Friday fell through Regan's fingers faster than she would have liked. It was the only day of the week she didn't have English, and that alone made it dreadfully mundane to her. She didn't see much of Jim outside of assembly that day, and it would've hurt her less if she didn't constantly find herself searching for him in every step of footfalls, in every clearing throat and in every swell of laughter. She wondered idly, as she walked home, if he had been avoiding her for some reason or another. The optimistic side of her psyche assured her that if he was indeed avoiding her it was to relieve some of the suspicion that had been surrounding them, but there was always the pit of pessimism that told her that he was probably sick of her and she was just a passing fascination.
But she chose the former as the preferable circumstance. She was determined not to embarrass herself by catching feelings for someone who couldn't care less about her outside of 'the game', so she'd ensure that she'd avoid embarrassment. For once, she found herself excited for a compulsory school dance. Only because it meant she'd only have a single day till she saw him again. Before she saw Jim Moriarty again.
The hours of the mild Sunday ticked by slowly but surely. She tried desperately to occupy herself, but her thoughts drifted inevitably to him. She only hoped that he was going through the same thing.
As soon as the sun began to set, she threw open her wardrobe and grabbed her dress. Just a simple red gown, but it was made of the most divine material that she loved so much that she just stood there running her fingers through the fabric for a while. She would try tonight, she decided, because tonight it mattered. Regan pulled on the dress, slipped on some low black heels, curled her hair, put on a small amount of make up - and spent the rest of her designated preparation time staring at herself in the mirror, wondering sincerely why exactly she cared. She was sick of her jumping back and forth, at her inability to decide where she was here or there, whether she liked Mr. Moriarty or was completely creeped out and repulsed by him, whether she was doing this for her or everyone else. But that was an integral element of the human condition, wasn't it, indecision.
She tucked a piece of her hair behind an ear, it was romantic - wasn't it. Not all that much romance wise was frowned upon by a lot of people now-a-days, was it? One of the most incredible steps of the century was tolerance for all colours and shades of love. But not when circumstances were truly illegal. Was it so different to, say, the great romances of Shakespeare? On her side, at least, and in his work there was a great amount of emotion involved despite stigmas and rules. And Shakespeare's work eventually found incredible fame, and nobody for one second dared to say that the love the playwright captured was wrong and a mistake. So by that token, her sudden entanglement might also, in time, reach a point where it was just seen for what it really was - instead of a shroud of forbiddenness and outrage being thrown over it. In time, it would be romantic. That is - if he didn't turn out to be a powerful criminal mastermind, but the odds of that were slim at best in Regan's opinion.
She tucked the small red book into her clutch, not so much expecting to need it as wanting to have it with her. There was a certain degree of comfort in being in the possession of something that was owned by someone special to you, even more so if it's important to them. It's almost as if, in ownership, a small piece of that person breaks away.
Regan took one last look at herself, before turning her room's light off and languidly strolling down the stairs.
"You look so beautiful, honey." Regan's mother beamed up at her as she turned the corner of the staircase. "It really is a shame you don't have a date, I'm sure just seeing you would make this night something to remember."
Regan smiled to herself and blushed, not from being flattered - but having to focus on what her mother was saying dropped the amount of control she had on her anticipation for seeing Jim, and her heart began to race. "Thanks, Mum."
"Did you want me to drive you?" she asked.
Regan looked hard at her mother. At the dark circles under her eyes, the tired but affectionate smile, the shaking hands of a woman who was always working. "I've already got a ride, thanks Mum. You get some sleep, and I'll be back before Dad gets home - okay?"
Her mother nodded and kissed her cheek, wishing her a good time as Regan stepped out the door. Regan trotted down the steps and through the gate quickly, till she was out of sight of the house due to the dark. She turned, and began walking to school. True - it wasn't how she envisaged the evening beginning, but her mother looked like she was about to collapse, and she awarded herself some mental brownie points for being considerate (if a little stubborn).
A few cars were still on their way to wherever they were going - and each set of headlights seemed to blind her temporarily. But she was already making good time. She ignored the protest of her feet in her heels and kept going.
A car slowed down next to her. Regan bit her lip... It couldn't be...
"Now where is it you're off too so late?"
It was.
"For once I'm glad to see you, Mr. Moriarty." she teased, stretching out her painful toes.
"You wound me." he lilted, holding his hand over his heart and pouting. He chuckled. "Would you like a lift, or do you want to continue wearing down your shoes?"
Regan pretended to consider her options for a moment. "Hm, alright." she smirked, dodging around the front of the car and getting into the passenger side.
Jim began to drive. "You look nice, Regan." he said quietly, "Red suits you."
She blushed hard enough she was sure she was monochromatic at this point. "Thank you, you don't look too bad yourself." she laughed. In truth, he looked no different apart from the fact he was impossibly even more groomed and neat. She was fairly certain he'd even worn that suit jacket to school before. She wrung her hands. "Dressing up nice for a date?" she asked. She tried to keep her tone light-hearted, but the words forced themselves out in a way that caused her voice to break slightly.
Jim shook his head. "Even if I had someone, I wouldn't take her."
"Why's that?"
"Well," he shrugged. "High School English teacher is hardly an exciting career is it?"
"I don't know," Regan mused. "You've got to be pretty brave to want to put up with a bunch of teenagers five days a week, sometimes more."
Jim laughed. "I suppose. It has it's perks though."
Regan looked over at him. "Like what?" she asked.
Jim looked away from the road for a split-second to meet her eye. "You should see how many pencils are lost in my class, my pencilcase is so full." he grinned.
Regan shook her head. "You're ridiculous."
"It is a weakness with me." he lulled. He stopped the car. "Well then, time to mingle with all the ordinary people hm?"
Regan rolled her eyes jokingly and got out of the car. She looked over at Jim, who suddenly looked very uncomfortable.
"Are you alright?"
"Hm? Yes. Yes, I'm alright. I'll just be a moment, Regan - you go on in." he fretted.
She pursed her lips, and was going to protest - but thought better of it. She instead made a b-line for the gym.
The regular interior of white-washed walls and polished wooden floor was dimmer that night, illuminated only by lights of all hues - and brightened with streamers and decorations of white, turquoise and golden brown. It was incredible how much the space had changed. It not only felt smaller, but it didn't really feel like a school at all - she could barely see the laminated lines on the floor beneath all the swirling bodies. Evidently nobody had wasted any time in getting down to business. She edged through the doorway and stood awkwardly at the side - searching the crowd for someone she knew and fumbling with her clutch nervously.
Irene caught her eye from somewhere in the middle of the fray, excused herself, and approached the uncomfortable Regan. "Regan! You look lovely darling." she looked around. "Where's lover boy?" she winked.
"Give it a rest just for tonight, alright?" she grinned and Irene elbowed her. "But speaking of lover boys - I see Mr. Holmes over there looking quite lonely. I'm sure he'd appreciate some company, no?"
Irene bit her lip and stared at the psychology teacher. "Mm. The company I'd give him, look at that suit."
The giggled together for a moment. "Well Irene, if you're not going to go over to him - I will."
Irene's eyes went wide. "You wouldn't dare! You're staying right here."
"I think my sophisticated skills of persuasion might be able to get you dance..." she wondered out loud.
Irene looked down and smiled widely. "Okay, go go." she said hurriedly, pushing Regan in that direction.
Regan obliged happily. She might even remember to mention Irene while she was interrogating the man. She pushed through the throngs of laughing, talking and dancing people till she reached Mr. Holmes, who was leaning very sauvely on the snacks table talking to Mr. Watson. Regan stopped short of the pair, and assimilated herself into a small circle of people - listening to carefully. She glanced over, to the pair, who had now moved closer and were exchanging light touches.
Regan turned on her heel to join the two. "Hello." she said bluntly.
Mr. Holmes glared down at Regan with the fury of a hellfire. "What do you want."
She clutched her hands behind her back and swung to and fro - much like a young child attempting to be cute to get what it wanted. "I was wondering if you'd like to tell me some specific details about a specific circumstance that involves me."
"What are you talking-"
"Should I go?" Mr. Watson said quietly.
"No, don't go-" Mr. Holmes urged.
"Perhaps another time, then." Regan smirked. "But till then, maybe you'd like to go dance with a student? For your image only, of course."
"You mean Irene."
Mr. Watson frowned.
"Correct."
"No." the tall man said plainly.
"I could let slip that you are involved with our Mr. Watson here."
"That's- no, what-" Mr. Watson spluttered.
"Quiet, Watson. You could accuse us of such behaviour, on no grounds may I add, but you are forgetting that a few words from me could also land you in trouble."
"Except in your circumstance I'm aware both of you will be fired, as I'm very well aware of the school's policies, as opposed to - well, fill in the blank Mr. Holmes."
The man glared at her darkly. "You've been picking up some bad habits, Regan Byron, and we both know the influence. I've said it once and I'll say it again - stop."
"Stop whaaaaat?" a voice piped up from behind Regan. She turned. Jim had returned from whatever it was he was doing and it was looking far more relaxed.
Mr. Holmes clenched his jaw. "Chasing fairytales. She'll only get hurt." his eyes flicked back and forth between them.
Mr. Moriarty huffed. "Every fairytale needs a good old fashioned villain, Sherlock."
She heard Irene call out for her. She looked back, raised a hand in recognition, and turned to Mr. Holmes. "You're needed." she smirked.
Mr. Holmes stormed off wordlessly in a delighted and blushing Irene's direction. She watched with an overwhelming sense of triumph as Mr. Holmes extended his hand and pulled Irene in to dance as the previously blaring music turned to something softer. Mr. Watson was nowhere to be found, probably legging it as soon as things got intense.
"A shame he's gay." Jim mused, Regan suddenly remembering his presence.
Regan hummed in agreement. "He's definitely screwing the gym teacher."
"Obviously." he said. Regan was turning away when she felt a cold hand on her own. She had barely enough time to react before it yanked her back in the direction she was turning from and she collided with a steady body. She must've questioned it at some point, because Jim said, "Another obvious thing. Since the unspoken rules against dancing with students has been broken, we are dancing - no?"
The overwhelming closeness of their bodies almost must've almost made her faint, because she began to lose sensation in her legs and it took all of the little willpower she had left to support herself. Every nerve on her body that touched his was on fire, a series of shivers crept down her spine, and she was rendered completely and utterly speechless. His hand fit snugly in her own, and with the other he lifted her chin up gently. She stared with round eyes back at him, still useless and rigid. Jim gently took her other hand and placed it on his shoulder, and placed his own hand on the small of her back.
"We can dance, or we can just stand here." he murmured to her.
At a loss of anything else to say, she blurted out, "Were you smoking?"
He screwed up his face at her. "Smoking hot." he jeered.
Regan had to laugh into his shoulder to stop it from being too loud. The smell of cigarette mixed with his cologne and his natural scent to create a smell that was so indisputably Jim that she would give anything to smell it forever. "I can't say I disagree, Mr. Moriarty." she lulled, beaming up at him as they finally got around to dancing and not just standing there basking in the moment.
He moved like water, with almost painfully graceful and perfected movements. It more than compensated for her two left feet - not that it mattered. She was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that this body against hers right now belonged to the same man that sent her intense, fleeting glances from across the room behind his desk, that communicated with her in secret through a page in a poetry book. His steadily increasing heartbeat, she hoped, was an indicator that this thrill wasn't one sided. That they were both engulfed in the moment. The perfect, perfect moment.