AN: Everything tells me that it is a very, very bad idea to start a story right now. Especially when I'm already working on one and I have, like no time. But, I have this cool idea and I had to write it, despite the lack of time and the other story. So here it is, for you to review. Just don't expect anything more for a couple of days…(unless you review A LOT!!!!)
P.S. The pairing isn't who you think it is so don't get mad when you find out….
They were dancing. It was slow and close and gentle; her hips swaying with his, her arms slipping up and around his neck while the couples surrounding them did the same. It was dark, so dark that it was impossible to notice that she had pink hair and he had brown, impossible to notice that one of his eyes was a slightly darker shade of blue than the other.
Everyone assumed they'd be together forever, that they'd be dancing like this forever. They weren't the most popular, but it was accepted that they were the class' golden couple. They were the ones who were supposed to show everyone else what love was like. They were the ones who were supposed to give other couples something to look forward to. They were perfect for each other, and no one wanted to believe that it would eventually end, least of all the two eighteen-year-old seniors on the dance floor of their last prom.
It scared her sometimes, how much she loved him. They had been inseparable since they'd met freshman year, joined at the hip for school dances, parties, football games. She loved so many of the little things; the way he shook his hair out of his eyes, the way he looked when he was waiting for her after school, propped up against his car with light reflecting off his eyes, the way he loved her. It was the little things that made dancing with him so incredible. He inclined his head towards hers as if ready to say something but hesitated instead, pulling her closer. She had kicked her shoes off after the first song and was now dancing bare-foot, balancing on the balls of her feet to reach him. He was bending down to meet her half-way, although he knew his back would probably be sore the next day; anything for her.
The song ended and she pulled away, already sporting a wide grin as low, rumbling bass poured through the speakers. He watched her, transfixed as she joined the crowd, jumping with them in a steady, pulsing rhythm. He moved too, happy to follow her, happy to be here with her. Sweat beaded down their arms, and she glanced back at him for a second, a moment, moving so close that he wondered where he stopped and she started. The strap of her dress slipped, and he couldn't look away from the curve of her shoulder. Their eyes locked and he gulped back the overwhelming need to kiss her. Leaning close, he shouted above the screaming crowd.
"I need some air."
She nodded, but when he turned to leave she followed, grasping the ends of her dress with one hand and taking off after him. Her bare feet slapped against the cement outside in a dull, constant pattern as she caught up with him.
"What's wrong?" She asked once they had recovered their breath and were sitting on a stone wall off to the left of the entrance, their legs swinging back and forth in lazy, sluggish circles. He didn't bother answering, just pulled her closer, pressing his lips to hers roughly. She gave in for a moment before pulling away gently, reaching up to lay a small hand on his cheek.
"Later," she promised, ignoring his pout, "I want to stay for the whole dance this time."
"Now," he murmured, dangerously close to begging, his eyes closing as he bent forward, placing small, wet kisses down her neck while she struggled for control.
"Listen, there's something…something I have to tell you," she managed through gulps of air.
Something about her voice, something about the way she was addressing him, made him reluctantly pull away. He turned back ahead, petulantly returning to his lazy, sluggish leg circles. She fiddled nervously with the chain around her neck, weaving it in and out between her fingers.
"Remember- I- We…"
He glanced at her, concern flooding his expression and brows furrowed with curiosity. She rambled when she was nervous, she stuttered when something was wrong.
His legs stopped circling, but she couldn't pull her fingers away from her necklace. She bit her lip, avoiding his eyes and pinching her eyes shut in anticipation. Silence, endless, uncomfortable silence. A silence that, in their three years together, had never made an appearance before this. They could hear the noise from inside, the laughing, screaming, and occasional crying from a dissatisfied prom go-er.
"When did you find out?" He asked, mouth set in a firm line and his voice adopting a strange, hollow tone.
"A week ago," she answered weakly, afraid of his lack of reaction. He should be throwing things, yelling, something. "I wanted to go through prom without telling you…"
He nods; somehow, some way able to understand. Tears prick her eyes, barely there, only for him to notice. He wants to rub them away with his thumb, wants to go back to prom, to dance with her like they were a couple of minutes ago, her hips swaying slow and close and gentle with his. He wants to, but he knows he can't. This is big, monumentally big, big for people who weren't still in high school. Big for people who won't be worrying about college next year. Big for people who didn't have to deal with overbearing, disappointed mothers who wouldn't, under any circumstances, approve. He wants to react for her sake, wants to reassure things that things will be okay, that things will eventually get back to normal, although they're still in high school and have to deal with college soon, and Meredith does have an overbearing, disappointed mother who won't, under any circumstances, approve.
It's as dark as it was on the dance floor, a lone street lamp a few feet ahead the only thing faintly illuminating their features. She couldn't see his expression, couldn't see if he was taking this well, or if he was terrified, or if he was still digesting. His silence helps, she can tell that he's probably still processing, trying to make sense of it. Hell, it took her the past full week to make sense of it, and she's pretty sure that it hasn't even begun to sink in. Still, although she knows he needs time, she needs him to say something, anything; something that will help her through this. Because she knows, if she doesn't have him, she'll fall apart.
"Please," she begs, "say something."
But he doesn't. They sit, shoulders grazing and miles away from each other, alone in the dark at their senior prom.