Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters appearing in this short story, nor will a penny be made off of it. I will however, gladly be held accountable for the character's actions.
Note: I purposefully kept the format the way it is. I like it like that and there's no point arguing. Spell checked nice and neat.
If there was something wrong with flirting with a stranger, Natsuki didn't get the memo.
She had just been sitting there – serenely almost, as if she hadn't noticed the world around her – in her blood red dress against the backdrop of the hundreds of sweaty bodies all pressed up against each other, swaying this way and that way to the pulsating beat of the blaring speakers, their own hearts drumming in time to the rhythm.
"Can I buy you a drink?" Sidling up in the seat next to hers.
Her only response was a glance in her direction, a cocked eyebrow – as if it was the first time that she had seen this new intruder and become keenly aware of her surroundings – gesturing to the drink in hand.
"Perhaps a dance then?" Natsuki put on her best smile, holding out her hand in invitation, hoping that lady luck would be with her tonight. To her surprise, after a moments -indecision- pause, she felt a dainty feminine hand slip lightly into hers.
She moved them both effortlessly, gliding somehow between the small gaps of the panting bodies, finding space enough for them both to be added to the amalgamation.
The crush of the bodies kept pushing them closer together, limbs awkwardly flung about each other, sharing the same breath. They were moving in between the tempo, up to their own crescendo; ghost kisses as they were pressed up against the swell of the people.
And it was only then, only when the dance steps became familiar, when Natsuki felt that perhaps she had some control, that -her feet were swept from under her- time suddenly stopped - somewhere in between the instants pause at the end of the old song, her words -echoing- shaking Natsuki more resolutely than even the deepest of bellows from the booming bass line, making her stomach clench so tightly she feared that her calm would give.
"C'mon," She said, "Lets' get outta here." She pulled on Natsuki's hand again – not bothering for a response – taking the both of them away from the tide of the music and crowd, away from the flashing lights and fingerprint polished bar.
She stopped at the threshold of the music and the smoky bar – Natsuki avoiding near collision – suddenly and without warrant, dangling earrings catching the last of the disco lights.
It felt as if it were no longer than the duration of the blink of an eye, lips tentatively brushing against each other – strands of rouge hair brushed back behind the ear – looking up to see the mistletoe hanging overhead.
"By the way," she said distance resumed; holding out a hand, "I'm Shizuru. Would you care for some tea?"