Author's Note: The chapters should be longer from now on (except for the next one). We are already full speed ahead on the Date Train. It can't be stopped.
Friday, and you have yet another errand to run after school. This might be the most elaborate stunt you've ever pulled, but you view it as a challenge. You've been to the tux rental before. Bro was never down with buying you new suits every time Homecoming or Prom rolled around, so the town's tux rental shop became his favorite thrift store, so to speak.
It's a pretty nice place, all things considered. You roll your bike into the rack outside the white-washed store front and push open the glass door. A mechanical bell noise sounds. The old man behind the counter waves at you and smiles.
"David," he greets warmly, "It's been a while. You've grown!" He laughs, throwing his arms out in a wide gesture. "Let me look at you." He approaches, clapping your upper arms with his hands and appraising your face. "It's a bit early for Prom season, don't you think?" he guffaws and steps back. "What can I do you for?"
You explain that you're looking for two suits, a little classier than usual. He gives you a look. "Got yourself a boyfriend?" he asks, chortling and moving toward the back of the store. You follow, a bit shocked. Eventually, you find your voice.
"Um, not quite yet. I'm working on it," you clarify bashfully. The old man shrugs, patting you on the back. It occurs to you that you've never bothered to remember his name. You're a little too embarrassed to ask, so you let him lead you to a rack containing exactly what you're looking for. Unfortunately, it doesn't quite fit your price range, even to rent. The man must see you cringe when you check the price tags, because he whips the hangers off their racks and takes them up to the front of the store. You follow in confusion.
"Here's the thing," he says, ringing the suits up. "If you don't tell my supervisor, I'll strike you a deal. How long do you need them? Can you return them by Sunday afternoon?" You nod vigorously, and he rings the ensembles up for a significantly discounted price. You are floored, and thank him profusely before rushing out, two outfits in tow.
You're careful to drape your items over the handlebars and pedal slowly. When you arrive at your apartment complex, you vault up the stairs. It's already almost five o' clock, and you want to be sure to arrive at John's no later than six. You hurriedly get dressed and tame your hair. By the time you're ready, you still have plenty of time, so you step into Bro's room (which is, thankfully, unoccupied) and consider your image in the full-length mirror.
It's a shock to see your blond hair, usually slightly unruly, so slicked back. Your aviators are clean and clear of smudges. A pressed red tie loops under the collar of a white dress shirt, which is covered with a light grey vest. You shrug on a black blazer, leaving it open to expose the tie and vest. The blazer matches your creased pants perfectly, and you've polished your dress shoes to perfection. Satisfied with your reflection, you head out.
Mounting your bike is quite the ordeal. You're wearing very nice clothes, and you have very nice cargo. You quite literally can't afford for anything to get dirty.
You pull up to John's house at exactly six. Instead of leaning your bike on the curb, you actually walk it up to his front door. Like a true gentleman, you carefully press one finger into the doorbell, and tuck it behind your back afterwards. The second suit is draped delicately over one arm, and your bike is propped against your hips.
John answers the door almost immediately, stopping in his tracks when he sees you. His face turns a marvelous shade of crimson, and you take advantage of his stunned silence, holding his suit out to him. "Get dressed," you say smoothly. "We're going dancing."
He stands there staring for a few moments, and then regains some composure. "Do…you want to come in?" he offers, stuttering. You smirk, relishing in the feeling of causing him to be so taken aback.
"No," you refuse simply, leaning casually against your bike. "I'll wait out here."
With a quiet and surprised, "oh," John disappears into the house. Only minutes later, he returns, looking stunning. You let your gaze travel up and down his body. He sports a white suit, complete with a black vest and a bright blue bowtie. It fits him well. When you look back at his face, he's timidly avoiding your eyes. Dad Egbert appears behind him, a menacing fatherly force in the doorframe.
"How long will you be gone?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at your getup.
"Oh, I'll have him back well before sunrise, don't you worry, sir," you quip, turning to stride back toward the street. You're surprised to see that John is right beside you. Looking back over your shoulder, you catch Mr. Egbert closing the door, a slight smile on his face.
You cannot believe you just got away with that.
When you reach the road, you mount your bicycle. John stands awkwardly on the curb, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. You grin, looking him right in the eyes. "Are you getting on?" John takes a moment to realize your meaning, but when he does, a blush rises once more to his face. He straddles the seat carefully, and when he wraps his arms around your waist, you applaud yourself on correctly predicting Stage 5 to be Interest. Smirking, you push off. The bike wobbles a little with the added weight, but once you pick up the speed you're able to glide along easily.
"So…where are we going?" whispers a timid voice. His breath brushes lightly over your ear. You shiver.
"There's this hella rad place downtown. On Friday nights, they split the floor."
"What does that mean?" John asks curiously.
"It means that we can slow dance until nine, and then critique the DJ until midnight," you explain in cryptic tone. John doesn't ask any more questions. You talk suits and ties for ten minutes, until you pull up in front of a place called Cherubs.
With your pre-ordered tickets, you get in easily, after the doorman waves you in and offers to leave your bike in the coatroom. You agree, grabbing John's hand and pulling him through the double doors into the ballroom. Your fingers are still intertwined when John stops in his tracks, gazing out over all the couples gracing the room. A particularly energetic swing dance is currently playing, and couples float across the wood-paneled dance floor. When it ends, they stop and turn toward the band, applauding enthusiastically. All the women wear dresses that sweep the floor, falling in layers and ripples of fabric. The men command attention in perfectly tailored suits with tails and impeccably knotted ties.
Beside you, John laughs. "I almost feel underdressed," he notes. You give him a sideways glance.
"You'll feel overdressed later, trust me," you assure him, guiding him onto the dance floor. Just as the next song starts, which turns out to be a classic foxtrot, you direct his left hand to your shoulder. You grab his right hand with your left, and put your other hand on the small of his back. Both of you attended ballroom dancing lessons in junior high (ironically, of course), so you sashay effortlessly across the floor. You insisted on leading (because you're obviously the Dom in this relationship), and John clearly isn't used to following. He picks it up quickly, however.
The dances pass, each one different. There's some waltzes, a few more foxtrots, lots of swing dancing. Your conversations and light and breezy, and you can tell that you're both having a lot of fun. The lights dim as the hours pass, and soon it's going on nine.
"One more dance?" you ask, kind of breathlessly. John nods and takes your hand, but when the song comes on, it's excruciatingly slow. You look around at the couples around you. All the women have their hands looped around their partner's necks. John quickly takes your waist.
"Uh-uh-uh," you admonish, waggling a finger and raising his arms. John sighs and clasps his hands together at the nape of your neck. You smile and rest your hands on his waist, pulling him closer. John looks up at your face, but when he realizes how close you are, he averts his gaze self-consciously.
"John, look at me, will you?" you ask lightly. He forces himself to turn back towards you. It's hard to make out his facial features in the hazy lighting, so you begrudgingly remove your shades and tuck them into the pocket of your slacks. John watches, looking like an angel in his white suit. "We had fun tonight, yeah?" you say slowly when your glasses are secure.
Your partner nods, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Thanks, Dave." He leans forward and rests his head on your chest. His hair tickles your chin. "For everything."
You're speechless. "Anytime," you manage. The song crawls to a quiet end, and the loud applause kills the moment a little, to be honest. You like ballroom dancing and all, but you can just barely hear the pumping bass music in the next room over, and when you glance across, colorful light spills out onto the paneled wood from underneath the door.
"What do you say we really dance?" you ask brazenly. John grins, and this time, he's the one to grasp your hand and pull you along. When you reach the door, John yanks it open and pushes you through in one swift motion, closing it quickly behind him so as not to disturb to ballroom dancers. And with good reason. The second the door opens, your senses are assaulted. Bright lights in every color twist and turn from the DJ's station, splashing spinning shapes and patterns onto every surface. The music is turned up full volume, transitioning smoothly from one pop song to another. You and John wander over to a table near the refreshments, pulling out two chairs and plopping down. Secretly, you're exhausted. But watching the excitement shine on John's face keeps you going. You're just about to suggest a snack break when a new song comes on.
"I love this song!" John squeals, as if a child. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself on your feet, dramatically whipping off your black jacket and draping it over a chair. John giggles, doing the same. You loosen your tie and roll up your sleeves, just in time to follow him onto the dance floor.
It really is a mosh pit in there. The target audience is clearly a much younger group than the ballroom dancers. Young adults and teenagers in all sorts of clothing jump up and down, pumping their fists is the air. One (probably underage) girl in a tight black dress grinds shamelessly against her date. A group of friends in jean shorts and t-shirts dance goofily on the outskirts of the main mosh pit. John stops nearby them, avoiding the Pull of the Pit, as you like to call it. He starts to mimic some old-timey moves, doing the Sprinkler, the Shopping Cart, and more. You'd like to roll your eyes at how ridiculous he looks, but the loud music invades your ears and your brain, filling you with addictive blissfulness.
Moments later, you're dancing next to John, probably looking dumb as shit. For once in your life, though, you don't really care if people think you're weird. That's what's amazing about John. He just doesn't mind. You wear your shades for two reasons: 1) John gave them to you, and 2) they hide your eyes. But any flaws John has, he bears them to the world and dares it to challenge him. He accepts himself as the nerdy, bizarre geek he is. With your shades in your pocket and your eyes exposed, you begin to feel the same way. It's not like anyone's paying attention to anyone else. And even if they were, what do you care? You're doing Cat Eyes with the most adorable guy on Earth.
The flashing lights and pumping bass slowly pollute your mind, pulling you in. It's intoxicating, and you and John soon find yourselves submitting to the Pull of the Pit, jumping up and down in time with the beat. There are bodies everywhere, and it kind of smells, but John's laughing. You're not sure how much time passes, but it doesn't really matter, because whenever John breaks down in giggles, you can't help but do the same.