Content warning with spoilers can be found at the bottom, past the end notes.
The mood shifts with the music, a familiar piece with violins and lutes. Party guests begin to pair off across the dance floor.
Meraad does the first thing that comes to mind. Which is possibly also the stupidest thing, but hey, it's worth a shot.
He bends slightly at the waist and gestures with a flourish, like he saw in an old swashbuckler film when he was stuck on the couch with the flu. He hopes Cassandra has seen it. She'd enjoy the sword fights. Probably critique them, too.
"May I have this dance?"
Cassandra covers the side of her face, smiling shyly. "You cannot be serious."
"I can."
I can also be a giant idiot who embarrasses his date. Nice work.
Cassandra looks like she's trying not to laugh. Phew.
"You tease me." Her eyes glint amid the swirling lines of her mask. She takes his hand in hers, then reaches up for his shoulder.
He puts his other hand on her waist again, and all he can think about is the sensation of lean muscles under her silken shirt.
Cassandra was in Meraad's arms last week, but it was brief compared to this. He's hot as a furnace, and so close that she catches that familiar pleasant scent again—what is it? She takes in the broad expanse of his shoulders and chest, the clean line of his jaw, the steady rhythm of his breath.
Her feet are quick from years of fencing, and soon she's gliding along, mirroring Meraad's steps.
"You're good at this," he murmurs.
His words send a jolt to Cassandra's belly. Pleasure and nervousness at the possibilities they hold.
"So are you," she replies. A smile plays across his lips.
Cassandra thinks of the books that overflow her shelves, the ones that are filled with duels and stolen glances and passionate embraces on moonlit balconies. She keeps them a secret. It's rare to meet someone who might understand.
A wave of fear crashes down on the faint spark of hope that this evening has kindled.
She knows what she wants to happen next.
To be honest, Meraad could have danced for a while longer.
When the song ends, though, Cassandra asks if he wants to get some fresh air. He's game.
There's a patio on the rooftop with chairs and tables, couches, and a brazier that crackles and smokes in the cool night air. Most of the seats are taken. Wisps of conversation float up into the dark, clouded sky.
Cassandra leads him over to a padded bench by the brick parapet.
"Great music back there," says Meraad, breaking the silence.
Cassandra nods vaguely, lost in thought. Meraad waits for her to speak.
"I felt out of my element earlier."
There. She said it.
"How so?"
"All the witty banter. Even with my friends, it's a struggle. I feared you would find me very dull."
Meraad's head jerks back. "What? Cassandra, that's the last thing I would think about you."
"Truly?"
"Yes! I'm not great at this whole party thing, either. And I'm not looking for someone who is." His expression flickers. "Are you?"
She can't help but laugh. "No, not at all."
"Glad we agree."
Cassandra feels like the embers escaping from the brazier, swirling and soaring in the breeze.
Meraad feels like a total ass. If anyone is worried about being dumped, it should be him.
"Hey," he says, once he finds the words. "I'm sorry to have dragged you into this. We don't have to do anything you aren't interested in."
"The same goes for you," says Cassandra. "But I chose to be here tonight, and I don't regret it. I suppose I can't resist throwing myself into difficult situations," she adds, wryly.
"Fair enough." There's weight behind her words. He tucks that observation into his pocket.
"Thank you, Meraad. I did have a good time, in the end."
Cassandra looks up at him. The moonlight brings out the layered shades of purple in her mask and softens the angles of her face. Her lips are slightly parted.
An unbearable tension sits between them.
Meraad shifts closer.
Before he can untie Cassandra's mask, she stops him.
"Wait. There's something more I need to ask you."
Cassandra was going to bring this up on their next date, if they had one. But as the air grows heavy, she decides that she would rather ask him hastily than move forward without knowing at all.
"Do you intend to court me?"
Meraad looks as if he's swallowed a bee.
Hm. Perhaps that was not the best choice of words. It looked terribly romantic on paper.
"Wow. I, uh." Meraad composes himself. "Is that what you want?"
From his long pause and hesitant tone, she can guess that her phrasing was not the only problem.
I was wrong.
Cassandra's heart slides into her stomach.
"No."
She gets up and walks away.
Well, shit.
Meraad rubs the back of his neck. What just happened?
He's never heard anyone talk like that outside of the costume dramas he used to watch in his hometown. Zevran dragged him to the theater, they ate spiced almonds, the actors flubbed their lines. He may have bought a script or two and read it afterwards, late at night.
He's not… not into it?
In fact, he's really into it.
But also, he's confused.
Is she only asking him this because of the fancy gesture he made earlier? That was a joke! He thought it had put her at ease. At least, until he ruined it by doing something to upset h—
The door to the rooftop swings open again.
Meraad straightens up as Cassandra marches toward him.
"I take it back. That is what I want."
She has Meraad's full attention, so she forges ahead.
"I want a man who sweeps me off my feet, who gives me flowers and reads me poetry by candlelight. I want the ideal."
"I didn't realize that." Meraad sounds intrigued. He doesn't smirk, or laugh. Cassandra falters.
"I know what you see. I am blunt and… and difficult," she stammers, sifting through twenty-seven years of disappointed reprimands, stern report cards, mixed feedback from supervisors, offhand comments from her peers. She's sworn not to let it get to her or stop her from trying, and yet here she is. "I am self-righteous and impatient, and I never smile."
"That's not true," Meraad points out.
Cassandra huffs. "I rarely smile. And I spend my afternoons stabbing my friends."
It takes a second for that to register. "Ah. Fencing team."
Under other circumstances Meraad would have taken that for a wisecrack, but he senses that laughter would probably send the wrong message right now. He bites his lip.
Cassandra looks away for a moment, and when their eyes meet again, her expression shifts. A note of anguish creeps into her voice.
"My heart lies beneath all that. It yearns for these things I cannot have. If you can't see that…"
Meraad holds her gaze.
"I can be that man, Cassandra," he says, with a confidence he didn't know he had.
"We have so much else in our lives already. Will we even have time to do this properly?"
"That doesn't change how I feel."
"It changes everything." Cassandra rakes her fingers through her hair, pushing it into spikes. "We've done a wonderful job of misinterpreting each other tonight. I can't endure that on a daily basis."
"So we work on our communication. Is that so insurmountable?"
She looks pained. "You don't have to do this simply because I'm suggesting that you can't."
"The way I see this, it's very simple. I care for you. Even if you think I have bad taste in coffee," Meraad adds, with a grin.
This impossible man.
The frightening thing is, Cassandra believes him, even though she knows it isn't simple at all.
She sighs and rests her chin on her fist, looking at him slantwise. "You enjoy making things complicated, don't you?"
He shrugs and sits forward to match her, resting his elbows on his knees. "Maybe a little. So, what now?"
"I think you're right about our communication. Perhaps we should start there."
She clears her throat.
"I've told you what I want. But what about you, Meraad? What do you want?"
Meraad stares at her, startled.
"Good question."
It's been a while since he let himself consider that, beyond the simple stuff. He's spent the last couple of years just focusing on his needs. As for his wants? They can hang out in the walled-off place where he keeps his heart.
Huh. Pretty troubling, when he thinks about it.
"It's been a strange time for me," he says, briefly looking up at the midnight sky. "I'm still figuring it all out. About what you said earlier, though. I don't know you very well yet, Cassandra, but it was hard to hear you say those things about yourself. They don't match up at all with how I see you. When you were talking with Josephine and Dorian…" He searches for the right words. "I could tell you really heard them. You listened. I saw how much you cared. We're at a Satinalia party, of all places, and you're still trying to have an honest conversation."
Cassandra's mouth twists, but she says nothing. Meraad brushes the side of his hand against hers.
"I'll think about what you said. I want to keep seeing you, Cassandra. I'm not interested in anyone else."
His heart pounds against his ribcage, as if it's trying to break its protective confines. They helped for a time. Does he still need them? Want them?
He decides to shove the debate aside for the moment and just go for it.
"Right now, I want to kiss you. Would that be okay?"
"I would like that," says Cassandra, her voice barely more than a whisper.
On instinct, she reaches up to cradle the side of his face. Broad, achingly handsome, slightly rough with tomorrow morning's stubble. She finds a scar hiding along his jaw, a faint indentation beneath her fourth finger. She traces it.
Meraad angles his head downward. She closes her eyes.
And then suddenly, there's no distance between them at all.
Cassandra lets herself be swept away in a wash of heat and pent-up feelings. She's wondered countless times about how soft his lips would be.
Very. The answer is very.
As their kisses deepen, all hesitance gone, their masks bump against each other with an awkward clack.
"We should take these off," Meraad pants, and at first Cassandra is only annoyed that he slipped his tongue out of her mouth to say it. But he has a point.
She sits back and unties the ribbons from behind her head, taking a moment to collect her racing thoughts.
After Meraad removes his mask, Cassandra takes his hands in hers, palms up.
"Hello," she says, quietly. There's a searching look on her newly revealed face.
"Hi." It's all he can manage. He feels naked. There's so much he wants her to know.
Meraad lets go and sweeps his fingers through Cassandra's hair, brushing the short, dark tresses back from her forehead. They're as smooth and unyielding as silk, and smell faintly of almond oil. He runs his other hand from the curve of her waist to her hip, surprised by the hint of softness there. She shivers and Meraad shifts closer to shield her from the cold breeze and steady them both. Cassandra is strong, but he's more aware of his size than ever, and he wants to be careful.
He lifts her chin with his forefinger and kisses her, slow and sweet.
"Like this?"
"Yes." The desire in her voice, in her honey-brown eyes, in her touch that burns through his shirt and sears his skin—it's enough to overwhelm him. The gate to that secret place in his chest has already swung open. All he has to do is step outside.
"Okay," he murmurs, touching the bridge of his nose to hers in a final act of restraint.
Cassandra sighs and tilts her head to find him again with a hungry, lingering kiss, and Meraad gives himself over, almost desperately, to the strongest want and deepest need that he's felt in a very long time.
Cassandra has no idea how much time passes. She doesn't care.
At a certain point, though, she needs to catch her breath, so she reluctantly pulls back.
"Oh, my." She chuckles. "It's all over you."
She wipes smears of red lipstick from Meraad's face and neck. He endures this with a rather satisfied expression. "Got some there, too," he says, rubbing the edge of her mouth with his thumb.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cassandra catches sight of an orange glow on the horizon. She cranes her neck to see over the brick wall.
The glow is coming from the same direction as central campus.
"What's wrong?"
Cassandra stands, gripping his shoulder.
No. It can't be.
"Fire."
Hey, just a heads-up! New chapters will be posted every other week from now on, to make sure I have enough time to write longer scenes and edit beforehand. This story is growing beyond what I initially expected it to be. :o Hope you like the revisions! Hawke is now the owner of the bookshop near the coffeehouse where Cass works, which is sure to lead to some shenanigans. See you in two weeks.
CW: offscreen building fire