CHAPTER EIGHT
It's only a couple minutes to get to the center, and Alex makes the introductions as they go. Nicki and Leo are happy to meet a fellow person in their 20s, since the event is all ages (they tend to show up late enough that it skews 20s-40s, but Alex has seen anyone from seven to 70 there), and waves and smiles are exchanged as Alex is practically bouncing in her seat. She fucking loves dancing. She's been going to this thing since before she even moved into the neighborhood, and it reminds her of her best times in previous cities. Every time she showed she learned a little more, to the point that she's a decent novice. A natural follow, willing to go with the flow if the lead knows what they're doing. And both Leo and Nicki make excellent leads and she fully intends to dance with them if there's something good to dance to.
She's out of the car before it's even turned off, eyes bright and cheeks flushed even without more than half a mojito in her system. "Let's hit this bitch."
Nicki is cackling. "Alex! Family event!"
"Fuck 'em!" But she's grinning, and dutifully censors herself as she grabs for Jonas's hand again so he can't escape as she pulls him toward the building.
The actual community center hosts all kinds of things - there's a swimming pool, a day care, a ramshackle collection of exercise equipment that passes for a gym, all kinds of classes and events - but the dancing is held in the basketball court, complete with cheap ass DJ PA system and a little side table with bottled water and chips for sale. It's like high school dances all over again. Disgustingly wholesome, and Alex loves it for that. She's fully expecting to see some of her favorite teachers tonight, because first Tuesday is Latin night, and it's beyond a doubt the best of the nights.
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He isn't quite sure what qualifies for a family event until Alex gets him inside. Well. Guess he isn't smoking tonight. Not terrible, but with the way his nerves are going, also not a great thing either. So Jonas is going to be hopping from wall to wall the entire night. Okay. Good to know. Because he may generally know how to dance, but he hasn't done it in a long time, and Alex is more than excited about the whole thing. He doesn't want to ruin that for her.
Alex's two friends have already jumped into it, but he disconnects his hand from hers (a shame, really; it was comforting) to go and linger near the door. Jonas had been expecting a club, or something like the Island, but this is… well, it definitely isn't that. Honestly he isn't sure what to expect anymore. Surprises seem to be her thing. Surprises usually don't sit well with him. But it's endearing, and her energy is infectious, which means he's smiling when he's watching other people join the floor. No plans on doing it himself. Watching is enough. The atmosphere should get him out of his head, at least for a little while.
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Alex shoots Jonas a jokingly accusatory look. "The only thing you're convincing me of right now is that you like to watch, Jojo. Hope you know that." But she's still grinning. Kinda can't stop. It's crooked and genuine as she slips her flip flops off to slide on her heels. A quick wiggle to check her balance, and once she's satisfied, she starts scouring the floor for a dance partner.
Alex never expected herself to like dancing as much as she does. Maybe it's the human contact, maybe it's the energy, maybe it's just the sheer joy that comes from an environment like this; whatever it is, it's better than booze. Her first dance partner is one of her earlier teachers, a man in his 40s who comes regularly with his partner and taught her the basics of salsa months ago. The music is that perfect mix of Latin and reggaeton that she can't not move her hips to, and it's a motion she's gonna be doing all night and she's not mad about it.
Too quickly one song moves to the next, and she finally gets her dance with Nicki and it's a very different kind of movement than with the older man, 'cause she quite likes Nicki - probably more than Nicki knows, but Alex is discrete, and used to looking at things she can't have - and Nicki takes full advantage of Alex's ease as a follow to try a lot more interesting moves. Sure, Alex doesn't always catch on, but Nicki walks her through it when needed, and regardless she's having a great time. Spinning and stepping and all hips all the time.
They showed up late enough in the night that by her third dance most of the families with young kids are gone, and the music shifts into heavier bass, though the solid tac-t-tac-tac rhythm through it all stays. Leo is another excellent partner, and soon she shifts from mostly spins to an awful lot of close-close movement, fluid and smooth and something that feels so much more intimate, even if she's grinning the whole time. Every time she does get thrown into a spin it's completely gleefully, reveling in the energy of it. Spun out, back in, legs intertwined and hips swaying. It's closer than she's been to someone in a while, having missed last week's event thanks to a shit gig that never panned out.
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Jonas had gotten tired of all the noise, the hustle and bustle, just about as soon as he'd gotten in the door. He needed time to think. He needed time alone. Of course, he wasn't just going to abandon the person who'd brought him here, but it's… how he calms down. So for a while he just watches her in silence, a soft, sad smile on his face, until he can't convince himself to stay in one spot without some kind of reason for it. So he takes out his phone, shoots her a quick message-
Alex
(Going for a smoke, be back.(
And then he's out the doors and toward the back of the building.
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The movement keeps it at bay, but as soon as the song is over and Leo goes back to Nicki, the feeling hits Alex hard in the chest. Her phone vibrates and she turns it off without looking. It'll be Ren. She can't deal with that right now. With everyone having somebody. So she finds another partner, someone willing to lead even closer, move her the way they want, anything to get lost in that high.
And a minute of that lets her head leave the loneliness and focus on keeping up, cradled against them, a hand covering theirs on her bare skin, shoulder blades pressing against her partner's chest, with too much energy under her skin - a manic desperate force that pushes every move far past the concept of self-consciousness. No such thing as fear when you're trying to lose yourself in someone else's body, one way or another.
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He doesn't want to disturb any of the parents and their kids, which lurking would most certainly do, so Jonas stays away from the lights and sound. The air is humid, and it feels like it's suffocating, but it's something other than the pressing heat from inside. With all the bodies and the jumping chords and— and things he never quite understood. But he's away from that, now. It's reassuring. Jonas grabs the end of a cigarette with his teeth, slides it out of the pack, and goes rooting around in his back pocket for a lighter. It takes a few flicks, and some shaking (he needs to refill his soon, running out of juice), he's able to take a long drag of tobacco and barely-filtered smoke. Almost instantly, his posture relaxes.
It all drifts into a haze. The music becomes background noise, the background noise becomes static, and soon enough it's just his breath and the not-too-distant din of the city around him. This is how he usually spends his nights. Ducked in alleys, on the balcony of his apartment, taking in whatever his dulled-down senses can register before letting it all go again. Jonas gnaws on the cigarette, savoring the taste, the feel of something other than thoughts to ground him. Breathe in.
Music getting louder and softer as the doors to the center slammed open and shut again. Crickets chirping away at nothing as the hour grows later, the moon climbs higher. Hazy smoke drifting around his face, the smell sticking to his clothes, a slow draw of cancerous, dangerous materials sinking into his lungs. Breathe out.
Jonas's mother wouldn't approve. He knows she wouldn't. But then again, would she even approve of anything he's doing? The bartending, the smoking, the boxing, all of it. He hasn't been to visit her in months. Maybe he should, when it all comes back around again. Maybe he should try to forget. Slowly, one of his hands creeps up and around his neck, dragging the chain of a necklace out from underneath his shirt. He twirls the ring in his hands, too small for him to fit around his own fingers, watching as the dulled gold catches shine in the street lamps. What she would say to him, if she knew. Always watching. Always listening.
His head tips back against the building, looking over empty sky, as he ashes the cigarette and just stares. He won't find answers where there are none. He knows he won't. But that was what she'd said. A final message, delivered not by her, but by his father. That she was always watching from somewhere just out of sight. Jonas takes another drag.
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Another song has Alex floating somewhere else, feeling the sweat settling in the curve of her back, trusting herself in the hands of her partner because she sure as hell can't trust herself. And it's easy to follow along with movements familiar for one reason or another, steady undulations and tac-t-tac-tac, stomach to stomach, chest to back, back to chest, forehead to forehead, a blissed out smile on her face throughout the spins and the rolls and the hair flipped wildly to the beat.
It's when she feels too close to doing something wildly inappropriate that she drags herself off of the floor, stumbling to collapse against the wall, sliding down to the ground to rest her feet for a second, blood pounding in rhythm to the music. Perfect.
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Not fifteen minutes later, and Jonas is walking back inside, brushing stray ash from his jeans and trying not to draw attention. Alex is, as always, being Alex. But she seems off, for lack of a better word. Punch-drunk, smiling, a ball of energy. She has to crash at some point, and Jonas watches her settle onto the floor near the back after a particularly intimate partner. With a slow kind of scoff, he paces over, settling next to Alex and gently knocking their shoulders together. He doesn't say a word, but there's a different kind of air about him. A quiet, reserved kind of contentment.
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Alex points and flexes her toes in her heels, grinning at him. There may be a slight manic gleam in her eyes, but having someone she knows - or, well, kinda knows - to look at helps focus her gaze. Sharpens her hazy eyes. Grounds her for a second from her high. "Why are you sitting? We're not done here. I'm just getting started. Give me like a minute to breathe, and then we're getting out there." Her tongue wants to keep talking, but she's not drunk, as much as she feels she could be, and she stops herself before saying something that could scare him away. 'Cause he looks about ready to ditch.
She wraps a hand in the hem of his shirt, for insurance. "You have moves with a punching bag, sure, and you can hoist a gal to her heart's content," she smirks, "-so I have to assume you've got the rest of the moves to match." Just a half second to breathe. Alex slips her hair tie off, running a hand through her hair and pulling a face. "I'm not letting you off seeing me sweaty and not working up a sweat yourself. You're not my personal trainer, just my guardian angel."
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His smile only grows, and Jonas is shaking his head at her, "I haven't danced in years, Alex. If anything I'll be mediocre, at best." Dancing is kind of like fighting — if you really stretch it through a glass pane and let it refract through a window — but this definitely isn't his usual trick of the trade. "Also, secondary question; is hoisting just going to be an inside joke with you now? Because I find that both demeaning and hilarious at the exact same time."
Jonas considers getting her a bottle of water, but they tend to be overpriced, and she looks fine where she is. Just give me a minute to breathe. Easy. The comment about being her 'guardian angel' has him holding back laughter, though it makes sense, with how she's seen his tattoos and most of the things he's done for her that weren't exactly considered normal. Getting groceries for a drunk girl. Now that had been an interesting night.
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He's smiling. It's really really nice to see. Some part of her lets go of something — guilt, maybe, or maybe something else. Her smile turns wicked at his secondary question. "Perfect. I live to demean you, angel." She practically snorts, "And I deserve to, after what you've seen of me. If I can't see you drunk, I'll just have to make you dance."
A brief pause, and then she slaps her hands down on her thighs. "Right!" Standing up in these heels isn't her strong suit - just dancing - so she rolls onto one knee, hands on Jonas's shoulders for support as she pulls herself up. Holding out a hand, as the music switches into the next song, she gives him a hooked grin. "I've been fake-studying bachata for like a solid few months, so I think I can lead for this. Get ready. I'm gonna blow your fuckin' mind, Jojo."
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Fake-studying bachata. Yup, he's going to look like an absolute fucking idiot. Oh well. Jonas pushes himself up onto his feet, and takes her hand just after. (It's still a comfort. Not that he'll admit it. Not that he needs to admit it.) "Okay, okay. You're the one who's got experience here Alex. I don't know what in the fuck I'm doing."
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Alex is… okay, not great at leading. He's not great at following, either. She starts with just a couple steps, but he just - won't - do it, and she ends up laughing and shaking her head and letting go of his hands to grab onto his waist. "Hips, Jonas, hips! This dance is basically saying 'bruh, I fuck.' Which means hips. And kinda working with the back." She can't. She's really - this isn't going well, and she's about to break down laughing. "Bend your knees, hon, it makes things so much easier." She goes for his hands again, 'cause she's gonna fuckin' lead him even if she's shit at it, 'cause she's the expert here.
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"Yeah, that's not something I telegraph."
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"Okay, so celibate angel, got it."
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"Says the woman who used the excuse of getting me laid last night to get me to come dancing with her."
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"But you just said - basically - 'I don't fuck.' Choose a side, Jonas. Sinners or saints."
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Jonas just glowers at her. It's half-hearted, with none of the rage that it should have behind it, but it's Alex. He's kind of learned this is how she ticks by now. It takes another few minutes, and some more of her advice, before he figures out that Alex leading him is a no-go. Which means they have to switch places. He's seen her with other partners, more experienced partners, and that's a high bar to set for himself, but leading while she follows seems like the best idea. And once he picks up on the cues she's set out, (and uses his hips, ugh) it's more than easy to pick up a rhythm and start leading. Which works out much better than their original arrangement.
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Okay, maybe she'll admit that things are a lot smoother when she's not trying to lead Mr. I-don't-fuck and just following him. She's good at following. It's intuitive, knowing what people are asking of her. Of course, in her daily life she's more inclined to do the opposite, out of spite or her own self-serving (or self-destructive) nature (depends on the day, really), but dancing is a team sport. And she's an excellent second, if she does say so herself.
Alex laughs again, but it's less teasing and more like enjoyment. She takes some liberties with his slight stiltedness, 'cause she's not gonna match that when she could be moving her hips. Gradually he loosens up, so there's that at least. She takes his cues easy to turn when needed (maybe too easily, 'cause she's doubting he was intending to spin her, but she wants to spin, dammit), and any time he gives her the space she very happily does her own thing, grinning the whole time, delighting in the utter freedom she has in her own body.
Giving him a little space to do his own thing seems to help relax him into his own style, which is a blessing. Skirting her eyes over him, she realizes that he's not nearly so bad when he's not focusing on trying to match steps. Which— fair. He just needs to realize that's perfectly acceptable with a partner as well.
She'll do what she can. She's not super optimistic as to its effectiveness, but she is for its entertainment value. When she comes back to him, she doesn't wait for his hands to come lead, just rests a forearm on his shoulder (a hell of a lot easier in heels, that's for sure), brushing fingers at the nape of his neck and matching his movements without the formality of steps or turns. Sure, it's kinda close. Kinda very close. But not nearly as scandalous as she's been with other partners tonight. Her chin is down, eyes up, almost a challenge in her gaze, not quite smirking. "How's the halo, angel?"
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"Mm," Jonas glances up at nothing, as if he's actually checking when he loops an arm around her waist and unthinkingly grins. "Still glowing. Maybe you're not trying hard enough, Alex. I expected more from a demon of your caliber."
Now he's just asking for it. Mostly the teasing, but also the back and forth banter they've learned how to fall into, the exasperated sighs and cheeky grins. Something so signature to her, with the way she's learned how to loosen him up. And he has been more genuine in his reactions tonight than he has been at any other time, especially around so many people. Around so many strangers. Alex's fingers are running right along the center of the tattooed crown, and even though it makes him stiffen a bit at first, Jonas convinces himself it's for the sake of the dance and does his best to not ruin the moment. Which is easier once the song switches over.
It's a slower tempo, the rhythm more thrumming, and this is closer to the kind of dance he was actually taught. Well— half taught and half self-learned for the sake of not looking like a complete klutz when on the floor, but that's hardly an issue now. His free hand slides from its original position near her hip, up Alex's side and over her arm, lacing her fingers with his own as he takes a more confident lead. And he's good at that at least, now that he's figured himself out, how to pace himself with her own energy compared to what he's used before. It isn't Alex's usual partners.
Paced. Softer. Almost wholesome, if it weren't for the way he still has a hold of her, grin dropping back to just a little smirk. For her eyes only. The lights frame him in sharp angles and cutting slopes, a contrast to Jonas's little mutterings of tempo and how his eyes flicker over her while they shine with mirth.
.
His grin makes hers grow bright. Kinda makes her heart skip a beat, to be honest, 'cause holy shit she actually did it — she's done it, more than once — actually got a real smile out of him, and that feels like a hell of a feat. Fitting, for a demon. "Still got time." She'll drag him straight to hell.
She'll drag him straight to hell. The thought kind of hurts, poking at her, and actually makes her falter for a second, but it's as the music shifts into the slow, more wind-down kind of rhythms, and her glance away, the fraction of a second her smile flickers, is lost as he's looking down. By the time his hold adjusts - the brush of his hand on her bare back immediately having her settling in the natural response she'd have with other partners, legs fitting that right-left-left-right interlocked sort of position - she's smiling again. Even if it's a little dimmer. No— not quite dimmer. Just… tempered. Mellowed. Still too fluid in her movements for him, still shifting her hips, though she has a more specific aim, stubbornly refusing to feel guilty for pushing the hand around her waist just that little bit higher to rest on bare skin. She just kind of… needs the contact. A little. Would with any partner, really.
Tonight, anyway.
Her hand in his squeezes for a second, more an effect of the shift. The fingers at his neck are brushing into his hair a little before she slides her hand down around his neck to rest flat against his shoulder, the base of her palm over the scripture tattoo she'd spotted at the gym.
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"What, you running on a schedule?" Jonas squeezes her hand right back. It's automatic, a trait learned over time and a habit he's never gotten out of, the fingers of his other hand running over Alex's skin as they move. The idea of her on a schedule, or at least a set one, is laughable. She's free as a bird— maybe a bit flighty, but she hasn't run away yet. He'd let her. Not usually his style - never his style actually - but he'd let her.
It seems like the dance is slowing down a bit, or at least the energy level is, most people picking a partner and sticking with them as the music keeps up the same feeling.
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Yes, he's kinda… tame, for her usual partners. But these are also slower songs, and… she doesn't mind it. He's making an effort, so. That's good. And there's probably something to be learned about encouraging preferred behavior, here. Something she comments on with a playful grin, and gets shushed in a less-than-irritated voice, hand squeezed again to bring her back into doing the thing instead of lecturing him about it. She doesn't make any more comments, though there's a bit of pride growing in her chest that she managed to keep him here, and that he's still dancing despite his earlier protestations.
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They pass a few songs bantering back and forth, switching hands every so often, until they're both satisfied with the quiet; mellowed version of what Alex had been doing before. He doesn't want to call her unfocused, though she seems out of it in a way, like she's pacing herself for his sake. Which wouldn't be a surprise. Jonas is humming to whatever's playing at the moment, more than happy to let his mind drift with the distraction in his arms, pulling back a bit to give her a cue so that she can spin back-to-chest against him. Whether or not she took it was her choice.
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She might be zoning out a bit, movements loose and focused more on the music than anything else. Alex isn't picky about music. Anything that makes her skin thrum with the vibration of sound will do. And she likes the feeling of a steady beat throbbing through the soles of her feet. (Or, well, in this case just the balls of her feet, 'cause heels, but close enough.)
Her eyes are closed, nodding along to the music as he shifts her and she feels the guide of his cue and responds easily. Pressed back against him, she holds his hands at her waist (a little above her waist, really, because fingers on bare skin are a blessing) as always more lost in the music than him, with that ingrained fluid movement she's grown to love. Her head tipped forward, swaying gradually with the rest of her, one hand twines her fingers with his, and the other slips away, sliding up to curve around the back of his neck again— or perhaps more like sliding her fingers into his hair 'cause he actually has really soft hair (like seriously, she should ask what shampoo he uses 'cause it's straight luxurious).
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Jonas wants to make a quip about the hair thing — and the semi-lap-dance thing that seems the hallmark of her preferred dance style — but he doesn't. For two reasons. One, because it would break the moment, and two because he's finding that he doesn't really mind it all that much. He's still not as relaxed as her, but at least he's not a walking brick wall any longer, more than happy to let Alex move on her own while she's still held up against him. She's warm, and he's quiet. It's nice. Or at least, that's how he's going to describe it for a while longer, even as the night is winding down and he's ready to jump off the dance floor the first chance he gets. But Jonas waits for her. Jonas waits for her. He's never been patient, and even staying in one place without something to do is a feat all on its own, but being more than willing to wait until someone else is pleased is… odd.
Anyone that knows him pegs him as something he isn't. A hardass bartender, a punk with a record, some lost cause that got backhanded with a bad lot in life. Even if he's more than just that. Jonas has gotten used to surface-level assumptions about him - it's hard to avoid when everyone likes a clean slate - but Alex has bashed down most of his walls within just a few days of meeting her. And it shows.
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Alex is floating, staring at the patterns spinning on the inside of her eyelids, focused on a rhythm and a hum and her body against him. Because Christ it's good to be against somebody. She swore she'd have someone's arms around her tonight. And she does. A sigh escapes her lips as she tilts her head back, resting against his shoulder as she idly combs through his hair.
This is nice. It's not about the energy of the movement with him— which is different, but it's not bad. It's about… closeness. Just… being close to someone. She doesn't get a lot of that. Not with consistency. Not without fucking it up, anyway. Which is sort of bound to happen. The thought draws a bitter shadow of a laugh from her throat. Soon enough. Every time. They'd be crazy or she'd be crazy, or both. This is why relationships suck. Anything beyond a casual hookup is bound to get too complicated.
Yet everyone else seems to have found someone.
Without noticing, her hand tightens in his hair as the song winds down, then loosens when another starts, letting out a breath quietly. She's not ready to stop, not yet, not tonight. She weaves under one arm, sliding his hand over her midriff, her own fingers peeking between, skating over skin that's cooled with the less strenuous activity, curling around her side to pull his arm around her. Just a bit. Just a little longer.
Truth be told, she'd probably do it with any partner. Anyone willing to give her some kind of physical comfort tonight. But it's easier with Jonas, for whatever reason. Safer, maybe. A known quantity. She's already accepted the rejection, so getting any more comfort of a sort is unlikely, but that's fine. He's trustworthy, even if he denies his obviously angelic roots. He brought things to her; she doesn't have to worry about him coming to her apartment and stealing her stuff or whatever. Not that that's happened. (Well, they stole her roommate's weed and Alex had to pay her back, but just the once.) Maybe she shouldn't trust her first instincts on other people, especially after all of her mistakes, but his first impression was like nothing she'd ever experienced. No one so giving. It's hard to imagine that going sour. Not to say it can't, but… For now she'll trust it. Trust him.
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"Ow. Hey." Jonas' voice is soft, and it's the only comment he's made in what has to be fifteen minutes now, clearly trying not to break her out of whatever relaxed state Alex has managed to achieve. "There's a person attached to that hair, y'know. Try not to yank it out."
He's joking, that's easy enough to tell. He's still looking over the crowd, but his focus is on her, almost like he's in two places at once. Alex had dragged him back into the moment when she'd decided to dig her fingers into his hair, but Jonas had been more than a little lost in thought beforehand, both about the situation and running through a list of what he could do without causing a commotion to get her to just stay. Just for a minute. It feels like she was almost rotating around him, in a sense - close but distant - like she's trying not to scare him off. If he'd been scared off, he wouldn't have brought her home, or gone out dancing with her, or half of the things she'd managed to get him to do in the span of a few days.
Alex is cracking the walls he puts up around himself. Jonas isn't sure if that's a good or a bad thing just yet.
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"Sorry," she mumbles with a kind of bittersweet smile. She isn't exactly blissed out, not like she was earlier, but she's somewhere else for sure. Less manic high and more mellow, almost sleepy. Like she's already hit her wall and is just enjoying the slide down to the floor.
Alex still isn't great at leading, but with her fingers wrapped with his it's easier to shift his hold, turn, fingers skimming over skin as they readjust. It's smooth movements, the hand that had been in his now holding onto his shoulder, the other tracing down his body for a second before she leans against him, ducking her face, cheek to chest. Jonas is really pleasantly solid at the moment. For all her years of learning to actually dance, it's like high school all over again. Her touch curves around him, down his chest, around his waist. It's less dance and more hug, to be honest.
She breathes in deep, a tired sigh, and is overwhelmed by smoke and spice and the familiar notes of dive bar that still cling to him. It's a comforting scent, really. "Thanks for coming out, Jonas." Her voice is mostly just vibration against the fabric of his shirt, lost under the noise of the music, but at least she knows she said it.
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"Hey. A deal is a deal, Alex. Wasn't gonna miss this for the world." His eyes roll just a bit, but he's more than happy to let Alex move as she wants, following after her once it seems like she's settled. Though it doesn't last too long.
Notes: I know this reads like a cliffhanger - it's not. This is just a lovely fluffy chapter. So is the next one. These two deserve some fluff in their lives, and we aim to give it to them. ❤ (Besides, they get more drama later xD) This was a fun chapter to write, tbh. It may perhaps be obvious I got way interested in dancing when working on this, and even created a playlist for this chapter (linked on my tumblr, and the AO3 document). Lemme know if you give it a listen! -OWT