Like most things in the life of Angel trainees, this had been planned and studied for months. In their theater classes, they'd learned formal dance steps: couched, of course, in the language of combat viability – If you can dance with a partner, you can fight with one, or so the logic went. Though, in the case of our students, much of what could be called logic went out the window given both the general and particular circumstances. Besides just being Paired, now they were being called on to engage in close physical contact with the partner they'd have, hopefully, for the rest of their natural life, it was in formalwear tailored by the finest artisans in Christendom, the most overt style and beauty expressed by their peers, well, ever. It was all just too much for the adolescent mind. And so, with all resources of rationality blown out, like a soldier in combat, they defaulted to their training.
First, the boys rose from their chairs in their white and crimson tuxes, and marched to the edge of the dance floor, forming an immaculate line, each finding a practiced space, with no need to consider the others. Then, the girls, in their shining white gowns, rose from their seats, and one by one, found the outstretched hands of their Pairs, in sequence forming two concentric circles of partners on the dance floor. The Pairs bowed and curtsied to each other, and as the opening notes of the orchestra turned into the waltz proper, these circles too, began to turn. They paused briefly, one hand at each other's shoulders, the other hand in hand, dipping slightly in a counter-promenade bow to the orchestra, before they began those classic sweeping steps that had survived hundreds of years and a great many things that could have, should have, and did end just about everything else.
It was in the middle of a twirl that Alex resumed processing the world in front of him, with Elza spooling out and away, tugging hard on his hand as she met the end of their combined reach – almost enough to knock him out of step, and then spinning back until her shoulders were resting against his chest, their arms locked in a crossed embrace. It was the correct move, of course, but that second impact made him falter – only maybe a half-inch with his right foot, but he'd still have to compensate for that. He replaced that half-inch in their next few parallel turns, and braced himself for it to happen again. When they came to face each other again, she avoided eye contact, instead keeping her gaze fixed to a spot hovering in the air just left of Alex's head. Alex knew all of the steps. He knew what he was supposed to do, but it always felt like Elza was a quarter-step ahead, and he was always struggling to keep up.
She was leading.
That wasn't how it was supposed to be, but what things were and weren't supposed to be didn't much matter in the face of what was, and so, he tried to keep up. And for a brief moment, they were in sync. Then, she changed tactics. It took a few measures for Alex to notice what was happening, but he was as far behind as he was before. Now, Elza was moving with a precision and perfection that Alex struggled to perceive, much less emulate. Intuitively, he knew her moves were correct, that her flourishes were exactly what a maximized performance called for, and he knew he was being led, but he also knew that he was being challenged.
Whatever she was doing, he wasn't going to let someone, let alone someone who’d been his unrecognized rival for years best him. He waited until his next opportunity, and it came when the dance called for her to twirl, his hand above her head, for several beats. Little to no focus was required on his part, and he redirected it into magic. Muttering under his breath, he cast spells of sensory amplification, and struggled against his own innate instincts and lowered, somewhat, the barriers of his soul, until he could feel her, just like before.
The spin came to its conclusion, and she met him in that practiced embrace, palm to palm, face to face. She read his confidence, and in successive moments, in only the space of a half-second or so, realized what he was doing, and grew angry. The barrier of her soul rippled, and Alex felt the change in texture in that place deeper than the mind. It grew jagged, full of spikes and sharp edges. They were not taught how to do this, but Alex wouldn't be Alex if he wasn't a fast learner. Consciously, he wished he could forget their night by the lakeside, but his sleep had been plagued by dreams of it, and when he let his focus slip, his mind pried at the memories. There was a wealth of information he'd gained by the experience, and he'd processed little of it. But he knew how to speak this language. The spikes and edges served as handholds. It was like reading her mind, and he followed her misdirections and false steps perfectly.
For a while.
He misplaced a step, and figured it was just some failing on his part. But when another came, with Elza dipping to the side, and smiling wickedly, he realized what she was doing. She'd caught up with him, and surpassed him again, now reading his intent and movements, and outmaneuvering them. Alex prided himself on his self-control. Heroes stood steadfast against the darkness, against all possible threats, and provided a bulwark against chaos behind which all men could stand. But this… this was infuriating. Who would put in so much effort to be wrong? His face flushed, and his grip tightened around her fingers, at her side. He could still control this. He could still make this right.
It was less a dance, and more a duel.
And it continued like this, back and forth, parries and thrusts, gambits and countermeasures, for the rest of the waltz.
As the last notes faded in the air, she pulled him close, suddenly, their chests against each other, necks brushing together, and Alex's knees grew weak. She whispered in his ear.
"I'm going to have so much fun with you."
Alex imagined that he'd have a clever response to any attack, but with this, he had nothing.
"Yeah?" he said, lamely.
"I will never be yours. You will never own me. But you? From here on out, you are my toy. You will never be secure again."
And she kissed him.
Alex was not well-educated in sexuality, but even he knew that there was a pretty fundamental difference between a kiss, and a kiss, and this was very much the second kind. Her tongue attacked his, and by the time he knew what was happening, she was storming off the dancefloor.
He wondered if anyone else had seen what just happened, or if anyone would believe him if he told them. Looking around, all indicators pointed to a solid no.
Other Pairs giggled and blushed, parting with a smile, or embarrassment, or flirtatious winks.
Others had a distinct curiosity in their eyes, many of which stayed put, not letting go of each other, the same as those with that brilliantly-shining innocent and complete love who could not stop staring at each other, much less walk away. As in any proper dance, the first and last dances were devoted to your partner, but all those in-between were up to you, and many took to the floor to meet with same-gender friends – of course, this led to quick debates as to who would lead and who would follow as the music swelled, but Alex stood alone, dumbfounded. This was supposed to be a beautiful night, the perfect joining of those destined to be partners for as long as they lived, and Alex felt like he was a single stiff breeze away from collapsing to the floor.
A girl, a head and a half shorter than him, looked up through straight-cut bangs, with an enthusiastic grin. He hadn't seen her approach, but despite himself, he smiled back, bashfully.
“Francesca?”
She held out her hand. “May I have this dance?”