Meraad waits in the hallway, hands in his pockets. Through the stairwell window, a full moon rises over the rooftops, half-hidden by clouds tinged with orange and pink.
The door clicks open.
He turns to Cassandra. "Ready to…"
Oh.
Wow.
They're both frozen in place.
"You look beautiful," says Meraad, when he remembers what words are and how to put them together.
"Thank you," she replies, stiffly. "You look very handsome."
When was the last time someone called him that? So formal. Meraad chuckles. He has an impulse to run his fingers through her pixie cut and kiss her cheek.
Thank the Maker he restrains himself.
I don't want to scare her off.
Cassandra wants to climb this man like a tree.
The realization is both exciting and distressing, because she's pretty sure it's never going to happen.
On the way to the party, they chat about fencing and hockey, a new recipe Meraad tried out, a TV show they both watch.
It's easy to talk with him. He's straightforward, thoughtful. He takes her seriously. He teases.
She hopes he feels the same way. She knows she can be… intense. Armored, arguably beyond what's necessary. She's trying.
There's a lump in Cassandra's throat when they reach the restaurant. Do they really have to go in?
She feels Meraad's hand at the small of her back, and suddenly her face is on fire.
Cassandra seems nervous when they reach the top of the stairs and hang up their coats. Meraad touches her back, hoping to reassure her. He's not much of a partygoer, either.
"You okay?" He leans down so she can hear him over the music.
Cassandra's face is flushed. She stares straight ahead into the sea of masks. "I think so."
The room is strung with lyrium lights, the walls painted with murals of bears and war dogs and leaping fish. They find their mutual friends at a table by a tall window, surrounded by other students from the International Relations program.
"You made it!" Dorian laughs and puts down his cocktail. His mustache looks freshly waxed, and he's wearing an impeccable suit. He hasn't needed to sell this one yet. Meraad hopes he won't be too proud to let them split the bill tonight.
Josephine springs up to hug Cassandra, engulfing her in white ruffles. She takes a seat, and unless Meraad is mistaken, her shoulders relax just slightly.
Satinalia is the last hurrah before winter descends on the Frostback Mountains. Soon the streets will be lined with snowdrifts, the air cold enough to freeze your breath.
Cassandra reminds herself of that as she eats turnip and mutton pie, drinks a glass of sparkling wine, and listens to the conversation, occasionally weighing in. It's good to be here, no matter how awkward she feels.
Meraad gives her odd looks from time to time. It's hard to read his expression, what with the mask and the low lighting. Cassandra grows tense and speaks even less.
She excuses herself to the bathroom. Josephine goes with her.
"Oh, dear," says her friend, as they wash up. "I thought you were quite fond of each other."
Cassandra sighs.
Josie frowns, tapping her neatly manicured nails on the counter. She stops. "If he's disappointed tonight, then perhaps he doesn't deserve you, after all."
The makeshift dance floor is starting to fill up. Fereldan synth-pop pulses from the speakers.
"So," says Meraad, "you sure you aren't interested in the hiking trip next month?"
Dorian pulls a face behind his peacock mask. "Once was enough. I rather enjoy my central heating, thank you very much."
"Says the guy who started a massive snowball fight when we were two hours from camp." Meraad sips his Hissing Drake. Mm. Bold stuff. "Anyway. Nice party."
"And you say you aren't a sharp wit."
"I'm not. This is your doing." He had a crush on Dorian a while back, but it didn't really go anywhere. The banter, on the other hand…
He pauses, his drink halfway to his lips. Cassandra is coming back. She seems unhappy. Is it the atmosphere? The menu? The conversation?
Or has she changed her mind about him?
His throat tightens. Please, no. Wait.
Meraad has never admitted this, but he's felt hollow since his career ended. Hockey made him into someone braver than he was. Now he's just a hypocrite.
But maybe he doesn't have to be.
"Care to join me?" Meraad asks, getting up from the table. He indicates the dance floor with a small toss of his head.
Cassandra's eyes go wide. She puts her bag on a chair, silently glad she just refreshed her red lipstick.
"All right."
If this is going to end, then she'll walk out with her head held high. She sees no point in prolonging it further.
They step into the middle of the room and weave through the crowd, finding the rhythm, swaying their hips and shoulders. They go through a few rounds of eye contact, averted gaze, eye contact.
Meraad smiles hesitantly, showing his crooked tooth.
Maker have mercy on me.
Meraad touches Cassandra's arm and tilts his head down to her ear. It's round, not pointed like his own. He wants to trail his lips along the edge.
"Are you having a good time?" he asks, instead.
"I… I like being here with you." Her breath is hot against his cheek.
"So do I." The song hits its exuberant chorus and half the room joins in. He waits until they finish. "You've been really quiet. I was starting to worry."
Her brow creases, shifting her mask. "You were worried about me."
"Yeah. We can leave, if you want." A hopeful thought crosses his mind, and he squashes it. Not the time.
Cassandra takes his hand. "Let's stay."
He nods, heart racing, and she draws him closer.
Meraad's hand is big, warm, callused. Cassandra lets it rest on her waist. It feels natural.
He was worried about me.
What a fool I am.
She pushes away her frustration at her own self-indulgent insecurity.
"I need to ask. Why do you like caramel lattes so much?"
The question has been sitting in her head for a while. She decides it's as good a pivot as any.
Meraad laughs. "You want to know right now?"
"I've tried one. You can barely taste the coffee. Why do you keep asking me to make them?"
He considers her, his expression unreadable.
"They're sweet," he says, eventually, lowering his voice as the music fades. "Like you."
Cassandra scoffs, but a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. She looks away.
A slow song begins to blanket the room, and she goes very still.