A/N: This week is dedicated to using your head! Though I will probably also write some requests when I get bored, inevitably. However, for now, it's up to you to carve out your own interpretations.

Yay!

The DJ, puppy or Ben or whatever Leslie decided on, looks directly at Andy. He gives Ben the signal, and a Britpop tune unfolds into the large auditorium. She hated the music before, though her and Ben have alarmingly similar tastes in alt rock that never gets talked about because she just about vomits every time Andy brings it up. So he doesn't.

When it hits an airy chord strummed repetitively, Andy doesn't really mind it because there's a surprising energy to it outside the realm of the imagery. So Andy, for once, ignores the lyrics to get into the music. At the same time, he finds her and something like a smile worms its way onto her face until she understands with a nod of his head. It only takes another moment, and he can convince her to dance. It's not a slow number, but the song calls for it and she's dressed for an especially gloomy waltz. April slips her arms over his, and one hand into his own, with a fluid ease, barely snaking around him until they're closely entwined like roots around a stony outcropping.

Andy's feet don't have it in them to handle a slow dance for long, but April's veil now forgotten shows that she's smiling with more eager affection behind her eyes so he goes for it. It's not that hard to get the hang of it, and before long they work up a rhythm that makes him sweat and the joy in April's face belies the fact that she's dancing.

"You said you hated dancing," he shouts over the music, smiling.

"I hated the music," she returns and looks down at their feet for a second. Looking back up, she's rolled her lips in that time and blinks rapidly. "Now I feel like I'm in a Poe story."

"Who?"

"Never mind," April chuckles and Andy gets inventive, and spins her once. It's doofy and romantic, and probably not at all what she wants, but then the light in the auditorium dims for the smile she has.

People around them become tiny and insignificant, and suddenly April is closer and her dress no longer seems black to him. It is black, but the vibrant energy surrounding them, from the Smiths song that's still dreary but lively to the way she never looks away from him for the entirety of the song, instills something new in it for him, though it must be for her as well because she simply won't stop smiling. The color isn't the literal, real shade of her mourning gown in its darkness but the way that her eyes find his and he can feel that surge that pushes her forward and pushes them both together even further. It's the blues that defined her before, a little smear that was barely more than the primary itself and had no feature otherwise.

It became yellow, and showed him that he needs to give her something he thought he couldn't. The reds, too, they blossomed into distinct shades that he'd never seen before her and never knew that could be real or something he could have and, yet, here they are. He never saw the greens, and Andy has never been happier for that, but right now it's all meshing into some kind of spectrum he's never understood before. It's April, but different.

Just like them, it's the same but only a little different. Andy guides her along the dance, somehow because he has no idea what to do though it works out kind-of, and before long he realizes the song's changed and it's something that April would hate with a passion probably (because he likes it) and she's panting, tired. He's beat, too, and they go to grab punch before the King and Queen are announced.

Then, when she tilts a cup of punch over onto the floor, spilling it everywhere, he sees that side of April and knows to keep the rest behind them for the rest of the night.

"Babe," she has a glimmer in her eye that tells Andy to smile and nod in response, "I need to go do something fast and then we can hang out some more. Drink, fight some kids, yell at them for being dumb... whatever you say!"

"Awesome!" he shouts, trying to speak over the music and April dashes off.

He gives Ben another look and nods. For now the color would smooth out and separate, but later they would come back together. An hour or so spent alone would shift and jumble them up all over again, just for her to pull them apart for herself but not alone. He'd help her find the lines drawn between as best he could, and as best as he has for years now.