UnShaekable (FFXII)

XV) Raithwall's Tomb

~3 years before~

"You really should prepare."

"For?" I murmur, eyes narrowed as I concentrate on the marks coming from my pencil. A new design for the dashboard came to me when I was halfway between sleep and awareness last night; I need to record it before I forget.

"Well, we're attending a ball in a few days' time, are we not?" Dern looms over my shoulder, dark eyes scanning over the page. "The plans can wait; I can already make out what you want, anyway."

"I'll forget them," I mutter. He chuckles and suddenly my sketchbook is ripped away. Dern closes it neatly as I protest. "Dern! I need to—"

"Practice. For all you're worth, I guarantee you can't dance."

"What's it matter?" I huff, slumping in my seat. "We'll stand out less if we just talk nonsense with others, won't we? We're only invading some party to steal some jewels."

"No, then we'll be remembered far easier," he shakes his head, kneeling before my seat and taking my wrists into his large, tanned hands and grinning. "My dearest Shae, would you allow me to—"

"No," I sniff stubbornly, pulling my hands away and standing. I walk over to the largest, most expansive window on the Castean and watch the still ground below.

"Don't be that way," Dern scoffs, coming to stand behind me. He rests one warm hand on my shoulder. I can see him in the reflection of the glass, watching me with that stupid grin. I fight my own smile. "I promise I won't laugh."

"I promise I don't believe you." Raising an eyebrow and offering the slightest of knowing smiles, I turn to face him. "Besides, I'll catch you glancing down the front of my shirt."

"I was eighteen, Shae, give it a rest," he groans, rubbing his face tiredly. "That was two years ago."

"And I'm still only seventeen, so it's still not warranted," I fire back playfully. He chuckles, shaking his head and tugging at the dark patch of hair on his chin.

"Ah, so next year it's acceptable?"

"Don't get your hopes up. You're still so much older than me, remember?"

"Yes, old Malachaius would have a fit if he saw us daring to share a ship, wouldn't he?"

"He'd fall to his little nu mou knees and beg the Fates to burn us in Hades," I laugh, grabbing hold of his shoulders. "No, I suppose I'm young and dumb, so I must trust my elders to teach me." Dern raises an eyebrow; I hit the back of his head. "So, teach me."

"It's only three years," he huffs, taking hold of one of my hands.

A heavy weight finds my waist and pulls me close; I feel my face burning up with the unfamiliar proximity to this man. Granted, he's my best friend and I wouldn't distrust him for a billion gil, but it's an odd situation for the two of us to be sure. We're so close that I can smell the madhu on his breath and the woody cologne he insists on wearing every day. I can feel the muscles underneath my fingertips tense and the hand at my hip tighten as he takes a step. I stumble along, letting myself get frustrated.

"Loosen up, Shae," he instructs in a light voice, tapping a finger against my waist. "It's like trying to teach a brick."

"Maybe if you slowed down a bit I could—"

"Here." He stops, looking down at me sternly. "Close your eyes."

"What? No."

"Shae, just trust me." I glare back up at him stubbornly before the genuine smile on his face breaks my resolve and my eyes fall shut all too easily. His hand moves to the small of my back and presses my body to the massive, muscular frame in front of me. "Don't tense up. Just feel what I do instead of trying to copy it through sight."