'Your First and Last Dance' (Reese 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?"

Jane wordlessly shakes her head in response to your question, resting more of her weight on the wall, yet still appearing stock still. She 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 Jane's face, illuminating her tense frown and adding a few hearts to her 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 Jane's wall, leaning on it for a long moment before you pull away to face her once you're certain she is watching someone. Her jaw briefly locked, frown deepening. "So, what did they say?" you knowingly ask. "What did she say to you? Because I'll say something back."

Charlene sometimes takes her 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"It was nothing—just about my ruffles… I knew this was outdated, but my mom made me."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 daughter attending this dance, even going so far as to ensure your own attendance and setting up a carpool. When Jane tips her head against the wall, a few of the white ruffles around her collar sway too. "You look festive," you reason. "And a little like a pirate with that red sash"—she closes her eyes after you say that—"in a cool way."

She'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 her?"

"Sofia!" you say her name a touch eagerly, gesturing for her to come even closer. She 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 Sofia pauses in bringing to her lips, possibly even causing it to become a dehydrated crisp. "Right?"

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

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

Jane opens her eyes again, smiling faintly at your comment before muttering 'thanks' when Sofia offers her a treat. She pulls back from the wall. The three of you stay together. Sofia's company has been more variable since she 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. He smirked at you from across the dancefloor earlier. Reese is the chair of this dance committee, planning it all out from start to finish with diligence.

You can imagine him doing this in high school too.

All of the color-coding, notes, and attention to detail would serve him well, while he'd also create a lovely ambience for everyone to get lost in. He would take it too seriously. He 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 handsomest—no, for the popular ones, which the Verner heir would comfortably win, not because of anything else. It's only a vote.

Where is he?

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 his hand is elegantly extended. Of course, Reese caught your eye from the second you walked in here. His shirt is a deep red hue with a tasteful silk tie that shimmers like the moon even in this dark mood lighting. He must've been busier than Sofia to enforce his vision for tonight's festivities. You saw him 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 him.

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.

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

"Oh, thanks," Jane mutters.

Sofia 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 him. He accepts it, while you're having a hard time accepting this 'offer'. What if it's simply a prank or a random dare? His comment about Jane's outfit sounded genuine enough, maybe even sweet, but you're on alert after what Charlene said. Your eyes are tempted to lower to his upturned palm that most teens would have retracted away by now—shy or nervous—not Reese Verner. There's only a true certainty to how he watches you.

This isn't his rivalry antics.

It's too intense for that.

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

"They did not—"

POP!

"—just do—"

POP!

"—that."

Reese's fingers close into a controlled fist that leaves you feeling quietly disappointed, but you know he cares about this event. His gaze is off of you to isolate who dares to disturb the evening. It only makes the contrast to how he 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," Reese decides. He 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 him.

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

. . .

. .

.

A light tap on your shoulder turns into Reese's elegant fingers gliding along your back, each one pressing a little more in a silent melody. It leaves no doubt he has plans in mind for you both later when he 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?"

He has never forgotten about your first one.

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

Like during your first Valentine's dance, you've been watching him most of the night while he navigates the social scene and enforces the staggeringly high Verner standard for events. His suit stays true to his family's colors, though the addition of rubicund hues was left up to you. There's a shimmer effect, like a fine dusting of rubies, embedded in the tailored panels of fabric. He let you pick the final color along with a tie from his collection that's dotted with tiny, thorned roses.

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 Reese in conversation, but he simply offers a 'goodnight' here and there or a polite smile. It's obvious to you he'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 son, 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."

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

"We are not," he asserts.

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

"I wonder if they can do Britney?" he 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."

Reese gives the musicians a contemplative look, although you're quick to interrupt his plan by pulling him closer, breaking down the required space for proper footwork. You've been apart for most of the night. He 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.

Reese 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," he replies. "It is my nature."

"I know."

He 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. Reese has always cared for you in his own way. Your childhood rivalry held hints about the potential depth of feeling.

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

The two of you continue to slow dance.

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