I'm sorry for not updating sooner (ehh... again, you probably don't care) and I'm not sure when I'll be updating next. I'm afraid the chapter after this needs serious revising, and possibly some additions. I'll see if I have time - but NaNo is here, too! *frets*
But in whichever case, I hope you enjoy this.
Two and a half weeks passed in a daze. November, to teachers, meant cold and wet, meant students should be inside doing vast stacks of homework rather than having hobbies, or anything resembling a life.
But Toris and Feliks managed fairly well anyway. Because, of course, they had to make sure that he events of the night of the masquerade ball were not just some magical, Halloween-night fluke.
Safe to say, they weren't.
The walls surrounding Toris' whole body, the transparent barriers that had kept him and Feliks apart for so long, had vanished completely. It didn't hurt that most movements of intimacy occurred in a certain pair of pale pink pajamas. That was how it worked; because Toris could feel Feliks, so tangibly in every dizzying breath. There wasn't room for fear.
So time passed, and one day Feliks bounded over to their regular table during lunch, clicking down his tray and straddling the bench in an entirely inappropriate manner, leaning forward to grin expectantly at Toris.
"You are going to meet me in the auditorium at four o'clock today."
"Huh?"
"Just do it. Be there exactly at four o'clock, okay? Or else I'm gonna be, like, totally pissed."
"…sure? Why?"
"Just do it." Feliks repeated, rolling his eyes and flipping his hair. Toris noted, with some surprise, that he was wearing sparkly blue hairclips, placed unobtrusively behind his ears.
Orin sat down at the table, sans Lukas. The rest of the crew – Tino, Eduard, Raivis, even Berwald – looked up in concern. If Lukas was not following Orin around, he was either planning something, or something was wrong. Either way, it boded ill.
"He's on some kind of crusade," muttered Orin darkly to the unspoken question.
"Wh't?" asked Berwald monosyllabically, his dark face growing fractionally darker.
"That girl, the one from the ball that Toris," he shot a half-glare in the boy's direction, "was dancing with all night – he's obsessed. Wants to find out who she is."
Toris' eyes widened. Oh no, had they gotten caught?
He glanced over to Feliks – who was laughing so hard he had almost fallen face-first into his pizza.
"Oh, my gosh," he said, giggling. "I haven't heard a lot about this mysterious girl. Why does he like her so much?" He asked with a sneaky look.
"Well, she was pretty," said Eduard. "I mean, really pretty. You could tell she had a nice body under that dress."
Toris blushed deeply, trying to become invisible. Feliks was pinching the inside of his palm to keep from laughing.
"She was good looking for a girl that age," agreed Tino pleasantly. "Although maybe you're asking what she looked like? She had blonde hair, cut almost to her shoulders – about the same length as yours, Feliks – and apparently she took a shine to Toris because she dominated-" Gigglesnort from Feliks "-his attention all night. Flat out refused Gilbert in front of everyone."
"Toris, what were you doing dancing with some strange girl all night while I was sick in bed?" Feliks asked, eyes shining with absolute deviousness.
"I was mad at you for leaving me alone all night," Toris shot back, glaring. Why was he baiting everyone? They were sure to get caught if he kept going!
"Anyway," interrupted Orin. "Apparently Lukas got a good look at her shoes and is off on a mission to find her."
"Like Cinderella?" asked Eduard incredulously.
At that, Feliks slapped the tabled, bit his lip, and bolted, laughing so hard that he stumbled. The table watched him until he had giggled his way out of the cafeteria. Then they turned to Toris.
He held up his hands in a gesture of defense.
"I have no idea."
Three thirty, and Toris stood in front of the ampetheatre, staring at the closed doors, bright with neon posters announcing the auditions for Cinderella today. Toris wondered, with increasing worry, if Feliks' insistence that he was her exactly at four had something to do with the play. But auditions started at three o'clock, not four o'clock, and besides, tech obviously needn't attend. Toris frowned, with a sinking feeling that it would all be explained soon.
He pushed open doors to the lobby, then, more carefully, those to the house proper. Only the first few rows of seats were filled, by milling students and acting hopefuls. A single spotlight was fixed on a dark, bare stage, with a row of boys lined up across the circle of light.
Mistress Helena stood boldly on the edge of the stage, issuing orders.
"…Alright boys. All those up for Prince Charming, thank you for your audition. Next, I need everyone who wants to be Cinderella to come to the stage."
Immediately, the Prince Charming hopefuls scattered, tripping over each other to be the first off the stage. But, to Toris' surprise, a few boys actually began to file on stage. Wow. Why would guys…?
Then it hit him. It was Alfred and his jock friends. Gilbert was with him, as well as Lukas, obviously haven given up one Cinderella for another. In all, it was five boys, all looking incredibly smug and self-satisfied.
Mistress Helena clapped her hands happily.
"Alright, boys! I trust you have monologues and sixty-four bars of music prepared! I can't tell you how proud I am to have pioneers with the real spirit of theatre!"
And Alfred F. Jones, famous football player and knucklehead extraordinaire, sashayed into the spotlight.
Chuckles reverberated around the room; he had a football jersey tucked up into itself, exposing his midriff, as if it would make him more feminine.
"Miz Helena," he said in a southern drawl that was even higher and more squeaky than his regular accent. "I'm sooo ready for this."
He proceeded to recite, and mangle, exactly half of Hamlet's to-be-or-not-to-be speech in his high, fluty falsetto before Helena stopped him, eyes wide in horror. He didn't get to sing.
The rest of the auditions were no better. The boys swayed their hips, sang in high-pitched voices, and pretended to make out with each other.
Is this what Feliks wanted me to see? Idiots acting like… idiots…?
He checked his watch. 3:59. He was here, right on time. Where was Feliks?
On stage, Helena looked as if she had given up all hope.
"Alright, boys…I officially call auditions to a close. This will be a very difficult decision," she sighed, stifling a glare at the Cinderella hopefuls, none of whom seemed serious in the least, "but I will hold call-back in –"
"Um, excuse me?" a very familiar voice broke in. Toris looked up, eyes darting across the stage. And there was Feliks, only his head peeking out of the wings as he caught Mistress Helena's attention.
He was wearing a headband.
"Y'got one more auditioner or whatever."
Mistress Helena blinked. "Oh. Feliks. You're auditioning?"
"Yep," he said with a smile. "For Cinderella."
And then he slipped into sight and Toris caught his breath.
Feliks was wearing a skirt.
On stage.
In public.
The boys in the front seats began to wolf-whistle. Feliks just proudly raised his chin, finding Toris' eyes in the dark seats. He winked.
It was the same outfit that he'd been wearing the first time Toris saw him like this, in their room – a short skirt and blouse, knee socks, shiny black shoes – the girls' version of their own uniform. But it also looked different somehow, or maybe it was just Feliks. He... he was practically glowing, his whole posture screaming confidence, screaming "fabulous". And Feliks' smile was more relaxed and honest than Toris had ever seen it. The little blonde looked as if, for once, he was exactly who he was born to be. It blew Toris away. This was the Pole in his natural state. It was terrifying. It was –
"So, like, can I sing now?" asked Feliks, still smirking at the uproar he was causing in the audience.
Mistress Helena's mouth was gaping open. Hurriedly, she shut it, then opened it again. Then she grinned in unholy glee and nodded. "Yes, please. And what will you be singing?"
"Um… totally forgot what it was called, but its from the musical, so can I just do it?"
Again, Helena nodded, taking an accompaniment CD from Feliks and clicking it into the stereo at her side. Weak, tinny music filtered out, and Feliks sat himself on the edge of the stage, carefully arranging his skirt before beginning to sing:
"In my own little corner, in my own little chair, I can be whatever I want to be…"
His singing voice could not be mistaken for a girl's but it was light and even and hit most of the notes and right then, it was the most beautiful thing Toris had ever heard, flats and sharps and all. He recognized this moment as a shift for Feliks, as deep and jarring as the night of the ball had been for Toris himself. He was coming into his own. He was beautiful.
"…Then I'm glad to be back in my own little corner, all alone in my own little chair."
The room stood silent, breathless and completely unsure how to act, what they were supposed to do in the face of such an anomaly.
Toris stood up and began to clap, and Feliks' eyes lit up as if this was the greatest ovation that he had ever received. He stood , bowed gracefully to the shocked crowd, and leapt off the stage, running over to Toris and dragging him out of the room.