kynton. Yeah, Caz helps me teach at the studio, but we never pair up. I just. Can't."

It feels childish to admit she has this self-imposed roadblock in her mind for something so small and trivial, especially because she just accepted this as part of who she was years ago. Now that she says it out loud, it's ridiculous. Yet, she can still feel how it makes her feel sad, lonely, missing her favorite part of her passion.

The rain on the car tries its best to be soothing, working to a certain degree, making Dolan's touch carry the rest of the work. The waves below, down the steep cliffs, add another level of home and serenity, not to mention the hum of the car, the familiarity of riding with him. Everything right now is perfect other than her thoughts.

"That's not me saying I don't want to dance with you. I've wanted that since my first competition without you. But, it's more... I can't promise I'll be very good at it either."

“Well, dont feel any pressure from me. All I’m saying is, if there’s anything I️ can do to help you find a loophole in all this shit, then I’ll do it. Might literally break my back trying, but I’ll do it.”

He grins without looking over at her, this surreal feeling flooding him. Its like they’ve erased the years somehow between the two of them. In this car, late at night, the two of them, talking about dancing again. This is everything he told himself to never hope for.

In truth, everything had ended for Dolan when they had. Any passions he had, dancing included, he snuffed out, denied their existence completely. Honestly, he’d just straight-out given up.

But he doesn’t want to keep this strange limbo feeling between the two of them, fondly recalling what was, wondering what might be. It almost makes him sick with hope. Just to be able to do something, anything, at her side again.

“But you’ve been managing okay at the studio? You said your brother’s a dancer too? Runs in the family then?”

There is one recurring dream Dolan used to have in the weeks after Trita left, one that he’d choked the life out of simply by not sleeping for days when it became too much for him. In the dream, he watches Trita spin a tiny little girl around, and another is climbing up Dolan’s front, flipping anchored with her hands in his. They’re teaching their kids to dance together, them in little leotards and dance shoes.

That’s the family he’d always imagined growing up. And he knew it was a long shot even then. Trita had never wanted that, and back then that used to sting a little. But over the years, the clarity and the distance had reminded him that the family he really wanted had just been her. That was the core of his true desire.

Not that he doesn’t love his kids or his brothers or his other family. But it had always been effortless with Trita. And the idea of slipping right back into that again, in any capacity, is beyond alluring.

"Yeah, Caz really helps out. Couldn't do it without him, really. Which. Actually."

A slow grin pulls her lips apart as she looks out the window, amusement highlighting every corner of her face. It's enough to make Dolan jerk his hand a little, jolting her to get her attention back and show the playful fear over his expression.

No one would know it, but Dolan is expressive. His expressions just aren't for everyone. People in high school thought he was cold, but she knew the truth. She saw sadness dip his mood as often as she saw a smile light up his face. Not that she would ever admit this out loud, but she knew those were all just for her. She was the special one that got to see this side to him. It made her laugh then and it makes her laugh now.

"If you're serious about picking dance back up, we may need to practice in secret for a while. Or at least away from the studio. Cazmi can't stand you. He hates your guts, so if he saw you in the studio, he may put a restraining order on you, make up an excuse about you trespassing in our business. Better safe than sorry."

They've been driving for a while now, so she has to admit her curiosity is starting to get the better of her. She has thought of a hundred different places he may be taking them, but the list changes with every curve he takes.

"Not to change topics on you, but are you kidnapping me or something? Where are we going?"

Dolan lets out a loud laugh, one that startles even himself.

“Yeah, I️ mean, somehow that makes sense. You don’t actually meet a lot of people around here who do like me, so.”

He picks up their interlocked hands and rests them on her thigh before opening his mouth. He goes to make an offhanded comment about how her house must be the most anti-Dolan house in the whole town, given that not only Jurrien and Cazmi live there, but so does Sive.

That thought catches in his throat and he feels the awkwardness start to rip away a little of the homey feeling like they’re sitting here in heaven together. There’s no way Trita doesn’t know that he and Sive were married, no way she doesn’t know all about how rocky it was and how much Sive hates him. She is, after all, married to Trita’s brother now. But it all just feels like something Dolan wants to gloss over for now, ignore. Even if they can’t forever, he wants to sit here with her like nothing is wrong.

Almost in answer to her question, he pulls off the road onto a wide shoulder, the nose of the car right up against a thick wooden guardrail. The cliff drops off straight down from there, but there is a perfectly unobstructed view of the moon and the water, and if you squint right, it looks like you’re about to fly right off into the sky and never come back.

“You remember this spot?”

He presses his lips together, a little hopeful that she will, but not expecting much. Sure, they’d known each other, been best friends, been involved with each other for so much of their young lives. But it had taken them both years and years to admit out loud the importance of the other in their lives. Verbal things had never come very easy to them.

It had been the end of summer before their senior year, one of the last free nights before school started, when Dolan had driven them out here and parked right in this spot. It hadn’t been expensive or nice, but he’d had a ring- a thin, nondescript little thing he’d saved for all summer. And he’d slipped it onto her finger, told her he’d replace it with a better one when they were ready, and told her that he loved her.

It had always gone without saying before that. They’d had code words to take its place. Silly things like you’re so stupid, shut up. Things that didn’t sound loving to anyone else, but they’d both always known. But Dolan remembered leading up to that night, his hands fidgeting on this very steering wheel, thinking about how he didn’t want to leave it unsaid anymore. How he wanted it to be clear, to be indisputable.

"The promise ring, huh?"

Trita keeps her tone as casual as possible, almost absentmindedly looking down at their hands, turning his over to observe it. She's trying to play this down, pretend like the memory is vague, pretend her heart isn't trying to lead right out her chest like it was when she felt the cool metal band slip around her finger.

Maybe she acts the part a little too well because she can nearly hear the air leave his chest, sense the deflate of his heart. It sends a quick pang of guilt through her, enough to have her pulling his hand up to her mouth so she can kiss along his knuckles with a gentle hum.

"You know I remember. You know I went home and wrote all the different ways our names would fit together. Trita Fox, Dolan Airin, some mix of the last name like Airin-Fox if we wanted to keep them both. Don't pretend you didn't find that notebook one of the times you went snooping in my room."

There's a little too much distance between them now, especially for this conversation, so she leans her seat back, pushes the cup of change down in the cupholder out of the way, and coaxes him to crawl over to her. Like muscle memory, he does, lying right on top of her. They stare at each other for a long moment, long enough she feels the need to push his hanging hair back away from his face, away from her view of his piercing eyes.

"And I remember laughing at you when you first said you loved me because the words sounded so weird and foreign. So you got out of the car and screamed them out at the ocean. I had to pull you back in, in case anyone was around and they decided to call the police."

Dolan starts settling in on her, dropping down from his elbows, resting his head under her chin. The two of them barely fit on this seat together, but they always made it work. It's nice to see they haven't lost that ability.

He can hear her heartbeat, feel it against the side of his face, and it’s calming and lulling and makes him feel like he could be anywhere, doing anything, as long as he had this.

“I still have the ring, you know. The better one.”

He mumbles it out across her skin like contact with her just pulls secrets from him. He’d been used to it before her, and after her- keeping everything bottled up inside away from everyone else. But she’d always been the best at getting him to share, even when that journey was slow.

He thinks better of saying it, feeling the slight shift in how she breathes under him. He’d never gotten rid of it because somewhere deep inside he’d known that he was never meant to be with anyone else. But they’ve only just now started talking again, and he doesn’t want to be that guy, trying to lock her down and back her into a corner after one round of unbelievable sex.

But something feels better deep in his chest at telling her. At making sure she knows he’d bought it, he’d been saving it, he hadn’t been lying to her about replacing the cheap one. Thank God Kvanne had never known about the ring, or else he would have pressured Dolan to sell that, too.

Now that he’s let it out of him, he kind of longs to see it on her finger, though. Instead of having to imagine it all these years.

“Not that. You know, I️ just. I️ couldn’t get rid of it.”

He thinks better of sitting up and reaching for the glove compartment. This car really has harbored all his secrets and the dreams he could never let go of over the years, hasnt it? In a lot of ways, it’s been his last link to her.

“For the record, I️ still do. Love you, I️ mean. I️ never stopped. And you don’t have to say anything, I️ just. Its been eating me up from the inside for way too many years and I️. I just needed to get it out again, I️ think.”

"You're such a sap. You told me you love me back at the studio."

Trita can feel how his head bobs on top of her chest as she laughs, and something about it is so soft and sweet that she laughs again, this time holding his head there so he isn't jostled as much.

"And why wouldn't I say anything? I love you, too. I did even in the times I wish I didn't and I love you even more now."

She presses her lips to the top of his hair, holding a kiss on his head, lingering to breathe him in. Except, it's not just him: It's him and her and rain and wind, it's everything.

Thinking about rings does make her shift some under him, thinking back to this same sort of night years ago, thinking to every significant night ever after that moment. It had slipped her mind for a while, but now that she sits here and tries to play everything over in her mind...

"Actually, didn't I give you my high school ring in return? And you got so mad at me, kept trying to tell me we weren't exchanging gifts, but I kept telling you I didn't mean it like that. I just wanted you to have a reminder if I was going to have one."

It had taken days, maybe even weeks, to get that through his thick skull, that promise rings didn't have to just be from the guy to the girl. Why not let both of them have a symbol of that promise? What was the harm in it? To be fair, she does remember some guys laughing at Dolan as he walked around with her ring on a chain around his neck.

She took care of them quickly. He had been upset about that, too, but mostly because she showed up to his house that evening with a split in her lip from the... After school activity. It was never confirmed for her, but she's pretty sure he found those same boys the next day and gave them another lesson.

"I still have that promise ring. I've kept it hidden away, but it made it through all my traveling."

“Just feels like I’ve got a lot of time to make up for, dont judge me, Airin.”

He playfully pinches at her waist and feels her wriggle for a second under him. It draws a contented sigh out of him and he turns his head a little more so her skin can be right under his nose, so he can breathe her in.

“You know I wore that ring around for months after. Kvanne got really mad one day, he was trying to convince me to sell this car and I️ just wouldn’t give in. We got in this huge fight and I️ borderline broke his nose and he ripped the chain off my neck and. The ring flew off somewhere and I️ was sure, for weeks even, that it was lost.”

That had been the start of a shift for Dolan. Kvanne had come back from having his nose set and harshly told Dolan that he could have pressed charges if he’d wanted to, that Dolan needed to get his act together or his whole life was going to be more of the same. He needed to pick himself up and move on and be someone different, someone who didn’t punch their brother in the nose and hoard old keepsakes from lost loves and sneak hard liquor into his room at all hours of the night.

That was the start of the hiding. Dolan had agreed to sell the car, to forget about the ring, to move on. He’d agreed to clean up his act and apprentice at a garage and reinvent himself. He’d agreed to it outwardly to keep the peace, to keep his room in the house with his brothers, to keep Kvanne off his case. But the part of Dolan that had secretly spent weeks on hands and knees with a flashlight, that had pulled up and reinstalled the carpet himself in small patches over the course of a month to find that damn ring, that person never really did go away. He just got smothered under a dirty pile of other untrue things that Dolan hated.

He does sit up now, just enough to reach the glove compartment. When it opens, he pulls out that little black box, careful to shield its full contents from view before he tosses it back in and slams the glove box closed, laying back down against her and holding the high school ring up between two fingers. Like everything else important to him, he’d kept it safe and hidden here.

“What’s the point of a high school ring, really. I️ was too cool for one until you gave me yours and then I️ felt guilty for the rest of the time we were together that I’d had to be a rebel and skip out on one.”

"So show pride in the school you went to, or some other bullshit. I only liked our high school because you were there. But. Well, you know Darcin."

They both laugh in unison at that comment, and it may be truer than either of them care to admit. Dolan had met Darcin back then, had been absolutely terrified of him which always struck her as funny because her brother would never hurt a fly.

Then. There's the whole... Dolan's ex-wife is married to Darcin now. Dolan is fifty degrees closer to her brother than he probably ever wanted to be. Not really the time to bring that up, so she shoves the thought back down for now.

"He's always so sentimental, he told me I'd regret not getting one. I guess, in a way, he was right. I had a ring to give you so I probably would have regretted not getting it."

The rain continues outside, adding calm background noise to their conversation. Dolan keeps turning that old ring over and over in his hand as if it's more valuable than it actually is. She won't tell him otherwise, she'll just lie under him and run her hand through his hair, watch him and all the soft, fond memories that flick across his face, things he wouldn't dare let just anyone see.

That's when a thought hits her. She turns her head to stare up out of the window, watching the drops of water slide down the glass.

"Hey. Do you plan on us spending the night out here? If so, I have a suggestion for a morning activity."

“I️ mean, we are already on memory lane and all.”

He directs his playful smile up at her, angling his head up to hers with a stretch of his neck. He swears he’s seen her from every angle that exists. Front and back and sides and every strange and minute difference in between. But he’ll never understand how she manages to look even more beautiful from each and every one.

“You, uh. You ever dream about where we’d be now? If things had turned out better?”

He swallows back his alternative ending to that sentence: if I️ hadn’t ruined everything for both of us. It doesn’t feel like the place or the mood for that. This car, the two of them. It feels like only reverent awe that they’d managed to make their way back to each other, like that’s the only emotion and mood allowed to exist here and now.

“I️ used to dream about us all the time. Like they’d wake me up at night, cold sweats, I’d go to call you and I’d get halfway to the phone before realizing.”

He swallows, having to redirect himself again.

“I️ started having those dreams again lately. Stuff about us. Just, images of us being happy together. Dancing, doing old people shit, that kind of thing. I️ can’t help but keep coming back to what a waste it was. How bad I️ screwed up that I️ stole that from both of us.”

"I was just going to suggest cliff-diving tomorrow morning. Don't sass me."

She flicks his nose with a bit of a vengence, but immediately puts her finger on it after to soothe some of the stinging she may have left behind.

Then he starts again, starts with how everything is ruined, how he screwed it up. In all her years knowing him, Trita's not sure she's ever grabbed his face so fast, pulling him up to look at her, look at how she earnest stares back at him.

"I do dream about that stuff. All the time. I've dreamed about us owning our own studio, traveling the world, doing those stupid things couples do where they get ridiculously fancy rooms in five-star hotels just to stay in the room the whole time to have fun with each other instead of go out. I've thought about us becoming so famous that even in retirement, we're guest judges for competitions still. We would go backstage and mess with the young dancers before they went on. I've dreamed our wedding, honeymoon, even what our vow renewal would look like. I've dreamed of all of those things more times than I can count."

She drags her thumb over to his nose, tracing the prominent scar there with her nail, focusing on that for a moment.

"But not once did I ever think you were the one that ruined everything for us. And now, like this, it almost doesn't feel like anything is ruined. We may be older, but we're not old. We still have a long life ahead of us."

“You think-“

He stops himself, eyes darting away from hers for just a moment, a moment of trying to collect himself, as if she can’t see through him anyway.

“You think we can make it work this time? Even with all this bad blood? I️... we molded our worlds around each other back then. Now, we. Now everything’s grown separate in a way it was never supposed to be.”

He swallows again. He realizes in her dreams, fantasy must not be too far off from reality. She had gone overseas to dance, and even though that hadn’t lived up to expectations, hadn’t been what she wanted, it was still closer than Dolan had allowed himself to get. In his dreams, the things he imagines are foreign and unfamiliar. In hers, the major difference is probably that he’s there with her.

It shakes him, puts a stubborn worry in his gut, to think that he might not fit into her world anymore. That the one they were meant to share won’t accept him anymore because of all the years he’d lived under layers of lies, pretending to have changed into someone else. Maybe all those years had pulled him closer to being this fake person after all. Can he still exist in her sphere with her?

“I’m, Im really proud of you and everything you still went on to do. It was all a really big deal. And seeing you still achieve those dreams, it was like. Like living vicariously through you. But still. What if. What if your brother always hates me. What if I️ can’t dance anymore. What if my brother-“

He stops and huffs, feeling the weight of all the what if’s pile up.

“Trita, I️ just. I️ gave up after us. On everything. It feels... there’s a lot of fear connected to even trying to hope again. I️ couldn’t live with losing you twice.”

"So don't."

It's just two words and they are so simple that she's afraid they come across as mocking when she doesn't mean them that way at all.

"Don't lose me, don't let me go. Not again. Let's just stay here, like this, let's try to see if dancing is still in the cards for us. If not, we still have each other at the end of the day."

Trita pulls him forward, has to open her legs some, shift down in the seat, just to give him any room to move any further. But his face makes it to hers and she kisses him. Soft, at first, it always is, but as they go, they get a little more passionate, mouthing at each other in desperation.

They pull back,both out of breath, staring at each other, feeling each other's breaths, and it's perfect.

"We won't mess up again because we won't let the other take five steps away again, not like we did. We're older, we've learned what life is like without each other and we don't want it. I don't care if everyone I know hates you, I don't care what Kvanne says, we're staying like this. We aren't screwing it up again. We can't."

"Okay."

He's so caught up in the surprise of the kiss that he'd say just about anything, go along with whatever, to get back to it and lose himself in her again. God, the more they lay here together, the more the rain patters gently, almost reverently, on the roof of the car, the more he starts to remember. The more it all starts to come back to him, to remind him, to immerse him in what it used to be all over again. The more of it he feels, the more the feeling of safety and wholeness and certainty increases, the more like an idiot he feels for ever letting her go in the first place.

"Just be prepared then. I'm never going to let you go, ever again."

He leans in and seals that promise with another kiss, a deep but calm one, one that has him feellng like it's more of a soul swap, more of an exchange, than a kiss. Something that gives her a piece of him and him a piece of her forever, as a promise. Like the rings, but something more intangible and even stronger.

"Although it doesn't particularly matter..."

He adjusts himself a little so he can slip his arm around he back of her head and slide more into the seat beside her, their bodies pressed together and limbs tangled all on top of each other.

"I️ am pretty curious about how we're going to approach this topic with... everyone. Honestly, my boys don't know anything. It never seemed like a... easy thing to talk to them about."

"Don't even pretend like you're worried about Darcin. He's going to be thrilled and you know it, he's always liked you."

Snickering, mostly to herself as she thinks about how Cin's face is going to light up at the noise, she pushes into his arms, burying her face against his chest this time, enjoying how is still slightly damp skin clings to her cheek, the way it feels as she pulls away from that spot just to nuzzle back again.

"But, yes, I do imagine other people may be more vocal about all of this."

On her end, it's really just Cazmi. And Jurrien, though she's not sure if he falls under her end or his at this point. Probably hers since he lives with her.

That doesn't mean she can't see how much more complicated it is for the people he knows. Kvanne, his sons... Not that she'd change anything, go and take back anything she said, but they probably should have thought about this more.

"You don't think we'll have any issues, do you? Like. Kvanne tries to break us up, or one of your sons hates my guts, something like that? What happens then? There are a lot more people for me to impress with your family. Given how dinner went, I'm not sure it's possible for me."

Once she's found the perfect spot, with her nose all pressed and scrunched up right on his sternum, she stops moving and stays there, shoulders slightly hunched, tucked away in his arms. She's talking like people will want to kick her out of his life, but hell if she's ever going to move from this spot, right here, ever.

Dolan sighs lightly, wanting to let go of all this weight and pressure and just hold onto her. What if they just ran away? He slipped back in the driver’s seat and they took off, never looked back?

Theyd discussed that God knows how many times in high school. He should probably grow up and stop trying to run away from his problems.

“I️ don’t think my kids will really mind. I️ mean, Shand and I️ kind of stay out of each other’s business, he doesn’t care. Lunath is closer to his mom, though, and that. I️ don’t know about that.”

He lets out an unintentional groan as he studies the ceiling of the car.

“I️ don’t know how close you are to Sive, but. We didn’t separate super amicably. Its not like she tries to kill me a few times a month, but. It’s something close.”

That’s backlash he doesn’t even want to picture right now, so he cuts that thought short, moves on.

“And I️ guess Kvanne. Kvanne used to have a lot of say over me and what I️ did. He was my legal guardian, after all. But now it’s just. He never learned how to care about me in a more appropriate way, I️ guess. He’ll have to just get over it. He does shit I️ don’t care for, either, but you don’t see me breaking his door down over it. What about... what about this thing with Kynton? Am I️... is me being in your life going to make that worse for you?”

"Will you beat him up outside your garage if it does get worse?"

Trita keeps her voice light and playful, but there is an air of sincerity behind it. Lord only knows how many times she's dreamed of giving Kynton a piece of her mind but backed down for one reason or another. Dolan wouldn't have those hangups over it, he could just set the tone, set things straight, whenever he wanted.

But it would be wrong to just expect him to go fighting her battles for her, especially because they're battles she should've taken care of long ago. It's not his job to do things like this for her.

Still, the mental image of Dolan giving a good swift punch right across Kynton's jaw, or right in his nose, is appealing, but definitely in more than one way.

"Honestly, I don't know. And I'm not inclined to really care at this point, Dolan. I don't want him to keep having control over my life, I'm sick of this."

Shand has to sling some stray water droplets out of his hair as he swings open the door to her building, standing there in the landing area for a few moments trying to gather himself, to not look like a drowned cat. The Portland weather has been predictable the last few days, but something about the rain today makes his stomach flutter worse. Makes him more and more nervous.

He clears his throat for no reason in particular, straightens all his clothes out even though they’re not that special. Granted, anything outside of his coveralls for the garage are somewhat special.

A sore spot in his shoulders protests when he goes to straighten himself, and he scrunches his face up, displeased. Dance classes had been about as hard as he’d expected them to be, but he didn’t factor in for how sore they’d leave him. Cazmi had caught him stretching and grimacing on his way out last time and laughed out loud at him. Shand won’t make the same mistake tonight.

He shuffles toward the list of building tenants, eyes roving up and down for Luna’s name. He forgets which floor she’d been on that day he’d driven her home. He only remembers tea and her eyes.

But her name isn’t on the list. He looks away for a moment and then back, as if his eyes are playing tricks. But the name he’s looking for doesn’t magically appear. That time, or the next or the next. That flutter in his stomach picks up, some heat adding into the mix to make him feel even a little sick. He doesn’t get nervous, hardly ever. This is so unlike him.

It takes a few moments of standing idly like a loiterer, avoiding the gaze of tenants coming and going who look at him with judgmental stares and close the door to the stairwell hard behind them as if in emphasis that Shand should not be granted access under any circumstance.

When he has enough of that and his heart feels like it’s going to go running up his esophagus and out of his mouth, he pulls his phone from his pocket, jumpy fingers nearly dropping it, and thumbs through his contacts for her number. He overshoots its a few times and has to go back, fingers still a little shaky, before he finally takes a deep breath and dials.

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"Hmmm, hmm..."

Luna hums along to the sound of the current song softly drifting around the small apartment from her speakers on the office/ living room portion of the studio. Her eyes are down on the pot of boiling pasta, stirring it to the beat, she's too focused to hear her phone vibrating on her nightstand.

Thankfully, someone else does. Nameless lifts his head from where he had been sleeping on the loveseat, glaring at the device. After another vibration, he stands, stretching out his white-furred limbs, and trots over to it, snagging it in his mouth to deliver to his owner. When she doesn't immediately look down to acknowledge him, he hits his head against her leg to demand her attention. Luckily, she gives it.

"Oh- Oh god-"

Snatches the phone and answers it immediately, setting the spoon down she had been using to stir the pasta.

"Shand? Yeah, hi. Hm? My name isn't there? You're at the right building? ... Oh! Oh, sorry, it's under Fengari Estenor, not Luna Estenor. Here, I'll buzz you in now. Fourth floor, I'll unlock the door for you so just come on in."

As she speaks, she does just as she says, walking over to her door to let him in downstairs with a click of a button and unlocking her own door all in a few swift motions. She hangs up the phone and gets back to the kitchen, patting Nameless's head on the way over. Everything is nearly done, all she really has to do is dish everything out, but first she moves the hot pot over the sink to drain the water, leaving behind fresh springy noodles waiting for sauce and shrimp.

Shand straightens his clothes out, truthfully a hopeless endeavor, one more time as he takes the steps by twos. He wants to get there sooner, but lengthen the time before he gets there, to give his heart just a few extra seconds to stop pounding. He doesn’t know really what he wants except to be at their third date already.

He mentally smacks himself. He cant call this a date, he can’t use those words to her specifically. Yes, he’d signed up for dance classes just to impress her and had definitely stalked her out of the garage window for weeks. But this is not a date.

He lingers by the door he assumes is hers for a few moments before turning the knob and sticking his head in first, just to check.

There she is at the sink. He catches just a half second of her swaying to some song she’s humming along to before her head snaps up to acknowledge him.

“Wow, it smells. Smells really good in here.”

That sheepish smile comes out for no good reason, maybe hopefully just to mask it he’s blushing at all just from looking at her. Not the good, confident start he was hoping for.

He stands inside and closes the door behind him, hands clasped awkwardly behind his back as he waits to see what she’ll do, to see how she’ll set the tone for him to follow.

The dog stares at him just like it had the other day, with some kind of superior and lofty gaze as it hops deftly up onto the sofa and plops down like he owns the place.

“Nice to see you, too, Nameless.”

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"Don't just stand there. You've been here before, make yourself at home- Nameless, you could at least let him have a seat."

She pouts over at her dog, but the creature doesn't move, just continues to stare at Shand it that odd... "Smirk" he does that she still can't quite explain to anyone for the life of her. It always just makes her sigh, even now. Instead, she motions Shand to join her in the kitchen as she shifts the noodles back over to the stove where another pot of sauce and shrimp is simmering away.

"Sorry about that down there."

Honestly, she can't remember if she apologized on the phone. She thinks she did. But it can't hurt to do it again. Quickly, trying to not waste time, she starts loading two plates with little nests of pasta followed by a healthy drizzle of sauce and multiple generous portions of shrimp.

"Fengari is my actual name, not Luna. I forgot the landlord put that up on the list downstairs, I should have told you."

Plates done, she grabs a towel and opens the oven, pulling out a small sheet of garlic bread, immediately plucking two off of it and placing them on the plates with the rest of the meal.

“Ah, sure yeah. Can I️- can I️ help?”

He moves to the kitchen beside her but then does a repeat act of standing stock still, waiting to be told or shown or jolted somehow. He feels a little frozen by his nerves.

To get out of his own thoughts, he watches her move pots around, open the oven and dish out the bread, all of her movements smooths and graceful, like she naturally manages to turn everything she does somehow into a dance. It mesmerizes him a little at first, so much that in the pause, it turns quiet and Shand cringes at his own awkwardness.

“So, Fengari.”

He repeats it to himself, turns the sounds over against his tongue to get the taste of them.

“Thats beautiful. Is Luna just a nickname, or...? I️ guess I️ should ask which you prefer, that was rude of me.”

He tries not to turn pink and busies himself with the first thing his hands can find, which happens to be filling two water glasses from the pitcher on the counter beside them.

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“Ah, sure yeah. Can I️- can I️ help?”

He moves to the kitchen beside her but then does a repeat act of standing stock still, waiting to be told or shown or jolted somehow. He feels a little frozen by his nerves.

To get out of his own thoughts, he watches her move pots around, open the oven and dish out the bread, all of her movements smooths and graceful, like she naturally manages to turn everything she does somehow into a dance. It mesmerizes him a little at first, so much that in the pause, it turns quiet and Shand cringes at his own awkwardness.

“So, Fengari.”

He repeats it to himself, turns the sounds over against his tongue to get the taste of them.

“Thats beautiful. Is Luna just a nickname, or...? I️ guess I️ should ask which you prefer, that was rude of me.”

He tries not to turn pink and busies himself with the first thing his hands can find, which happens to be filling two water glasses from the pitcher on the counter beside them.

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