Pairing(s): Firo/Ennis, lots of others on the periphery
Summary: Ennis and Firo share a moment at Claire and Chane's wedding.
Author's Notes: Just a fluff piece, and because I have this huge headcanon surrounding the Claire/Chane wedding and this is part of it, and also because Firo/Ennis is my forever-OTP.
Ennis raised a hand to readjust her necklace – a curved brass band, painted over with gold that fit snugly around her neck. It felt heavy. Her fingers kept straying to her neck to readjust it - reminding her that it was the first time that she had ever worn a necklace.
It was also the first time she had ever worn a dress, and the scooped back and the high shoes and the fitted skirt all felt strange. Not bad, but different.
But, as Miria had reminded her, a two-piece suit wasn't the sort of affair a girl wore to a wedding, even if she had never met the bride or the groom. Even if she had never been to a wedding in all of her short life.
The bride and the groom were dancing in the center of the ballroom, swaying in time to the soft waltz coming from the hired band – almost unconsciously curved into each other, his red hair mingling with her black. They weren't the only ones. She could see Keith and his wife, gliding slowly across the floor. A boy with a sword tattoo was giving Eve Genoard a twirl, a scarred blonde wearing an eye patch watching them and smiling. Isaac and Miria, ever the lively duo, spun around the room with a gusto that suggested they were dancing to ragtime, not a waltz.
Ennis smiled a little bit to herself and took another sip of her bubbling champagne. It was a little crude, and she felt it burn against her lips. A little bit of lipstick stained the rim of the glass, and she wiped it off absently with her thumb.
Alcohol was a relatively new experience as well. Though Szilard had never been against the consumption of alcohol, he had never let her try it either, and she had been too afraid to try it on her own. But living with the Camorra tended to change those notions rather quickly – and violently, at least judging by Ennis' first hangover.
She looked up from the rim of her glass to catch a familiar pair of eyes from the bar. Firo was smiling at her, looking much the same as always. Ennis smiled back, after a moment, watching as he thanked the bartender and took his drink. He made his way over to her table.
"Hey," he said when he reached her. He took a seat at the table, setting down his own glass of champagne. "How are ya?"
"Fine," Ennis replied.
Firo nodded, still smiling at her. He always seemed to be smiling at her. "That dress looks good on you," he said.
Ennis reached up. Readjusted her necklace. "Thank you," she said.
"Really," he said. "Red's a good color for you. I don't think I've ever seen you wear red before."
Ennis nodded, not sure how to reply.
"Actually, t'be perfectly honest, I don't think I've ever seen you wear a skirt before," Firo said. He scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly, his grin a little crooked at the corners of his mouth.
Ennis smiled, because it was impossible not to when Firo grinned at her like that. "This is the first skirt I've ever worn," she admitted.
Firo's hand stilled at the back of his neck, and his eyes went wide. "Really?" he said, and he stared at her for a moment. "I mean, I guess I knew that," he said. There was a flash of a frown in the corners of his lips, but he quickly smiled again and said, "It looks good on you."
"Thanks," Ennis said again, unsure of what to say.
Firo frowned over his glass and took a drink. "… So he really never let you wear a dress?" Firo asked, as if unable or unwilling to trust what he knew from Szilard's memory.
"It would have been too frivolous," Ennis said quietly. Pretty skirts weren't meant for a tool like her – neither was jewelry or liquor or even silly smiles when a boy grinned at her.
Firo shook his head, and he ran his fingers through his hair, upsetting it. Ennis ran one finger around the edge of her champagne glass, watching him. She rather liked it when he mussed his hair. It made her want to straighten it. He was frowning, obviously annoyed – really, he was an open book.
"D'you want to dance?" Firo asked abruptly.
Ennis stilled her finger on her glass. She drew her lip in between her teeth, tasting her lipstick. "I don't know how," she said. Dancing, like everything else, wasn't meant for a homunculus.
Firo grinned at her. "Well, I'm not that great either," he said. "But what's the harm in a little fun?" He stood up from his chair, and held one hand out to her. "How about it?" he asked.
Ennis looked at his hand, and then at the bubbles rising in the champagne glass, and then finally up at his face. He was smiling at her, and she felt a shy, silly grin crossing her own expression.
"Sure," she said. She stood - his hand was still outstretched. Ennis glanced at it, suddenly nervous. She took his hand in hers, and Firo led her onto the dance floor.
His arms were warm and she could feel his fingers against her exposed back. He was a little clumsy, but so was she, and when he laughed at himself, she smiled.