The Grey Tower

Alright. Very well. “Sorry, I’m... not a great teacher,” Jaren said, feeling more than a little foolish himself. He didn’t want to make Johan more awkward, but that was probably inevitable anyway. Or he could call off the entire dancing venture… No, we came all the way here; this is happening one way or another.

He ran a hand through his hair and looked around. Nobody seemed to be paying them any amount of attention, really. That was something, at least. Oh, Jaren didn’t care who saw them — getting very thoroughly snogged by Jaryd Kosari in full view of half the Tower had effectively cured him of what capacity he’d ever had for that sort of embarrassment — but he suspected Johan didn’t share the sentiment. Well, he didn’t share the experience, either, so it was fair enough.

“Alright,” he said again. “You’re a man, so— Well I am, too, but I can be anything.” …Phrasing. He had to stifle a laugh. “I mean, I can dance either steps, so.” He stepped closer, and this time he took Johan’s hand and guided it to the small of his back, flashing a disarming smile. His other hand found Johan’s, too, and they were in position. “Let’s try that again. Technically, you’re supposed to lead, but I’ve danced with my fair share of women who just can’t be led so sometimes it’s equally important to know how to follow.” He nudged Johan’s foot. “You can twirl me around if you feel like it, once we get the basic sequence down, but now... I step back, and you step forward…”

Close contact was not something that Johan liked. He was one of those people who got antsy when you got within a foot of them – his personal space was his personal space -, and having his hand on Jaren’s back (for more than few seconds, too) had his heart pounding with nerves. He tried to ignore it, for once trying to focus on the Void, but, as ever, he found himself failing on that one. Instead, he felt his cheeks turn an even brighter red as his eyes slid past Jaren to focus on anywhere but the other man. He was sure that the Dedicated would laugh at him if he saw his face.

And it wasn’t that Jaren was a terrible teacher, just more like he was a terrible student. He held himself tense, unable to stop himself, his whole body like a coiled spring, feeling the opposite to how he normally felt when he was in the Warder Yards. His hand unconsciously tightened around Jaren’s, before he realised what he was doing and quickly loosened his hold. Again, the wall proved to be incredibly interesting as he tried to focus on what he was doing. Maybe this hadn’t been such a bright idea.

One step, one step back, something, something, something… Johan tried his best to keep up, still sure that he was going to make a mistake.

“You’re never going to tell anyone about this, are you?” he muttered, glancing back at Jaren. They were of a similar height, not much difference between them, so he could meet the other’s eyes easily. It was at that moment he stood on Jaren’s foot, and he winced, jumping back. “Sorry!”

It was painfully evident that Johan was not exactly having the time of his life. Jaren was used to dealing with many kinds of people, but the people in the trade were usually outgoing in some way at least, and he was at a bit of a loss for how to alleviate the awkwardness here. Overt reassurance would only draw attention to the fact that he’d picked up on the younger man’s discomfort, and right now Jaren didn’t exactly trust his ability to make a joke that would actually ease the tension, he might as well end up offending Johan and that was the last thing he wanted.

“You’re never going to tell anyone about this, are you?” Johan muttered— And then promptly stepped on Jaren’s foot.

It didn’t exactly hurt; Johan wasn’t that heavy and Jaren was wearing boots, not some silk slippers, but it was a good enough excuse to finish the awkward endeavour. “Don’t worry about it,” Jaren said, shaking his head. “And I honestly doubt anyone would care. There’s much juicier gossip going around regarding yours truly… But no, I won’t say a word.”

In the corner, the flutist had reappeared and was picking up his instrument; looked like they were going to get music after all. But when the man began to play, the tune was entirely too fast for the purpose. “If you want to try again, we’ll probably have to wait a bit. I know I’d get confused if I tried to dance a slower dance to that tune.” Jaren flashed a disarming smile and returned to the table and poured himself another glass.

Johan couldn’t quite hide his relief as he realised that they weren’t going to continue with the dancing… or, rather, the attempts to dance. Even thinking about trying to keep up with the tune the flutist was playing made him feel dizzy. He wouldn’t know where to put his feet or what to do, and it was, quite frankly, a disaster waiting to happen.

Still relieved, he didn’t immediately follow Jaren back to the table, but paused at the bar to order himself some water. He didn’t want to just sit there and watch whilst Jaren drank, because that would just be awkward, and he thought that there had been enough of that so far.

With his drink, he finally returned and took a seat, raising one eyebrow. “What gossip?” He hadn’t heard anything, but then he always tried to keep himself on the edge and very rarely listened to what was going on. What was this gossip?

Jaren leaned back in his chair and laughed, though the sound was perhaps not all that amused. “Remember the ball held in honour of the foreign dignitaries?” he asked. Though he wasn’t sure if Johan had been there — he might have been out in the city as well — he should at least know about the ball.

“I… may have danced with someone I shouldn’t,” he went on. “I may have kissed someone I shouldn’t. Well, two someones, actually.” But conveniently nobody gave a damn about what had happened between him and Tristram. He idly wondered if that included Tristram himself. He wasn’t going to flatter himself into thinking that Tristram cared; hells, Jaren himself probably wouldn’t keep thinking of it half as much if he hadn’t been thrown into the Arches the very next day, and… Well.

That had been a wild couple of days, all told.

“…Anyway, the Amyrlin Seat happened to see, and I’ll probably be up to my eyeballs in laundry with the Novices and Soldiers for the rest of my natural life.” Laundry, dishes, floors that needed scrubbing; you name it, he was probably doing it. “Come to think of it, I probably shouldn’t be here, either, but it was either this or do something even more stupid.” He drained his glass and, closing his eyes, let his head fall back. It thumped softly against the wall; he hadn’t realised he was sitting that close. Ah well.