'Your First and Last Dance' (Ruby Version)

[Alternate Text: A header image of a close-up on Valentine's themed candy. There are dozens of small heart-shaped confections that are red, pink, and white; they appear like they would be rather crunchy. The title 'Your First and Last Dance' is centered in an elegant, white font.]

"…Do you want some fruit punch?"

James wordlessly shakes his head in response to your question, resting more of his weight on the wall, yet still appearing stock still. He has carefully chosen this spot. It's far from the long table of refreshments and apart from the two rows of tables that flank the dancefloor the DJ presides over. Even the brightly lit areas that lead into the hallway were considered so this one is strategically shadowed. Well, mostly.

A smattering of pink-tinged light trails across James's face, illuminating his tense frown and adding a few hearts to his cheeks. It fades in a second. The fancy Valentine's Day lights are on a timer, although they along with the balloons and red, white, and pink color scheme match the dance's overall theme. It isn't a legitimate high school dance; however, it's still an event.

One that's filled with your peers, except there isn't much 'dancing' compared to the clusters of cliques for gossip, shyly traded looks, and people munching on snacks. You're just young teens. It'll get more nerve-wracking with age.

You join James's wall, leaning on it for a long moment before you pull away to face him once you're certain he is watching someone. His jaw briefly locked, frown deepening. "So, what did they say?" you knowingly ask. "What did he say to you? Because I'll say something back."

Charles sometimes takes his teasing too far, or at least you've caught a few passing remarks.

"It was nothing—just about my ruffles… I knew this was outdated, but my mom made me."

Mrs. Corvin also jubilantly insisted on her son attending this dance, even going so far as to ensure your own attendance and setting up a carpool. When James tips his head against the wall, a few of the white ruffles around his collar sway too. "You look festive," you reason. "And a little like a pirate with that red sash"—he closes his eyes after you say that—"in a cool way."

He's still not looking directly at you, convinced that being one with the paint is better than getting through the rest of tonight's dance.

"What's up with him?"

"Silas!" you say his name a touch eagerly, gesturing for him to come even closer. He had gone to get chocolate covered strawberries to share with everyone. "Don't you really like these ruffles? They're unique, right?" Your stare could melt the chocolate coating the fruit that Silas pauses in bringing to his lips, possibly even causing it to become a dehydrated crisp. "Right?"

"I've always liked old school—uhm, vintage stuff," he replies. "It has more character."

"See? Charles is an idiot," you conclude.

James opens his eyes again, smiling faintly at your comment before muttering 'thanks' when Silas offers him a treat. He pulls back from the wall. The three of you stay together. Silas's company has been more variable since he was a key decorator for the dance, sometimes leaving to go ensure no one tried to take down the taped up balloons or that the snack signs are visible. The conversation is once again comfortable, though you do sometimes scan the room for a certain someone. She smirked at you from across the dancefloor earlier. Ruby is the chair of this dance committee, planning it all out from start to finish with diligence.

You can imagine her doing this in high school too.

All of the color-coding, notes, and attention to detail would serve her well, while she'd also create a lovely ambience for everyone to get lost in. She would take it too seriously. She could also be dance royalty from what you've witnessed with the more mature dances. They have an entire court for the most popular and prettiest—no, for the popular ones, which the Verner heir would comfortably win, not because of anything else. It's only a vote.

Where is she?

A tap on your shoulder nearly makes you jump.

When you whirl around, you're confronted with the very person you were searching for, except that mischievous smirk has vanished and her hand is elegantly extended. Of course, Ruby caught your eye from the second you walked in here. Her dress is a deep red hue with tasteful, glittering crystal accents along its long, sheer sleeves. She must've been busier than Silas to enforce her vision for tonight's festivities. You saw her make adults adjust one of the banners at the start before having a word with the DJ. It encouraged you to keep an eye out for her.

The night's more than halfway over, yet you haven't shared a single word with your rival.

"Care to dance?"

Wait, with me? Us? The two of us together?

"With you?" you ask, rephrasing the thought into its safest form.

Ruby remains confident despite your need for clarification, smiling playfully and curling her fingers to indicate James for a brief moment. It hardly lasts before her hand is awaiting yours again. "While I do match his dashing sash, this special invitation is yours alone, [Surname]."

"Oh, thanks," James mutters.

Silas glances between you and Ruby in mild curiosity.

Neither of you pay them much attention, sizing each other up in a stare off that feels like it's been a long time coming after you've caught a few glimpses of her. She accepts it, while you're having a hard time accepting this 'offer'. What if it's simply a prank or a random dare? Her comment about James's outfit sounded genuine enough, maybe even sweet, but you're on alert after what Charles said. Your eyes are tempted to lower to her upturned palm that most teens would have retracted away by now—shy or nervous—not Ruby Verner. There's only a true certainty to how she watches you.

This isn't her rivalry antics.

It's too intense for that.

You're raising your hand about to rest it in hers when the noise of a balloon popping interrupts.

"They did not—"

POP!

"—just do—"

POP!

"—that."

Ruby's fingers close into a controlled fist that leaves you feeling quietly disappointed, but you know she cares about this event. Her gaze is off of you to isolate who dares to disturb the evening. It only makes the contrast to how she was choosing to observe you feel all the more palpable. You can't blame the mood lighting on that… What was it? Your heartbeat was picking up before the boys destroyed those balloons.

"I will deal with them," Ruby decides. She turns back to you, taking your half-raised hand for a split second before lowering it to rest by your side. "Save your last dance for me…?"

There's a newfound fragility in the subtle pause that makes you think there is a 'please' in it.

"I can always claim 'dibs' if you prefer?"

"It's yours," you promise her.

Only then does Ruby smile in a way you've never ever seen before—softer, less amused—before it disappears when she strides away.

. . .

. .

.

A light tap on your shoulder turns into Ruby's elegant fingers gliding along your back, each one pressing a little more in a silent melody. It leaves no doubt she has plans in mind for you both later when she has more to play with, but the covert affection is sweet. You move away from the marble railing, no longer overlooking the grand ballroom's dance floor. It's emptying.

The Valentine's gala is finally over.

"Are you ready for that last dance?"

She has never forgotten about your first one.

"I do have a promise to keep," you reply, which earns a pleased look from Ruby. Your hand easily finds hers on your hip, intertwining your fingers together, before you head to the floor.

Like during your first Valentine's dance, you've been watching her most of the night while she navigates the social scene and enforces the staggeringly high Verner standard for events. Her dress appears to be composed of her namesake, large, deep red crystals form the elegant bodice as if it was carved with her gorgeous figure in mind. The fabric itself is a rubicund jewel tone, peeking out more as the crystals become more disparate to match how the cut turns flowing. It's a change from her suit, though you know she will wear both styles on her whim, commanding a room's attention in either one. She let you select the final color.

The string quartet remains off to the side to provide what almost seems like classical and orderly exit music. Revelers are trickling out of the massive double doors. A few try to ensnare Ruby in conversation, but she simply offers a 'goodnight' here and there or a polite smile. It's obvious to you she's done for the night, fingers securely in yours with no intention of leaving.

Ms. Verner is the last one in the room.

Her heels clack sharply against the marble now that the demeanor of the dignified host can be put to rest. Her smile falls away when she focuses on you then on her daughter, silently assessing. "Remember the musicians do need to eventually get home tonight and that they are not the only ones in need of sleep…" The insinuation in her trailed off warning for you as a couple is softened by a hint of cool sarcasm. She is teasing in her own way. "Goodnight."

You're far too stunned to say anything until the echoes of her heels are completely gone.

"We are not that loud."

"Ruby," you sigh, feeling yourself flush. "No."

"We are not," she asserts.

You decide to playfully tug her onto the dance floor rather than entertain this light-hearted debate. She comes along with you, arms fluidly parting for you to twirl her before she's quick to re-secure you in a proper hold. It's what she learned from all of those cotillion classes over the years whereas you had to be trained by her.

"I wonder if they can do Britney?" she asks with a thoughtful expression while dancing. "I can't recall a specific song from our original dance."

"It was mostly pop music, a few rock songs."

Ruby gives the musicians a contemplative look, although you're quick to interrupt her plan by pulling her closer, breaking down the required space for proper footwork. You've been apart for most of the night. She permits the change into a slow, intimate sway with you pressed together and taking each other in. Now, it's a slow dance instead of the Viennese waltz or anything too fancy. "I'm only concerned with my dance partner, not the music," you admit.

Ruby leans forward to share a tender kiss with you that is unhurried and lingering while you minimally sway together, holding each other.

"…I find I'm concerned with everything that relates to you," she replies. "It is my nature."

"I know."

She pulls back to meet your eyes with a love that's as passionately consuming as it is intense, a supernova compared to that first glimmer you spied years ago. Ruby has always cared for you in her own way. Your childhood rivalry held hints about the potential depth of feeling.

After a moment, she resumes the snug hold by resting some of her weight against you, letting you offer support. Somehow you know in your heart that this is the first time she's let her eyes fall closed tonight—let herself breathe and actually savor Valentine's Day. There is an absence of her innate Verner awareness and no need to be on guard around the Fernweh elite. Ruby is here with you, held close and more vulnerable.

The two of you continue to slow dance.

She'll always be your last dance of the night.