forthsofar | and the closest i've been to a bar was at ballet class

Entry tags:

neil

and the closest i've been to a bar was at ballet class

“Stop worrying about it,” Jodie said, looking over at Rosie in the passenger seat while they wait for the light to change. “You look great. I knew that dress was going to be perfect.”

“Thank you for letting me borrow it,” she says. It had been a lovely offer, and she really was grateful. It was important to be gracious, especially in uncertain situations. And she was very uncertain indeed about this one. “It’s nice, but. It’s just so…”

“Fashionable?”

“Short.”

“I told--what?” Jodie shouts as the car behind them lays on its horn. “God, I was going to start moving. Anyway, your whole retro thing is cute for school and stuff, but not to go out, you know? Even if it worked last time and you wound up all alone in the theatre with him.”

Rosie sighed. She’d kept certain details of that afternoon private out of respect for what Neil had told her before they’d gone to the movies--and, admittedly, played up others because of how fun it had been to make her friends at school think she’d done something unexpected and a little scandalous. Had she known Jodie and the rest of them would keep bringing it up, she’d have been much more straightforward. “We’re going out as friends. We’re very happy just to be friends with one another, I keep telling you that.”

“Yeah, for now.”

As they turn the corner, Rosie takes her phone out of the little purse Jodie had given her and texts Neil: Almost there. Promise you won’t think I look ridiculous? She knows he’d be too nice to say anything, but asks just to make herself feel a bit less uncomfortable about everything.

They pull up to the curb outside Neil’s building, and Jodie puts the car in park. Rosie opens the door and steps out with as little awkwardness as she can manage, even as she wobbles a bit in her borrowed heels. She shivers, the chill night air seeming to go straight through her dress before she gets her coat from the backseat and puts it on. “Thanks for the ride over,” Rosie says--while biting back everything else she wanted to say--before shutting the door and walking up to the front entrance of Candlewood.

Just as she presses the button marked PERRY 9D, Jodie honks her horn and rolls down the window. “Once I get home I’ll call that place you’re living at and tell them you’re staying the night at my house,” she shouts, before pulling away from the curb.

“Oh goodness,” Rosie says, already feeling herself start to blush.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

With Rosie having texted, Neil's already down in the lobby, and he sees her coming up to the door. She looks--well, a bit like one of the other girls in Darrow, which is a silly thing to notice, but so much of their friendship has been founded in their similarities, the times they came from. But then, Neil supposes, he looks a bit like one of the other boys: jeans and a t-shirt and a handsome leather coat.

He opens the door for her and smiles. "Come inside before you freeze," he says, grabbing her hand to pull her inside. "I called a taxi but they won't be here for a few minutes. That's, uh--it's a very nice color on you."

It is. And she's wearing a bit more makeup than normal, and it's all an awful lot. Neil wouldn't say that Rosie's plain, but this is certainly a different sort of look for her, and it rather makes him remember that, well, she's a girl. That thought make him giggle a little bit, and then he blushes, muttering an apology.

Knowing that he lives on the ninth floor, Rosie had resigned herself to a bit of a wait in the cold. Seeing him standing in the lobby instead is a relief--more so once he opens the door, his hand closing gentle and warm around her wrist as he draws her inside. "If Jodie hadn't driven me here, I think I might've."

She doesn't miss how he looks at her, or how something he sees makes him blush and stammer out both a compliment and a quiet apology. It shouldn't please her as much as it does, especially given that nothing would come of it. And yet. "Thank you," she says, her smile sincere and a little coy all at once. "You're not looking so bad either."

"That's awful nice of her," Neil says with a nod, especially because it's chilly tonight, and getting two taxis might have been a little excessive.

But theirs should be here shortly, and the lobby is warm and well light. He knows the dance club they're going to will be warm too, though much darker; maybe the short dress was a good choice in that regard.

"When do I have to get you home tonight?" he asks gently. He doesn't want to keep her out too late.

"It was," Rosie agrees, even if Jodie's generous offer had also involved listening to her friend's curious blend of teasing and advice for the entirety of their drive. It had been kindly meant, she thought, and Jodie was an expert of sorts--Rosie knew she liked to go out to the all-ages club downtown--but it had made her feel so terribly old-fashioned. She never would have done this, dressed like this, any of it, back in Oxford. In that respect most of all, she's glad to be with Neil for the evening.

His question about curfew reminds her of Jodie's shouted promise as she drove away, and she smiles a little as she answers. "Eleven, as it's a weekend, but..." Rosie laughs, softly, trying to think of a way to end that thought in a way that won't be too embarrassing for either of them. "Jodie said she'd say I was staying the night with her tonight, so the Home might not expect me back."

It takes a moment for Neil to realize what the implication is from her friend, which is silly, because since they've started going out like this--cafes, movies, now this club he's taking her to--they've been teasing about him being this older boy. When he does realize, his eyebrows go up.

He giggles a little bit; if Rosie were a boy, he might have blushed.

"Well, we'll figure that out when we get there," he promises. If there was more to that, he puts it aside as he sees a taxi pull up outside. "Come on. The night is young, and I hope you're gonna have fun tonight."

His eyebrows shoot up, and she has a flash of concern: for what he must think of her; a worry that Neil thinks she's still misconstrued their friendship; even, a little protectively, that he might now think something ill of her friend for suggesting such a thing in the first place. But then he laughs and the taxi pulls into view, and the tension of the moment--if there had been any--dissipates before it can truly settle over them.

"Of course I'm going to have fun," she says, pulling her coat a bit closer around her before they leave the lobby again. They aren't going far, just to the taxi at the curb, but she's not dressed for the cold by any means. "I'm in wonderful company, aren't I?"

The company is good, and he's enthused to be going out. He goes out fairly often, but it's good to have someone to go with, to be going out with the prospect of dancing and having fun, and not anything else.

They hurry out to the taxi, and Neil smiles as he keeps an arm around Rosie in the backseat and tells the driver where to go. Nothing is very far in Darrow, but it's good to have the moment to gear up.

When they pull up outside, he's glad that there's no line. He pays for the cab and holds the door open for her, helping her out so she doesn't flash too much leg.

"The good news is," he says as they head to the door, "we're both exceedingly good looking. So we'll probably get free drinks, if we want them."

Quick though the journey is, it's still nice to sit with Neil in the back of the taxi, her head leaning companionably against his shoulder and his arm around her. Rosie pulls back as the car slows to a stop, waits for Neil to get out and come around to the other side to help her out as well.

"Oh?" she says. "Well, we'll have to see if anything really does come of it." She knows she shouldn't be as pleased as she is at the suggestion that whatever beauty she possessed might lead to some kind of benefit; it smacks of something rebellious and forward, the behavior of a girl much less respectable than she'd been raised to be. But that girl wouldn't be out in front of a dance club on a winter evening, either, and Rosie isn't about to bring the evening to a close before it's begun.

Even from where they're standing, she can hear the dull thump of music inside, growing momentarily louder when the man standing at the door lets in a laughing group of people ahead of them--after checking their identification. Neil had mentioned needing to sneak her in, an idea that had excited her when first proposed; now that the moment's arrived, Rosie's at a loss for what happens next.

"How do we do this?" she asks quietly, tilting her head as surreptitiously as possible towards the bouncer as they draw closer to the building.

Neil is actually happy for the bouncer, because he knows him. Though large, he's been kind, and helped Neil out of a jam or two with unwelcome attention. More than that, the man has an unfortunate weak spot for young faces, and Neil has definitely learned to exploit that--mostly to get out of paying cover charges.

So he smiles and takes Rosie's hand for a second. "Give me a second, and when he's distracted, just walk past us like you belong there. Okay?"

He doesn't give her a moment to doubt it. He kisses her cheek and then walks away to approach the bouncer, beaming and waving and talking brightly. Maybe it's a little cruel of him to flirt and lead him on, but Neil can't quite stop himself when it's proven to get him what he wants.

There's only enough time to nod her uncertain assent to Neil's plan before he's kissed her cheek and gone, walking over to the bouncer with a bubbly lightness to his step. Rosie waits a moment, nerves fluttering in her chest, trying to seem as though she's looking for someone. It feels like everyone and no one is looking at her, all at once; the small group of smokers at the corner passing a lighter between them, Neil laying a hand on the bouncer's arm and laughing delightedly at something he says.

"Oh, just get on with it," she mutters, suddenly exasperated at her own hesitancy. She'd come out with Neil to have fun, and she wasn't going to let this stop her. With a flip of her hair, she starts to click her way up to the door with something resembling purposeful familiarity. The heels she'd borrowed change her gait, putting a bit of a roll into her hips that Rosie tries not to blush at--it's supposed to be normal, after all, to whoever she's become tonight.

She doesn't look at either of them once she gets up to the door, just closes her hand around the handle and pushes it open as though she'd done it countless times before. There's no shout of surprise, no bulky arm blocking her way, just the sound of Neil saying something sweet and the bouncer responding in kind.

Once the door shuts behind her, Rosie puts a hand to her mouth, stifling a surprised giggle at having actually gotten away with it.

Neil's just a moment behind her, coming in and spotting her quickly, catching her arm with a bright grin and a giggle of his own. He isn't too surprised that it took her a moment to work up the courage to go in--sneaking in somewhere is always hard the first time or two. But now they're in, he's awfully glad that she managed it.

The club is loud and full of people, lit mostly with bright, flashing colors on the dance floor. There are a lot more young men then there are young women, but nobody looks at them strangely that Neil's brought a girl here. He wraps an arm around her shoulders.

"Let's get our coats checked," he says, right next to her ear so that he doesn't have to call over the noise of the music. It's hardly like what they listened to in the booth at Halloween, but it's a good beat that makes him want to dance. "And then I'll buy you a drink if you want?"

He had promised she was pretty enough to have someone buy her a drink. It's good to start the night off by upholding the promise.

Everything's loud and bright and glorious. Rosie stands and just watches the crush of people on the dance floor, looking over with a smile when Neil finds her and drapes his arm around her. "Yes," she says, to both his suggestions at once.

When they get to the coat check, Rosie shrugs off her coat, feeling all at once a little more exposed--though in this dress, she supposes that's only natural. Still, she hands it over with a smile to the man behind the counter, putting the claim ticket he gives her in return into her purse. "Drinks next?" she says, looping her arm through Neil's as they start back towards the dance floor. "I think I want something...bright, I suppose? Something worthy of the evening, silly as that sounds."

Neil slips his own claim ticket into his pocket so he won't lose it. He rather likes the coat he wore, something he bought when he first came to Darrow though he hadn't needed a coat because it was spring. Properly dressed down now, he links his arm with Rosie's and steers them toward the bar.

"That doesn't sound silly," he assures with a brilliant smile. When they get to the bar, he leans up and across it a little so that when the bartender comes over to them, he doesn't have to shout too loudly to be heard. "Two peach crushes, thanks!"

Not only is it a brightly colored cocktail, but the soda water they top it with glows slightly in the black lights scattered near the bar, making for a cool effect when they have their drinks handed to them. Neil pays with cash, because he'd rather they get the rest of their drinks given to them by other people, if he can help it.

Though she'd offered a suggestion of sorts, Rosie's happy to lay the ultimate decision in Neil's hands once they get to the bar. She'd liked what he made for her at the Christmas party; for that reason, and for so many others, she trusts him to order for them both.

It's a trust that's not misplaced, as the bartender sets two vibrant drinks before them. With a delighted laugh, Rosie picks up her glass, marveling just for a moment at the pale glow of the liquid inside before she takes a sip. "Oh, that's very good."

Neil smiles and sips his own drink, nodding in agreement. He's glad that she likes it, because they're one of his favorite cocktails here--and here, he feels less silly about getting bright, fruity-flavored things instead of a beer or a scotch. Nobody expects a certain level of masculinity from him here, so he can just be silly and enjoy himself without judgment.

"Better to drink before we start dancing," he says easily. He speaks from experience as much as anything else. "Nothing worse than spilling your drink in the middle of the crowd."

"It'd be easy to spill, wouldn't it?" she says, looking out at the dance floor from where they're standing, the crowd before them moving almost as one body. "It all seems very...close."

It's an obvious statement, one that causes Rosie a quick flash of insecurity once it's been said--even if the only one near enough to hear her is Neil, who wouldn't look down at her for it anyway. It just sounds so wide-eyed and untutored; so at odds with the easy glamour of how she looks from the outside, all leggy and pale in a thin dress with a head full of dark and tangled curls.

She drinks a little more from her glass then, trying to replace that feeling with fizz and brightness and the slightly syrupy taste of peaches.

It is very close, and that's half the fun of it. Especially for them, coming from places where the closest they might have gotten at a dance or a sock-hop was the swinging dances featured on American Bandstand. Neil smiles and sips his drink as well, slinging his arm around her.

"We can stick to the edges, when we dance," he assures. He'd love to go into the press, hold her close and dance around like a fool, but they can do that just as well on the edges, where they don't have to worry about people being too close.

Rosie leans into Neil a bit as he settles his arm around her. "Maybe just at first," she says, and means it. She'd agreed to go out tonight and have a good time with a friend. The last thing she wants is to hold either of them back from having fun.

"Sorry," she says, a quiet, maybe unnecessary apology. "I was told not to overthink it tonight and I'm doing a very poor job of following that advice." She smiles up at him, a wry cant to the corner of her mouth. She has a sense that Jodie's advice had been meant for something only a little different from the dancing she'd seen already, but it still served for the moment. "I'll try to be better about that once we get out there."

"There's nothing to be sorry about!" Neil smiles and kisses her temple brightly, a sweet, affectionate gesture. He knows it's a lot to take in, and a lot of handle. He shifts his hand to her back and rubs gently along the curve of her spine.

"It took me a while to get off the edges. I used to just stand at the bar and watch everybody."

And wait for men to notice him, even if he was in a relationship and only flirted. Now, he's not in a relationship. But he's not worried about that tonight, because he's with a lovely friend who will dance with him on the edges.

"We're here for a good time. And to look at handsome boys together." He grins at her and kisses her temple again.

"We are," she says, agreeing with a laugh that comes more easily now. "And the boys are very handsome." She's grateful for his understanding, for the calming trace of his hand along her back, even the sweet kiss to her temple--though this last makes her blush, just a little. Nobody from home would expect this from either of them, a thought that's freeing and dizzying all at once.

With a mean sort of rebelliousness, Rosie wishes her mother could have some way of knowing where she was: out living a life, just for this evening, that was far more exciting than anything she'd have found in Oxford.

The drink Neil bought her was much easier to drink than she'd expected; something she realizes when she goes to take another sip and finds little more than ice remaining in her glass. "Let's go, then?"

Rosie finishes her drink first, but Neil's close behind. He plucks her glass out of her hand and returns both empties to the bar, before returning to her and sweeping toward the dance floor.

As promised, he stays on the edges. There's no reason to press in and make her feel crowded and overwhelmed. He puts her hands on his shoulders and his on her waist, keeping her close. The way he dances with her is different than how he might dance with a boy, giving her a little more space. But it's still a silly, hip-swinging bit of nonsense.

"Just relax," he calls over the music. "There's no wrong way to do it."

Rosie nods, swaying along with Neil and trying her best to place her trust once again into the friend she trusts so implicitly. The music is fast and rough, something in it reminiscent of the sort of things she'd heard in Anterwold--though thankfully with a more predictable shift in tempo and rhythm, when they come. This time, too, she manages not to tread on anyone's feet.

It's easier and easier, as each song bleeds into the next, just to move along with it and allow herself to feel rather than to think. With her eyes closed and a bright, joyous smile on her face, Rosie dances.

It takes them a moment to get into it, to figure out how they're moving and really enjoy the music. By the time that Neil can feel the little buzz of alcohol in his system, they're moving quite well, if a little goofily.

It makes him smile and laugh and feel bright, and he hasn't in a while, so it's doubly nice. Rosie looks sweet and carefree, and Neil does love dancing with her.

He looks up, just briefly, and spots a group of boys between his and Rosie's age watching them. He doesn't recognize them, and he's not sure if they're college students or high school students, in that gangly, in-between stage of their life like he and Rosie both are.

"We have admirers," he says, close to her ear.

"What, both of us?" she asks, a little teasing and slightly more disbelieving. Given the place Neil's taken her, it seems improbable--but then again, she's seen a few scattered couples of young men and young women among the far more prevalent pairs of men together.

She turns, trying to make the motion seem natural and carefree, a part of the dance that just happens to give her a better view of the group of boys she thinks Neil means. None of them are familiar to her, either; and, as Neil had suggested, seemingly interested in them both. Even in the dark of the club, Rosie thinks she can catch a small spark of interest that flares in some of them and dims in others depending on which of the two of them the group has the better view of.

It's something that excites her in a way Rosie can't quite puzzle out right now. As she's been told enough times already not to think so much tonight, she merely smiles and leans close to Neil. "Both of us," she repeats, more certainly this time. "Should we ask them to dance, or do you want to try getting another drink?"

Neil considers for a moment. He wraps his arms around Rosie from behind now that she's turned, and keeps swaying along to the music a little bit. Eventually, he smiles, right up near her ear. There's definitely a buzz of interest across the floor between the two of them and the small knot of boys.

"Let's wait and see if they come over," he says. "And then whoever does can buy us a drink."

He doesn't want to give up dancing just yet, and he doesn't want to overwhelm Rosie with new experiences. It can just be the two of them, dancing and having a good time and gently buzzing from the first drink.

A clever plan, and one that allows them to continue enjoying themselves while placing the decision to move towards something else firmly with their admirers, as might be expected back home--at least for Rosie. It's enough to make her smile and turn her head a little to look up, pleased, at Neil. "How long do you think it'll take them?"

A few more songs go by, and Rosie's careful as they keep dancing to strike what feels like a good balance; between disinterest and persuasion, between enjoying the encircling closeness of Neil's arms and keeping enough space between them that they don't look like something they aren't. A few times, emboldened by the drink she's already had and the thrill of the evening, she casts another look over at where the boys are standing, catching the eye of one in particular, dark-haired and handsome as he chats with his friends.

Whether it's that telegraphing of her own interest, or the group of them coming to a decision, or something else entirely, it works. The dark-haired boy and one of the others set their beer bottles down on the bar behind them and start making their way towards the dance floor.

When the boys come over, Neil puts just a fraction more space between himself and Rosie. Not detaching, no, not at all. But making obvious that they don't come as a set, if these boys are interested in either one of them.

He'd been watching Rosie's silent flirtation as they waited to see if the boys would come over, and he's rather scandalized at what a natural she is. It took him months to act nearly so fake-confident about a thing. Though, he supposes, he comes from a disadvantage; no one ever told Rosie she was going to hell for liking boys.

The boys are handsome and they smile, and Neil thinks he recognizes them both, now they're closer, but he doesn't say anything. The dark-haired one has a good smile and kind eyes, even if there's a certain confident smarm in his posture; his fairer companion seems a little nervous about smiling at Neil, but he does, and Neil smiles back kindly.

Just drinks, then. That's fine. It would be rude to abandon Rosie.

The dark-haired boy, sure enough, says, "Can we buy you drinks?" and Neil nods, nudging Rosie softly.

Watching as they approach, Rosie's caught between a dizzy sense of triumph--I did that--and a far more familiar feeling of bewilderment--what do I do next?. She's glad of the gentle nudge Neil gives her, and the way it jolts her out of her own thoughts once again.

The boys are just as nice-looking up close as they had been from afar. More importantly, they seem kind, something that makes her smile come a little more easily. "I'd like that." As she speaks, she moves a little closer. It puts her a little further away from Neil, a shift that allows the fair-haired boy to move a little nearer if he wants. Rosie hopes he does, if only for her friend's sake.

"Great," the dark-haired boy says, his smile growing a little more broad when Rosie steps towards him. If something in his look seems to take in not her, but certain of her component parts, she doesn't notice. "What can I get you?"

She should have anticipated the question, but hadn't; the boy laughs, gently, at her hesitancy. "How about to start with, I get you whatever you were drinking before?"

"A peach crush, then," she says, glad to have a before to reference at all. With a nod and a hand at her back, he starts leading her off the dance floor and towards the bar.

Neil watches, sees the fair-haired boy looking a bit nervous about it all, and he just smiles gently. There's no offer of a drink for him, not right here at least, and Neil finds himself strangely content with that.

In any case, they all four of them make their way toward the bar, and Neil wears a charming smile as he asks the other boys, "Are you students?" The fair boy nods a little bit, seeming more settled by the small talk. Neil wonders if his friends dragged him out, if he wouldn't be in a dance club like this if he could help it.

"We're sophomores," he says, and Neil nods. He does not mention that Rosie is still in high school or that he just got into college. That hardly matters, after all. They're all just here to have a good time.

It doesn't matter tonight, just like the fact she hadn't truly been an apparition or a scholar or anything else the people of Anterwold had thought of her, so long ago. Now, as then, it's easier just to nod along, to allow these boys to think what they would of her and of Neil, and then to step into those bits of it that suited them best.

There's more idle conversation as they wait, introductions--"Mark," says Rosie's new companion with a flash of a grin, while the fair-haired boy offers his own name to Neil more quietly and with a bit of a blush--before the bartender sets their drinks down. "Is this your first time here?" Mark asks, sliding Rosie's drink over to her before picking up his own. "I don't think I've seen you."

"Why, were you looking?" Rosie says it without thinking; a daring, playful retort that she tries not to be surprised by after the fact. Mark just laughs a bit, his smile curving against the mouth of his beer bottle before he takes a drink.

"I wasn't," he says. "Maybe I should've been."

Neil keeps his eye on Rosie, watching her boy speak and flirt, and he is very mindful of the way that he passes her her drink from the bartender. He's had a bad experience at this bar--something he deliberately didn't mention when they were going out, and that he doesn't like talking about anyway.

His boy, Benji, notices him looking and leans in rather conspiratorially. Neil likes that, the note of gossip, and he smiles even before Benji speaks.

"Mark's harmless," he says, and Neil nods a little. All men seem harmless, until they don't. And Rosie is awfully young. Benji puts a hand on his wrist, just briefly, with such a shy look that Neil has to smile at him.

"She's a nice girl," Neil says, rather loud enough for Rosie to hear if she's listening. "She's one of my best friends. I have to be protective."

"That's good of you."

None of it is as bad as Neil's, something she'd realize if she knew, but Rosie has her own things she hadn't mentioned in her turn: that one volunteer at the Home, who looks a little too long and talks a little too closely to some of the girls; the man she'd helped Eponine investigate during the frightening events of the fall. Even Jodie, amid all of the delight and the teasing, had looked at Rosie with a sudden gravity and told her There's money in the purse I gave you. I don't care how late it is, if you need it you get a cab and come back here, okay?

She's not thinking about it any more tonight than she is usually, just a quiet, constant presence somewhere at the back of everything. Still, there's a certain relief in the way Mark takes a bit of care in passing her drink over, seeing that it's unobscured from the time the bartender sets it down to the point at which it's in her hand, the glass chilly and a bit slick from the melting ice.

What Neil says is enough to make her smile, to look over at him standing there whispering with Benji and be glad to see the other boy's hand resting so gently on her friend's wrist. Even if it's only briefly, it seems a start to something nice. "We're from similar places," she says, a simple explanation that glosses over what some of the Darrow locals seem to find so discomfiting about the city's population of arrivals. "Not that we wouldn't be friends, if we weren't--Neil's pretty wonderful all on his own."

This last she addresses to Benji, giving him a brief and encouraging grin before turning away and back towards Mark.

It's a glowing compliment, as far as Neil's concerned. He struggles sometimes, these feelings of selfishness and sadness, and it feels rather nice to have a dear friend say that he's, well, anything, but especially wonderful.

Neil and Benji slide up to the bar on the other side of Rosie and Mark, and Benji finally asks Neil if he'd like something to drink.

"Rum and coke, dear, thank you." He leans toward Rosie, shoulder to shoulder, giving her a bit of presence even if they're both starting to settle into their own conversations with these boys.

Rosie doesn't need the grounding pressure of Neil's shoulder against hers as much now, but she appreciates the contact anyway, the reassurance of him even as they're turned away from each other. She eases into the evening more: chatting animatedly, mostly with Mark but sometimes as part of the larger group; feeling quietly thrilled at the approving way Mark looks at her and smiles whenever she dares to lean in a bit further or lay a hand on his arm. So often, Rosie had thought about what it would be like, should some boy ever pay her a compliment or even notice her; what she hadn't expected is how powerful it feels to do something similar herself.

Remembering how quickly her first peach crush had gone, Rosie drinks this one more slowly, or tries to. A few times, she steals a sip from Mark's beer. The taste is horrible, but the way it makes him laugh and tease her a little definitely isn't.

At some point, Neil trusts Mark and Rosie enough to leave their orbit. It's a quiet thing, and brief--only a couple of songs worth--and when he and Benji return to wherever it was they'd disappeared off to, Neil is looking a little proud and the tiniest bit smug, and Benji looks flustered but pleased. They're gently tangled together. It's freeing, to not be so nervous about showing this part of himself around Rosie.

On their return, Neil kisses Rosie's cheek and smiles. "Should we all dance a little? C'mon, Rosie, we look too good not to be dancing with these handsome boys."

He watches Mark preen a little, even if the handsome comment was from him. He catches Benji's blush and shy smile. And he beams at Rosie, really hoping she's having a good time. Finding her a boy to flirt with hadn't strictly been in the plan for the night, but he is glad it's worked out.

"I thought Ben'd never make a move," Mark says with a soft laugh, and Rosie turns, surprised not to have noticed they'd gone. She doesn't miss the implication, and if she blushes slightly about it, it's well hidden by the dim lights around the bar. It's confirmed a little more once Benji and Neil return some time later, both of them looking a bit easier with one another and just slightly more rumpled.

"We do, don't we?" she says, grinning at Neil. The dance floor is no less crowded than it had been--maybe even more so, now that it's later in the night--but now the crush seems exciting and fun, not overwhelming. It makes her want to push a little past just dancing on the edges. "Let's go."

Neil and Benji start moving towards the floor, but before Rosie can join them, Mark reaches out, catching her wrist gently. "Before we get out there," he says, stepping a little closer, "I'd really like to kiss you. You okay with that?"

She's quiet for a moment, not in indecision or even in shock, just a sort of wonder that it's happened at all. "Very much, yes," Rosie says, already tilting her face up to him, expression soft and lovely. He smiles, pleased, and leans in, kissing her gently at first; deepening it a bit more when she doesn't pull away.

It's probably rude of him to hoot and holler about it, cheering for Rosie to get a kiss, but Neil does it anyway, a happy whoop of joy and a bright, smiling laugh. Rosie deserves nice things and nice boys--even if this one is maybe a little bit old for her, he's hardly too old.

Once Rosie and Mark split apart, Neil waves them over. He and Benji are already dancing, which seems to be a more comfortable activity for Benji than trying to make small talk. Or maybe fooling around elsewhere just helped to loosen him up, to let him know that everything was fine and easy.

Absolutely nothing could ruin a moment like this; not even Neil's loud yelp of a cheer, which only makes the both of them laugh against each other's mouths before breaking away. "He's ridiculous," Rosie says, turning her head to find Neil on the dance floor and give him a look that's both fond and playfully exasperated.

"Yeah," says Mark, trailing one finger down her arm in a way that gives her a very pleasant sort of shiver, "but it was a pretty great kiss."

"That it was," she agrees, taking his hand and following him onto the dance floor. They take their time making their way to Neil and Benji, enjoying moving together just as a twosome and letting the other two boys do the same for a bit longer. Once they do catch up, Rosie nudges Neil, a slight bump of her hip against his.

"I wasn't expecting commentary from the peanut gallery back there." It might have sounded like an admonishment, if she hadn't been grinning so brightly.

Neil smiles broadly and gives her a kiss on the cheek. He finds he's rather proud of her, and rather proud of himself to for dragging her out to a place like this.

So they dance, the four of them, mostly two sets of two with just a little space between himself and Rosie. He takes her hands a bit while they all sway and bounce and, at least on his end, grind up against each other. It's good, glorious fun.

Eventually, Mark and Benji offer to get them all drinks again, and this time, Neil doesn't insist on hovering with them to the bar. They've been good boys so far, and they seem upright and nice, even if Mark is a little too old for Rosie. Well, he's not trying to slip it to her, so Neil supposes it isn't so bad.

"You should get his number," Neil teases a little while they're by themselves. "Benji already gave me his."

It's fun just to dance, to enjoy moving with a partner--mostly Mark, but sometimes Neil and, on one very brief occasion, Benji--or as part of the larger group. They're all a bit further into the crowd than before, the people around them giving both couples an excuse they might or might not need to dance a little closer.

Perhaps encouraged by the kiss, Mark regains some of the posturing confidence he'd seemed to possess at the start of the evening, letting his hands skim down Rosie's sides or pulling her a bit flush against him. Never too much, but enough that it feels like something more than the casual swaying of before. Perhaps encouraged by the same, Rosie lets him.

By the time Mark and Benji head off to the bar to order their next round, she's left just on the good side of overwhelmed, flushed and slightly dizzy from the attention and the remaining buzz of the drinks she's already had. She doesn't expect Neil's teasing suggestion--nor the fact that it sounds, right now, like a very good one indeed.

"You really think I could?" She laughs a little at the daring of it. "I know, only one way to find out," she says, answering her own question before Neil can. "Once they're back with the drinks, then."

"I think you definitely could," Neil says. He's not even suggesting she get up to anything as a means to get it. She's smart and charming and Mark is pretty obviously already interested, so there's no reason to not cash in--even if it's just to have the number and say that she could do that.

The boys come back, carrying their respective drinks deftly. Neil steers them all a little off the dance floor, so there's no risk of spilling anything.

He gives Rosie and Mark a little space, which has the added benefit of letting him have a moment of almost-privacy with Benji, flirtatious and smiling and enjoying the moment.

She doesn't know why she's so nervous--or rather, she knows, but thinks it a bit silly. This is what the evening had essentially been driving at, what she herself had been steering it towards ever since she and Mark caught one another's eyes on the dance floor. It's just another step forward, a move past the edges; something daring that would surprise the boring old Rosie she'd been at home.

They settle somewhere off to the side, between the bar and the dance floor where it's a bit quieter and easier to talk without shouting. Before she can say anything, Mark kisses her again, slow and lingering in a way that makes her feel a different sort of nervous entirely. "I've had a wonderful time," she says, once--all too soon--it's over, though they're still left standing rather close. "Not that I want it to end, necessarily, I was just wondering if...if you'd want to exchange numbers, in case you wanted to do this again sometime?"

It's a terrible babble of words, and in the brief moment of silence that follows, Rosie wonders if she hadn't made a mistake somewhere in the rush of them. But then he says "Yeah," smiling pleased and confident at her as he takes out his phone. "I was going to go out and have a smoke," Mark says, once they've traded numbers. "You wanna come with?"

It feels like a pretense. After all their flirting and everything else, Rosie's almost nearly certain it is. She casts a look back at Neil, distracted and talking with Benji. She's not sure if he notices it at all. She almost wishes he won't notice. They'd left each other's orbits already tonight, with delightful consequences for them both; it's that recollection that helps make her decision for her, even as it also puts a knot of uncertainty in her stomach.

"Oh, alright then," she says. He nods, and turns, and Rosie starts to follow him through the crowd.

He's lost track of them, distracted by Benji and chatting with him, talking about school and whatever it is Benji is studying and what Neil's going in for. They're laughing and flirting, and it's easier now, though Benji is still reserved enough that Neil falls back into ways he's been in past months--not nervous, but reserved as well, worrying about coming across too daring.

Which is silly, since he and Benji already snuck off to the bathroom together.

But he's lost sight and track of Rosie and Mark, and for all that Benji's assured that Mark's a nice guy, and all that he's been very tasteful while they've all been talking, Neil jolts a little bit. Rosie's younger than he is, and that puts her even moreso than Benji and Mark, and she's such a nice girl. Neil doesn't want anything to happen to her.

Hopefully, he thinks, she's just gone to get a drink of water or something. But he can't see her or Mark at the bar.

"What is it?" Benji asks.

"I just want to keep an eye on them, I'm sorry," he admits a bit sheepishly. Benji doesn't roll his eyes or anything, though he reiterates that Mark's a good guy and won't do anything. "I'm sure he's swell, but I'd really rather make sure nothing happens."

Benji agrees, reluctantly, to go looking for them with Neil. Neil knows that Benji's probably trying to give them space and privacy, but Neil'd rather break something up before Rosie does something she might regret.

He heads toward the back alley, his first guess where they might have gone, because plenty of people step out back there.

With how warm the club has been all night, Rosie forgot about the winter chill outside, right up until Mark pushes the alleyway door open the rest of the way. "We should've stopped at the coat check," she laughs, shivering a little--with nerves, or chill, or both together--even as she steps outside anyway.

"We'll just have to stay close, I guess," he says, moving not to take out a pack of cigarettes or a lighter or anything, just putting his arm around her, pulling her into the sort of kiss that makes her head spin. Even if it's a bit of a surprise to have her suspicions confirmed so quickly, it's nicer this way, maybe; better than if they'd kissed after he'd had his cigarette. If indeed he smoked at all.

Eventually, she ends up pushed against the wall, the sudden cold of the brick through her dress making her gasp and arch forward. From the outside, maybe it looks like a request for more, or an invitation; Mark certainly takes it as such, his hands roaming down her back, his tongue darting into her mouth. Rosie knows, in a distant kind of way, that she should be sensible, should listen to the bit of her that overthinks things and reminds her how awful it is to want this so badly, before this goes much further. It's just so much, dizzying and overwhelming and wonderful all at once.

"I've got an apartment near campus," Mark says after a while, kissing his way down her neck. "We could get out of here."

"Um," Rosie says, but it's a stall, an attempt to gather her thoughts from wherever they'd fled. She wants to say yes, so much so that it shocks her. She just doesn't think she can. "Mark...stop, just a moment?" To his credit, he listens, pulling back to hold her hands as he senses the hesitancy in her words and the sudden tension in the way she's standing. "I'm sorry, I just don't know that I want to go beyond kissing tonight," she continues. To say tonight might be a tease--maybe all of it is anyway, everything they've done already--but it feels more like a way to apologize, or soften any disappointment in the way their evening has shifted once again.

He looks at her; and yes, there's disappointment there, even an edge of frustration, but both are momentary only. "You're not old enough to be here, are you?" he asks, quietly, reaching over to adjust the strap of her dress from where it had slipped off her shoulder.

"No," she says, because there's no reason to lie any more, not when he's guessed it already. She might have elaborated, said I'm sixteen or I'm still in high school, if the alley door hadn't then flown open, if a familiar figure hadn't stepped through it looking more than slightly fretful. All at once, Rosie realizes the sort of picture she and Mark must make, their hair mussed and clothes disheveled; her lipstick smudged and a pale echo of such on Mark's face as well.

She doesn't say anything at first, just blushes, sudden and hot.

Neil steps out into the alley and spots them. The space between them is oddly reassuring, and Neil realizes that he was really, painfully worried there for a moment. He hesitates, standing just outside the door to the alley, and watches them. He's too far away to hear them talking, but Mark is as calm and confident as he'd been back in the bar, and Rosie doesn't look in distress.

He takes a step toward them. Behind him, he hears Benji step out as well, and say his name in a little hiss, like he'd really prefer that not be some sort of confrontation. But there's nothing confrontational about it.

Neil just wants to make sure his friend is okay. Rosie means a lot to him, and he'd hate to sour such an otherwise good experience.

He's a little surprised when Mark looks away from Rosie, still holding her hands, and smiles at him. "You're alright," he said, acknowledging the tension set across Neil's shoulders. Mark leans and kisses Rosie's cheek sweetly, and Neil can hear him say in a sotto whisper, "That's a good friend you've got there, dropping everything just in case."

"Should we go back in?" Neil asks. He looks at Rosie as he asks it. Does she want to go back in? Is she really okay? He needs the confirmation from her, he finds, before he can actually relax.

Seeing Neil, hearing what Mark says to him and then to her, all of it makes Rosie feel both better and worse. She hadn't meant to go so far, or cause so much concern, not when they had all been having such a good time. At the same time, she can't find it in her to regret any of the evening, including--no, especially--the last several minutes.

They're all looking at her now, waiting for her answer: Neil hesitantly, still poised between advance and retreat; Mark with a kind of quiet sweetness, his thumb rubbing a gentle, reassuring circle against the pulse point on her wrist; even Benji, cringing a bit in secondhand embarrassment just outside the doorway. More than any of the flirting she's done this evening, more than the daring kisses and touches, this feels powerful in a way she hadn't expected.

"I told you he was a wonderful friend," she says, looking at Neil with a reassuring smile, though her words were meant for Mark. "Let's go back inside."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

and the closest i've been to a bar was at ballet class

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject