Wherein a word or phrase can be the start of something fun and wonderful.
Some are simply stand-alone ficlets or drabbles. Some link up with published stories. Some end up previews for things yet to come.
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Your roommate had tried to talk you into signing up for the dance class, too, but you'd insisted you had other obligations. Sometimes 'other obligations' meant reading, or simply enjoying the quiet. Sometimes it meant watching tv... or watching the backs of your eyelids. You know, obligations.
Tonight, though, you've been talked into playing chauffeur. Rather than drop your roommate off at the studio and waste gas driving around until the class was over, also losing that prime parking spot out front, you've opted to sit in on the dance class.
Like your roommate, there are more than a few people who seem to have brought a change of clothes for the class. A few of the attendees simply change shoes after arriving, leaving their bags stuffed under the chairs that line the walls. The chairs aren't exactly comfortable, but then that wasn't their purpose. They were meant for short spurts of sitting. Which - so long as the class doesn't run long - is all you'll be requiring, anyway.
Shortly before the class is to begin the instructor arrives, a small cluster of students in his wake. It's a little amusing to see from a distance, the way most of the room preens while pretending it isn't for his benefit, your roommate included. You snicker quietly to yourself, watching the wave effect of his headcount, right up until his focus circles the room and he does a double take at the unexpected additional body.
His eyebrows perform an interesting little dance, "Hello. Um. Joining us for the night?"
It's always the moment you let your guard down that things like this happen. Also, you're seated while the rest of the class is standing waiting for him to glance their way? How might this be construed as joining the class? You shake your head, looking away from his boy-next-door looks to focus on your empty hands - where had you put your phone? - and then at the chairs on either side of you, "I'm just. Watching. Supervising." You allow your gaze to be pulled right back to him, finding him a few steps closer, "I'm good."
Rather than allow them the intricate dance they'd previously performed, he simply lifts his eyebrows at your answer. "Ah. Ok, then."
If he kicks you out you'll have to figure out something to do with yourself. Ugh.
To your surprise, and delight, he offers a half shrug and a nod, "Suit yourself. Welcome to the class, all the same."
And with that he turns on his heel and calls everyone to attention.
You almost think that'll be the end of it. You couldn't be that lucky.
Not ten minutes later, when you think they've all but forgotten about the person sitting on the outskirts of the room, he pauses his explanation and turns to you, putting his hands on his hips. "Wallflower? Could you help for a minute?"
Say what now.
"We're a man down. Jasmine needed a study night. Two minutes to help demonstrate?"
"Oh, no. No I'm just here to watch." To sit, really. Watching was happening as an unintended result.
"Two minutes." He crosses his chest with his index finger, hopefully not intending on aiming for his heart. He'd missed. "And then I'll release you to the chairs to supervise again. Promise."
You cave rather than continue to hold up the class. That's twice now you've gained his sole attention. You're already getting a few soured glares.
Whether you want to admit it or not, you've been listening to your roommate's accounts of each class, and have been following along with the class tonight up until being pulled in from the sidelines. It's easy enough to follow along with his instruction.
Two minutes pass in a heartbeat and the pair of you are still dancing, which only means that in addition to wondering about his knowledge of anatomy, you start to worry about his concept of time.
"Loosen up."
"What?" You've been listening to his instruction of his students– that low timbre stream of words in such close proximity. You thought his attention had gone elsewhere so you'd let your mind wander as he led the pair of you – stepping with practiced motions – through the couples. He isn't supposed to be focusing on you. You're not a paying student.
"Your hips. Loosen them up." He removes his hand from your shoulder blade to drop it down to settle on the curve of your hip, guiding your body along with the steps. "And stop trying to lead. That's my job."
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