Enjoy! Thank you to all of the comments and criticisms!

Disclaimer: I do not own PoT, Audi, Pirates of the Caribbean, Rixton, and etc.

Love is an open door. The only time that could actually be true is when you open your fridge. I grab the leftover Mexican food from two nights ago and chuck it into the microwave. Punching the buttons to warm up the mixtures of rice, beans, cheese, and who-knows-what-else, the platter of food rotates with a buzz. I yawn, stretching my arms across my chest, feeling a pull across my deltoids and I peel the athletic tape off my shoulders slowly so my skin does not turn into a bright vermillion. I raise my left foot to my rear end, stretching my quad after the slow walk from Rikkaidai that took twice as long as it should have.

With a ring, the microwave calls out to me and I open the door and jab a fork into the food, lifting it to my mouth. The heavenly smell clashes with my natural chlorine perfume and my nose twitches.

Those two smells should not be mixed together.

I lick the fork slowly, getting off the excess bits of cheese and rice and I rip out the band holding my hair into a bun, letting the crinkled strands fall over my shoulders. The smell of the chlorine amplifies. I shovel the rest of the food into my mouth and dump the dishes into the sink before pulling my swim bag with me to the bathroom.

The heated water cascades in the bathtub, releasing steam float in the air lazily. Connecting my iPod with my speakers in the bathroom, I let a slow Rixton song clear my thoughts before stripping and washing off my swimsuit with clean water. The bottle of lemon-vanilla soap slowly dominates the chlorine odor, making me think of those rare sunny days of Portland where you couldn't help but feel happy. Those days felt like a rainbow, a scientifically explainable miracle and yet joy-inducing all the same.

The gushing water rinses away at the suds in my hair and I replace the suds with the slick conditioner, as if all the conditioner in the world could change the damage in my hair from the pool water. Memories of Portland suddenly come flooding back as flashes of my friends and the indoor pool at my swim club flits across my brain while I scrub the vanilla-lemon soap over my pale skin.

Did they miss me? Did my coach remember me? Was grandmother still yelling at the squirrels that dug into her garden? The eight-thousand kilometers between Portland and me felt like worlds away. My throat grows tight as I reminisce of the memories left behind in Portland.

My thoughts swirl in my clouded mind just like how the lemon-vanilla wafts and fogs the sliding glass doors enclosing the bowl-like bathtub. I step down from the porcelain surface to the fluffy mat atop the dark beige marble tiles while opening the glass doors. The water from the three showerheads on the ceiling drips to a stop.

Grandmother, Obaa-san, had redesigned my bathroom, knowing that I would have made the main bathroom of the flat very plain by just replacing the necessary items. She took the room plans for the remodeled flat from my desk one late Friday night when I was away at practice. I hadn't realized until several weeks later because of everything on my mind. By then it was too late, she had completely overturned the plans; there was now marble flooring, a well-crafted porcelain tub surrounded by curved glass doors, bowl-like sinks that mirrored the bathtub with both the shape and elegant chrome handles atop a granite countertop with cherry wood underneath, and a large framed mirror above with natural light flooding through a window that only allowed people inside the flat to see out and not vice versa. It was beautiful, luxurious, and completely unnecessary. I did not dare argue with Obaa-san though, because I would have been sassed in three different languages for over an hour. She had also done most of the apartment as well, including the other bathroom, the two bedrooms, and the kitchen. I eventually gave up in protesting and furnished the flat myself, not caring about the price tag. Obaa-san checked the bills and plans from time to time and ordered more expensive items if she thought I was not spending enough. I didn't understand why she wanted so much money spent on the flat. The opulent flat rivaled that of Keigo's mansion.

I pulled a towel around my torso and wrapped another around my hair, absorbing the excess water from my reddish-brown hair. I let the exhaust system defog the glass and mirrors, buzzing and messing with the soothing music over the portable speakers. I tap the power button of the speakers, letting the hum of the exhaust dominate.

I dress myself in shorts and a sports bra and I throw my bathrobe. I had too much homework that I had kept pending; my memories of Portland could wait. I immerse myself in my chemistry equations and Japanese reading on the living room couch, blearily blinking sleep away every couple of seconds. Somewhere in between my biology notes and Japanese history, a comforting black takes over my vision.

Buzz.

A vibration on the coffee table wakes me up slightly.

Buzz.

I groan and roll over, covering my ears with a pillow and screwing my eyelids shut. The noise soon stops and the stupor once again takes over, lulling me into a hazy darkness occasionally pierced with visions of rainbows over Portland.

BANG!

I sit straight up and nearly fall over, not expecting the pile of schoolwork on my stomach. Scrambling on my hands and knees, I place the various papers on to the coffee table before unlocking the door of the apartment.

I slowly push the door open. Keigo leans against the doorframe with one arm, his other hand running through his purplish-gray hair. He was still dressed in his business-casual blazer from this morning. Lines of worry are etched in his face but they disappear as soon as he realizes I could see him.

"Good afternoon," I blink wide-eyed, speaking in German.

"It's five in the evening," he snorts back in the European language, amused. His mouth suddenly purses, "What are you wearing?"

I look down at my body framed by the unbelted bathrobe that exposes an electric blue sports bra and black spandex shorts to the world. My cheeks grow warm as I fumble, tying the robe close hastily, making sure my cleavage was hidden from sight.

"You need to start wearing a yukata," he chuckles at my embarrassment. "Anyways, I called you at least five times and you didn't pick up, so I thought I would swing by."

I rub at my eyes, trying to fully wake. Keigo snaps his fingers under my nose to make me pay attention. My eyes widen with realization as I make the connection of me not picking up the phone being the source of the stress reflected on his face.

"Sorry, I fell asleep doing homework," I groan. "You know that I'm a deep sleeper."

"That's an understatement. I hit a pan with a wooden spoon next to your ear once and you still didn't wake."

I wrinkle my nose at the memory. I had fallen out of the bed when he finally had roused me. To this very day, I still had a faint scar on my knee from when I bashed it on the side of the bed. Keigo had laughed so hard he cried and I had spent the next hour chasing him around his mansion, limping and cursing in German the whole time. I eventually got his Christmas present, Beat, to tackle him and slobber all over his face.

A little over two years later, I was standing against the doorframe, scowling.

"Go put on some clothes," he commanded. "Or I'll drag you out in that," he gestures to the robe exposing the majority of my thighs.

"You wouldn't dare," I growl, eyes narrowed.

"Wouldn't I?" his eyes twinkle mischievously as he rounds on me.

I let out an involuntary squeal and back away before turning and running towards my room. Before I get there, he grabs me around my waist and I kick against him, laughing and protesting, "Okay okay! I will go change!"

He laughs back, letting go and pushing me towards my room. "Hurry," he warns, grinning, before I shut the door in his face. I throw on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, rolling my eyes while he knocks on the door every couple of seconds.

Patience was never a virtue of his.

"Calm down," I call, swinging open the door. Keigo stumbles as he had been leaning against the door while he knocked. I smirk while he huffs, brushing off his clothes. He suddenly seized my arm.

"I grabbed your keys," he says, dragging me through the apartment and through the front door while thrusting shoes at me. I manage to slip my iPod into my pocket. "And seriously?" he scoffs. "Who wears sweatpants in public?"

"I like sweatpants," I mutter under my breath while I lock the door with the jangling keys that Keigo had handed to me. I barely manage to slip them into my pocket before he drags me down the path to the car and shoves me in.

"Why the rush?" I moan, falling against the leather seat of the Audi.

"Oh, no reason," he replies, mouth twitching.

That liar.

I sigh, resigned to going along with whatever his plans were, like usual. The driver presses his foot to the pedal and speeds off. I roll down the window, letting my hair whip around my face. I sigh, "I hate surprises."

"I know," he smiles. "Why do you think I give you so many?"

"Do you have any idea how passive-aggressive surprises are?" I retort back.

And we spend the rest of the ride arguing about the nature of surprises.

"We're almost there," Keigo announces, interrupting my jab about how people could die by surprise.

I comply, unquestioning. He slips a scrap of soft fabric over my eyes and gently slaps away my curious hands as he ties it. "Don't take the blindfold off," he instructs.

"Why not?"

He doesn't answer. A few minutes later, takes a few turns and stops. He gently guides me out of the car, up steps, and through a door. I could hear a flurry of steps and hubbub, but no hint to where I was. He suddenly lets go and I put my arms in front of me to make sure I do not walk into anything. He snickers as someone else grabs my arm and steers me in another direction. Whoever it was gripped my arms firmly, unlike Keigo.

"Good luck Sapphire!" he yells, somewhere behind me. "You will need it when they put makeup on you!"

Makeup?

At the sound of that word, I start to struggle against the firm grip but I could feel three other hands restraining me and picking me up. Before I know it, I am floating through the air, carried by several people as I squirm against their bonds, yelping.

"You may go to the room to the left when you exit," the snooty man sniffs, lacking approval. He tries to flash a mirror in front of me and I push it away, frowning. I get up, walk out of the room, and pull out my iPod that the stylist had tried to confiscate. I pull slightly at the dress, making sure I do not trip over the delicate fabric that the stylist had forced me into. He took my sweatpants away, not giving them back until I had dressed into the dress with the appropriate undergarments.

My iPod said that Bluetooth speakers were available for connection. I stroll towards the room on the left, deciding to obey commands, as I was pretty sure I was at Keigo's mansion and I wouldn't be able to leave without a map. I jab at the iPod classic, clicking to connect and I test the speakers, cranking up to full volume. A smooth amplified voice erupts from the room on the left.

I kick open the door and the music blasts from speakers that I had hooked up with my iPod by Bluetooth. Keigo looks slightly alarmed and then he grins, shaking his head. The other Hyotei people look completely confused.

I strut over to Keigo, grab his hand, and pull him to a standing position as I dance. My hips sway and my hair flies all over the place, and I wouldn't care less that it was so carefully styled. He just looks at me as if I am crazy. I probably am but I could feel like everyone was judging me. The pit of my stomach drops as I realize I am committing social suicide.

The beat reverberates in my ears. With every drum strike, I could feel my heart beat along. The deafening music took over every single thought, every feeling. The waves of the song bounced off the walls of the room and amplified the sounds from the speakers. My stomach swirls, conflicted with the beat of the music while my anxiety beats down on me.

To my surprise, Keigo starts dancing and looking crazy too.

"I can't let my best friend look stupid by herself!" he yells over the music.

I laugh and we shout the lyrics of the songs together.

I felt like a tornado had just touched down, ripping apart everything I had been taught about proper behavior in public. Somewhere in the eye of the tornado, Keigo was holding my hand, being crazy in the calm of the storm.

"You can go fight your next man," we tip our heads back and yell along to the song. "But I know what you're waiting for…"

The Hyotei players judge us, but with Keigo at my side, I'm not sure I cared. Shishido has a single eyebrow up, half-smiling out of incredulity. I hold out a hand to him.

Would he take it? Probably not. He would have to be just as crazy.

Shockingly, he does, slightly smiling and then releasing as he too lets go of his inhibitions. His long hair swishes, partially tied back and clashing with his formal clothing. For a while, we are ordinary teenagers jumping along to music, singing along to lyrics and bobbing our heads to the deafening drumbeats. Somewhere in the midst, everyone else jumps into the eye of the tornado, except for maybe Kabaji who awkwardly bobs his head, but he bobs his head nevertheless. I'm playing a nonexistent guitar and Keigo is singing with a hairbrush microphone.

I'm not even sure where the hairbrush came from.

Being from Hyotei, they must have understood English for the most part. They shouted along, letting their normal, proper selves fall to the ground, stripped of all decency. The raw beauty of unshielded humanity shines through the room. The anxiety sloshing away inside dissipates.

All too soon, the song ends, letting the soothing voice of Ed Sheeran's Lego House replace the erratic rhythm. The Hyotei team looks at each other, not really sure what to do. Keigo decides first, pulling out a chair. Everyone plops down into a seat, huffing slightly.

"You're crazy," Keigo breathes in Japanese so everyone else could understand. "Absolutely crazy."

I grin back, "You say that like it's a bad thing."

He flicks my nose, "It is."

I roll my eyes and smooth down the lace of the dress. The cascading navy flower appliqués dot the surface of the light blue strapless dress that had been modified to fully cover my bust. I hated lace, I hated dresses, and most of all, I hated heels. Yet, everything was so tasteful that I could not help but admire it, even though I disliked wearing the clothing. As always, Mrs. Atobe had impeccable taste. I balance precariously in the sparkly gold pumps as my hair fans over my back, the ends curled; the side-bangs held back by a small braids secured with bobby pins, something that the stylist had called half-crown braids.

I wouldn't have cared less what it was called, I just didn't want that hot rod of a curler anywhere near my face. Apparently, the stylist had been warned and called in two people to strap me into a chair. He had also held my face down before putting on mascara, lip gloss, and shimmery powder on my face. He made sure all of it was waterproof too, so I could not just wash it off.

Keigo's eyes twinkle, "You clean up well. My, Sapphire, is that makeup on your face?"

I growl back at him, "Well someone told the stylist that I would struggle back."

"Oops," he shrugs, his lips twisting into a smile.

"Why did you even hire a stylist?"

"Because it would annoy you."

"I hate you," I groan.

"You love me," he retorts before pushing back his chair and standing up. "Anyways, it's about time that we go to the ballroom."

"You guys can go," I wave them away. "I think I'll stay in here for a few minutes, maybe an hour or five. I still have no idea what is going on, by the way."

He ignores my last sentence. "Don't make me get people to carry you away," he says, thoroughly amused.

I narrow my eyes at him and stand up; I would rather walk to the ballroom than get dragged there, one had a considerable less amount of attention attached to it. The light fabric swishes against my legs while somehow, the top of the modest strapless neckline does not ride down. Whoever did the modifications was good at his or her job.

Oshitari pushes his glasses up his nose and drawls, "If I must say though, you look stunning."

"Thanks," I reply curtly. "But if you try any pick-up lines on me, I'll punch you."

He chuckles, "Why must you always assume the worst?"

I mutter under my breath, "It's kind of your nature."

Keigo leads the Hyotei team out of the room. I follow before Shishido, the last one in the line. As I passed underneath the doorway, I could swear I could hear a slightly familiar, husky tone next to my ear, "He's right though, you look beautiful."

My heart pounds against my chest erratically, not daring to look back in acknowledgment in case the words had been a figment of my imagination. The voice reminded me of the same tone of a certain someone at a dinner who had gotten me to stop coughing and had compared three spoons to find which one was to be used with soup.

I pull my shoulders back and lift my head, just as I had been taught to do for exuding confidence. I lift my right hand to check if the earring studs that looked like light blue flowers were still in place along with the sparkly bangle on my wrist. I would not dare lose something of Mrs. Atobe's.

The mansion reminded me of a certain castle from a certain Disney movie that I had seen months ago with Keigo. Smiling, I hum the melody to a certain song.

Another throat joins my hum and I turn to see a brown-haired boy with sharp brown eyes humming along.

"My little cousin made me watch it, okay?"

"Sure," I tease Shishido. "Who said you weren't the one who made her watch Frozen?"

The corner of his mouth twitches as we follow Keigo in a mass of uncomfortable athletes in formal clothing. "You caught me."

Mukahi turns and shoots a meaningful look at Shishido. What is with all of these looks? First at the dinner a few days ago, and then now, it was almost like Keigo and me.

Wait, doesn't that make the slender tennis player close to Shishido? They did not seem like it. If they talked, they argued. I tucked the information into a nook in my brain, feeling like it would be useful later.

Keigo pauses, turns, and covers my ears. In rapidfire Japanese, he says something like "surprise" and "downstairs" but I could not be sure because of his hands pressed against my ears. The regulars nod and Keigo snaps his fingers. A butler appears out of nowhere and speaks to Keigo before leading all the regulars except for Shishido away.

He takes his hands off my ears, "I am going to leave and I will be back soon. Stay here with Shishido." And like that, he too walks away.

"What is going on?" I ask, incredulous.

"I was told that if I told you, my head would be on a platter," he snorts, tucking his hands behind his head and leaning against a pillar embedded into the wall.

"Or you could just tell me anyways."

"Nope. And I was cautioned that you would try to run off. Don't even think about it, I'm the dash specialist at Hyotei," he says, the side of his mouth twisted up into a half-smirk.

Well, if he told me not to do it, I had to try. Why did Keigo tell everyone with my issues following directions?

I balanced against the wall and slipped off Mrs. Atobe's heels. I let the straps of the heels dangle from one hand. I pointed at something off near the end of the hallways where several butlers and maids were milling around. "Oh no! Look!"

"What?" Shishido turns to look.

Before he could realize he was not looking at anything important, I lift up the bottom of the dress and extend my legs into a dead sprint. The heels in my hand click against each other and my hair flies behind me as I dash into the other direction.

"Oi! Get back here!" I hear the gruff shout of Shishido and willed myself to be even faster as I could hear thuds of footsteps behind me. Feeling like Jack Sparrow chased by natives on an island beach, I take the first escape that I could, bursting into the first room that I see. The room seems to be slightly familiar and a memory of room surrounded by bookshelves full of tomes and a cozy fireplace comes flashing back. Keigo had found a hidden passageway behind a bookcase, just like the movies, when he was trying to hide from me when I chased him for waking me up with a pan and a wooden spoon. If I could remember, the book that was the switch for the door was somewhere on the left wall's bookshelf; it used to sit slightly below eye level.

I extend trembling fingertips and pull at a red hardback with the title of 'Key.' With a click, a lighted passageway appears behind a sliding bookcase. I shove the book back into place and step into the long hallway before pulling the bookcase shut behind me as Shishido breaks into the room.

"Come back! Atobe will kill me!" he yells in the personal library, separated by the wall and bookshelves.

"Good!" I shout back. "You didn't do your one job!"

I giggle to myself as I walk down the long passageway, clutching the sparkly gold heels and hearing curses from the room I had just escaped. Several tapestries adorned the walls and the bright lights overhead twinkled. I could smell something delicious as I strolled past a particularly beautiful drapery. My mouth watered and I opened a door, revealing chefs clicking metal bowls and whisks together, shouting about how the next batch of food needed to be put out in the next ten minutes.

They turned to look at me, the intruder. I waved meekly, smiling and grasping the heels by my fingers.

"What are you doing here?" a young man with a bowl of chocolate asks in a thick European accent. He whisked the mixture of chocolate before immersing strawberries in the liquid heaven.

"Well," I answered in French, hoping that he would not throw me out of the room and hoping that he understood one of the European languages I knew. "I am running from a few people running after me."

The other chefs turn away, satisfied that someone else was taking care of the situation in the busy kitchen.

He drops his whisk in the chocolate mixture, "You speak French?" His eyes are wide with surprise and a genuine smiles spreads across his face. "Barely anyone here understands me because of my accent," he gestures to the enormous kitchen while speaking. " Most of them are trained in European food but I am from Belgium and moved here recently. My name is James."

"I am partially Belgian!" I exclaim, glad that no one has physically tossed me out of the room. He gestures at me to sit in a chair next to his workstation. "And it is a pleasure to meet you, James."

"Your name?" he asks, drizzling white chocolate over the hardened dark chocolate shell.

"Jade Klysen."

He drops his whisk with a clang, "You were not supposed to be here to begin with. But you of all people should not be here." His voice is low and warning.

"Why not?"

"This party is for you!" he says, throwing his hands up.

I shake my head, confused, "I'm sorry, but what?"

At the same moment, Keigo knocks open the door, panting. He grabs my arm and stomps off. I am too confused to question or struggle and I just wave to James the Chocolatier.

"You were to stay with Shishido," Keigo seethes, gritting his teeth. "I knew you wouldn't listen."

"If you knew I wouldn't listen, then why did you bother?" I quip with a grin.

He rolls his eyes before smiling, stomping down the not-so-secret hallway. The bookcase-wall is open and Shishido is crossly standing, hands across his chest and eyebrows up. I smile at him and poke his cheek, "Oh cheer up. Keigo isn't even mad, are you?" I direct my words temporarily to the teenager with purplish-gray hair.

"She was never going to listen anyways," he waves the issue away. "You are fine, Shishido. But mess up again and ore-sama will make your life hell. And you," he directs his words to me. "You're too smart for your own good. I did not think that you would remember the secret hallways."

I shrug, smiling. "Oops?" I stop and stoop to slide on the heels. Keigo gently guides me as I walk considerably slower.

"How do you even wear those things?" Shishido frowns.

"Magic and fairy dust."

"My mom had to teach her how to," Keigo explains. "Sapphire and her mom were exactly the same, they hate dresses and heels and almost everything girly."

"Are," I correct, my chest tightening. "We are exactly the same."

Keigo just shoots me a look full of sorrow and pity. I look away, not wanting to think about why I had just corrected him. We pause in front a large ornate door. Snapping his hand, a butler appears and Shishido follows the butler away.

"What is going on?" I ask Keigo, sighing.

He ignores my question again. "In a few moments, when the door opens, we're going to walk through. Smile and look pretty."

"Don't I always?" I pretend to act like one of his fangirls, fluttering eyelashes and all.

He tucks a stray strand of hair that escaped the styled hairdo behind my ear. "No, you're ugly," he deadpans.

"Liar."

He smirks back as the doors slowly swing open. We stride forward, my arm balanced on his, revealing a crowd beneath a balcony in a ballroom.

"Relax," he murmurs, noticing my searching eyes and my panic before I had. I throw my shoulders back and smile, oozing confidence I did not have.

Someone announced my name and something about a guest of an honor in the background as I forced myself to breathe in front of the crowd. Keigo leads me down one side of the stairs and I clutch at the marble railing. I could hear Mr. and Mrs. Atobe speaking in the background, "We are happy to invite an old family friend to Japan. Klysen Jade and her brother has known our son since they were both very young and they have grown up together. Unfortunately, her brother cannot be with us today as he is college in the United States."

I hissed at Keigo, ignoring the eyes that were fixed upon us, "Really? A surprise party?"

He shrugs, smiling, "I like cliché, okay? Dad said it would be a good idea. You're now connected with the Atobe family, making you pretty powerful on the social scene."

I shake my head, keeping a beam on my face as we reach the bottom of the stairs, "That is not a good idea. What if they come after my family again?"

Fear grips my heart as it flutters. Keigo shoots me a look, clearly showing his words through his expression. We will talk about this later.

"And now, for a word from our esteemed guest," Mr. Atobe trails off as Keigo pushes me to take the microphone on the stage right below the balcony I had just been on.

I step on to the stage, heart threatening to burst out of my chest. I speak into the microphone in the most formal Japanese that I am capable of, "Good evening and I would like to say thank you to everyone who made an effort to come today. I would like to extend a special thanks to the Atobe family for giving me such a lavish welcome," the words flow over my tongue as I force myself to think of the pool, calming my nerves. "I owe them my life and I will always be gracious to be in their company, whether we are discussing stocks or I am hitting Keigo over the head with a pillow."

Titters of polite laughter burst out at my honest description. "I would like to ask all the guests to enjoy themselves tonight and I greatly appreciate the celebration in my honor." Smiling, I step off the stage with Keigo, breathing deeply to stop my hands from shaking because of my fear of crowds.

"You did great," he soothes. The small orchestra starts to play and the middle of the ballroom clears out for people willing to waltz under scrutiny. I freeze as Keigo leads us towards the middle.

"You have got to be kidding me," I moan in German.

"It is custom," he replies. "Trust me, I don't want you stepping on my feet either."

If people were not watching us, I would have hit him for that.

He places his hand on my upper back and grasps my right hand firmly as I slide a hand on to his shoulder. At the right note, we move and I nearly step on his foot. Other dancers fill in the void in the middle of the ballroom, covering some of our mistakes.

"We could have at least rehearsed before doing it in public," I protested quietly.

"We didn't have the time," he shakes his head. "We might have if someone did not run off."

I grin at him and he smiles back as we twirl. He dodges as I nearly clip his foot with my heel.

"You are just as bad as you used to be," he groans.

"Oh shut up," I bark. "I can swim fine and I am okay on the tennis court. That is all that matters."

"That is not going to matter when my parents and I introduce you to people."

"Shut up," I repeat, concentrating on not killing my dance partner. The song slows to an end and Keigo bows to me. I curtsy back and we begin walking back to a corner where I could escape the examination of the upper class. I spot the tennis regulars grouped together, champagne flutes in their hands.

"It's non-alcoholic champagne," Keigo assures me, noticing my line of vision. "Except Shishido always refuses and gets apple juice instead."

I snort, "Sounds like something I would do."

Keigo frowns, "Speaking of Shishido, where is he?" The long brown-haired teen is not with the Hyotei tennis team in a corner and out of sight. I felt a light tap on my shoulder and I turn.

The orchestra starts to play again and I see a hand. My eyes rake up the arm and to the face of the same person who had chased after me when I ran, the person who had compared the sizes of spoons, who had gotten me to stop coughing after Oshitari's dirty comment, and who may have told me that I looked beautiful in that husky tone. I still was not sure if it was my imagination or not.

Keigo smiles and lets go of my arm, walking back towards the tennis players alone.

"Klysen-chan," he slightly blushes, voice low, "may I have this dance?"

Just an hour ago, he had taken my hand when it was just the tennis players and I dancing in a small room. Could I do the same in front of a crowd?

I pause, praying that he could not see the slight flush on my cheeks. "You may."

Please read and favorite! All reviews are welcome (they make me super happy) along with any criticisms. Thank you!

If anyone is curious, this is what her dress looks like. evening-dresses/jovani-evening-dress-92733

Also, the song that the regulars were dancing to is Wait on Me by Rixton.