Sasquatch to the Moon

28: Reception

    "Master of none," I mutter. "I almost broke my leg that day."

    "Oh," Håk laughs. "Whoops."

    "Anyway," I mumble, typing out what I think might work as a caption. The first photo is the dumb awkward one of me and him, cute, but just the right type of awkward. The second one is the one of me lifting Vera in the middle of the square dance routine, one arm barred around her lower back, the other one out to keep my balance. I might be no Håkon but I'm still a professional athlete, I can lift people if I want. Anyway. It's just the perfect combination of gay as hell and not gay.

    "Someone..." Håkon is reading over my shoulder. "Someone tell Rexy to get a girlfriend so he doesn't have to bring his goalie to weddings." he pauses. "Rude."

"C'mon, it's funny." I laugh, elbowing him in the gut.

    "Yeah, okay, it's pretty good."

    I click post and slip it back into my pocket.

    "How many people are left here that would freak out if I asked you to dance?" I pull the sides of Håkon's suit in, rebuttoning it around his waist. He looks up and around.

    "I'm assuming barely anyone, considering it seems to just be Leo and Isa's friends now and they don't care, but, look." He grabs my waist and spins me. "Hugo and Wilhelm."

    "Fucking knew it." I grin, watching Wilhelm awkwardly drag Hugo into a dance. "Oh I knew it."

    "And it still took you four months to guess me? I'm offended." he mumbles.

    "But-" I grab his hand. "That's because I had little to no practice and my dignity was running on it. And to be fair you gave me nothing to work off of. Just a big ol' blank slate with nothing inside." I poke his chest softly. "Now you're a big softie with nothing but love inside."

    He grumbles something under his breath, but gives into a smile after a second.

    "Dance?" he asks, ruffling my hair.

    "Absolutely," I whip around and take his hands, dragging him toward the floor.

I spin him like the stupid little square dance Vera and I were doing and then I'm met with hands on my waist. Big hands. His hands.

    "I've never done this before, don't get mad if I step on your toes." He says, knocking his head forward to set it on my forehead.

    "Wouldn't dream of it, Håk." I respond, throwing my arms up over his shoulders.

    "I know you a little better than that," he slips his hands in a fidgeting manor up and down my sides, moving, but heavy and strong on my body.

    "Okay, maybe I'd make fun of you a little," I smile. "But, in a loving way."

    "So, what do I do?" He asks, glancing up at me for a moment, catching my eyes, and flushing pink.

    "Match my feet." I rub my thumbs over his neck, brushing them along his jaw. "Mirror them. I should've said mirror my feet."

    "Alright," he plants his feet solidly on the ground and I just laugh.

    "No, drahý," I mumble, then louder. "Looser, stay on your toes." The nature of his stance alters just a little bit. "There you go." It's funny how the difference between athletic people and unathletic people is in the tiny little things. The tiny tiny tiny fractional change in his entire body is one of the most athletic things he's ever done, simply because it told me that he knows exactly where to put everything to be prepared for anything.

    "Now what," he asks.

    "Your left foot back." I step my right forward, matching. "Now, your right foot to the right, my left foot to my left, meet that foot with the other one." I step twice.

    "Got it, yeah,"

    "Now back with your outside foot."

    "Uh huh."

    "Diagonal with your inside foot back to the start spot, now meet it with the other one."

    "Oh." He lets out a little laugh. "Square. As in square dancing."

    I throw my arms up around his shoulders and squeeze him tight to me. "God you're fucking precious."

    He smiles into my shoulder. "Are you gonna dance with me or keep marvelling over my stupidity."

    "Mmm," I release him from the hug but don't let him go far. "Dunno, we don't get a lot of time to dance but we do get a lot of time to be stupid, so, dance with me."

    And he does. Really badly at first, but after a while his lack of rhythm is overpowered by his enthusiasm and our overall lack of talent is won over by the smile on his face and the jokes he's been tossing in.

    At one point he even manages to trip me with his ankle before catching me like a fun little dip in a dance we weren't even doing. It wasn't smooth in the slightest, he didn't catch me with an arm around my back and his hand in mine, he caught me like he would a teammate, the front of my suit coat and my bicep being the main points of contact, but he still caught me.

    I still can't get over how he looks. I mean, I know it's a wedding and one he's very close with so he has to look good but, c'mon, leave some room for me to breathe, dear. A burgundy suit? Truly? Am I still alive? Probably not. Am I wishing I hadn't eaten a lot of shellfish so I could drag his ass into a bathroom and let him know? Yes. I never really loved suits on guys and then I got like really deep-seeded feelings for a specific guy and now I literally never want to see him in anything else. It's all shoulders and showing off his long long legs and the way I've been able to grab his belt buckle to pull him closer to me and his waist in all that and... whew.

    "We should probably go home soon, it's just a few of us left." he mumbles into my collar about an hour later, 11 pm.

    "Yeah, but," I pull my arms tighter around his neck. "I like dancing with you."

    "Me too," he's rubbing his thumb on the small of my back, right where he's able to get his hand the closest to my skin around my tucked-in shirt.

    "You're driving."

    "When we get home," he starts, yawning. "You. Mouthwash."

***

anyone with adhd wanna tell me how they force themselves to focus this is honestly throwing a huge wrench in my entire existence at the moment

i've also got a weird little feeling that this just happens to be håkon's favorite band but don't tell him I said that

-rabid