The Hidden Pocket {ruel van dijk}

chapter thirteen.

I can't help but watch as he throws his head back in laughter. Sitting across from me, under a golden light, he looks exuberant.

One of his friends told him some stupid joke that sounded like it came from a children's book. Who knew Ruel has the simplest of humor?

I take a sip of the drink in front of me, I've been watching how much I've had all night. I'm on my second one and we've been here for about three hours. I'm doing well so far, even though I have no idea what I'm drinking. Something fruity.

Ruel on the other hand is a bit more buzzed than I am. His cheeks are red and his hair hangs messily around his face. He also laughs at just about anything and everything.

Then he stands up, stumbling over his foot a little bit at first as he gets down from his stool.

"Let's go!" He says, holding a hand out to me. He motions his head towards a large group of people dancing under blue lights.

I stay still for a moment, feeling sick just at the thought of dancing in front of others.

"Come on!" He says cheerily.

Begrudgingly, I stand up from the barstool and follow him into a crowd of people. He stops once we're in the center of the circle.

I don't know what to do at first, so I stand there, watching him flail his lanky arms in a drunken attempt to dance. He is on rhythm though, regardless of how horribly he dances.

"Why are you laughing at me?" He asks with a small pout.

"I'm not." I say through laughter. I cover my mouth with a hand and try to suppress it.

"Then dance with me."

I do what he says, giving him my hands. I don't exactly know what he's doing. He pushes my arms back and then brings them forward, some type of old swing dance it feels like.

"I'm sorry, this is all I know how to do." He says breathily with a little bit of shame. He smiles nonetheless, focusing on his feet so he doesn't step on mine.

"I'm not any better than you are!" I shout over the music.

Minutes go by. He doesn't take his eyes off of me as we move together. He dances like a seventh grader at his first school dance. Eventually we fall into a rhythm, a systematic order of spinning and stepping.

A thin layer of sweat starts to collect on my skin, dampened from the amount of bodies around us and our dancing. Suddenly everything else disappears. It's just him and I, trying to dance with one another but so desperately failing to do so. I find myself inching closer to him, whether it's subconscious or not. It's not.

The music seems to stop and for a split second his face turns serious, his eyes sobering in an instant. As I stare into his eyes, I feel one of his hands rest upon my right cheek. He moves closer to me, a hand circling around my waist and pulling me in. For a moment he looks like he's about to kiss me; leaning his head down and running a thumb slowly across my lip.

I feel high, moments like these only happen in my dreams.

I almost let him kiss me. He is so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my mouth.

"You're drunk." I say to him softly and take a step backwards.

He shakes his head back and forth. "No. I'm not." He says almost pleadingly.

Despite his words, I take another step backwards.

"It's okay." I say gently and spare him a pitiful smile.