[Declan O'Dwyer]

Of course her mind immediately gravitated to the worst case scenario. It made him laugh. Sordid tales, personal insults aimed at Farren, none of it could be further from the truth. He liked writing about philosophy, beauty, politics, loneliness; his work a perfect mirror of his intellectual interests and pursuits. His grandmother had labelled it promising. She had to say that of course. Loving him unconditionally left no other choice. His father, well, that had been a less than desirable reaction that had been difficult to deal with.

"I'm afraid it's nothing as outrageous, grandiose or interesting. Just a lonely Irishman living with the delusion he's an under-appreciated literary genius. My self-identity might yet unravel when someone tells me I'm a talentless hack."

He got up from his chair and let himself be pulled to the dance floor. A distraction was just what they needed. Except, Farren wasn't quite ready to let the subject go. It surprised him how she kept insisting on knowing more. It brought him face to face with his own hypocrisy. He'd invited her out, wanted to forge a closer relationship and yet when it came down to it he felt inhibited by fear. He was being ridiculous. She was being sweet and supportive and he doubted her for no reason at all. She'd never let him down. That had been other people in his life.

Delcan made a snap decision and pulled Farren close to him, wrapping his arms around her. It was the wrong position for the dance that was playing, but they weren't the only couple getting it wrong. Another pair on the dance floor were all over each other more and not at all concerned with proper form or the world around them.

As they spun around, he leaned forward to continue talking with her over the music. "I'll tell you what. If you really want to know, I'll let you read one of my manuscripts. But please don't ever share it with anyone. It's just a small personal hobby."

It was humiliating how difficult even this small concession had been. There he'd thought he had his life together enough to finally come out of his shell and his own lack of confidence had gotten in his way. At least, he had recognised it this time. He was getting better at not letting his worries sabotage him completely, but he could also see that there was still a long way to go in this regard.

"And I can safely promise that if I ever wrote a novel about you, I'll make you the best dancer in all the land."

Instinctively, he let his head rest against hers. Taking in her proximity and her scent was rendering him breathless. As the music slowed he felt his heart hammering faster at the sudden moment of intimacy. Had she always smelled so good? Her skin felt so soft. It would be easy to kiss her. He felt tension building between the two of them. Was she feeling the same?

[Farren Abercrombie]

She found it so odd that he considered himself simply a lonely Irishman. Of course the Irish bit was undeniable but she couldn't understand why he'd be lonely. He was a man, his family was practically radically liberal - for their set. There were few freedoms he wouldn't be allowed and even fewer he couldn't sneak. Society wouldn't judge him for much. He could keep the company of pretty much anyone he chose or fancied entertaining. His business was brilliant, he had a decent sense of humor, he was clever, and rather handsome in a kind of forlorn way. It made no sense to her for him to be lonely. After all, she was the one living in a gilded cage. She was the one who was watched like a hawk anytime she went out in London. She was the one who could only be sure that someone didn't want something from her based on how directly their blood was connected to hers. It seemed dramatic for a man with so many liberties to consider himself lonely. But wasn't that Declan really? Melodramatic like herself.

When he pulled her close, so unexpectedly, she had to consciously stop herself from gasping. A rush of the fluttering nerves she'd felt so strongly before returned, rushing to her head. It wasn't unwelcome, just surprising, she'd been mentally preparing to stumble along with awkward bobbing steps, hands linked with his, looking down mostly at their feet trying to keep up. Instead she found herself giggling, unsure for a moment before yielding to him gently draping her own arms around him. At first he spun her so quickly and kept her so close she almost tripped on the hem of her dress. Her eyes widened and she grasped the lapel of his jacket to steady herself before bursting into happy laughter at the little whirling calamity they were. This sort of behavior would never be tolerated in her London ball rooms but here it suited the atmosphere just perfectly.

Nodding she let her eyes flicker up to meet his, "I promise, I'll keep it a secret," she said, "But yes, I really want to see it." It was the truth. There were rare occasions she could manage to keep a secret. Rarer yet, she could manage to put her own self interests and promotion aside and take legitimate interest in other people's artistic efforts. Of course he didn't know that she had piles of manuscripts, portfolios, and such sitting around her office, artists hopeful she'd take an interest and write something about them or better yet pass their name onto her family and help get them a book deal. Those people needed her. She didn't need them and got little from them if anything, so generally speaking she didn't care.  If he was anyone else, if he was less sensitive about it, she'd have teased that he should be begging her to read it not vise versa. But with Declan she cared a great deal, more than she'd expected.

She laughed when he promised to make her the best dancer realizing then that her hand was still grasping the lapel of his jacket for stability. She loosened her hand, letting go of the lapel,  leaving her hand against his chest. "I would accept nothing less than being the best dancer in the land and expect your creative license to be dispensed generously to my benefit in other areas of this novel as well."

As they spun around he let his head rest against hers, bringing himself closer to her yet. This time she was less surprised but found the experience joyfully strange none the less. How long had it been since a man had held her in his arms like this? Even though he was clean shaven she could feel her fine hair catching against the little bit of scruff on her cheek. It was already stuffy in the pub and being this close to him, was making her even warmer.  Her nerves were no less disruptive, the sensations going to her head just as much as the wine they'd had at dinner. She'd danced a hundred dances at spring and summer balls already this year but those were all quite different. No one held her. No one got this close. She'd not let anyone get this close in so long.

Even the music was slowing she didn't budge. If she pulled away to see what was happening around them he might think she was rejecting him. She wasn't. She wanted to stay here, cradled against him, his breath against her ear, her hair against his chin, their skin just brushing. It was horribly improper but how badly she wanted to reach up and stroke his cheek. Instead she inhaled, sighing softly, happily. "At least once more song," she said softly, "If I let you go back to the table I may never get you back on the dance floor."

[Declan O'Dwyer]

Declan laughed nervously. As usual, his impulsivity had landed him a situation he didn't know how to handle gracefully. How had he ended up with Farren in his arms, spinning round the dance floor in his local pub? Had anyone asked him even this morning if he considered this scenario even a remote possibility he would have declared it outright impossible. And yet, it was happening. Overwhelmed didn't even begin to describe how he felt about it. It was everything. Too much and strangely not enough. Part of him wanted to pull her even closer and plant a kiss on her lips.

And yet that was a line he knew he wouldn't dare to cross. Sure, they'd been improper, but so far, their evening added up to a string of minor offenses. Taking it a step further would make it real, would mean consequences they would both have to deal with. He wasn't ready for consequences just yet. It was one of the few draw backs of their rank and station. Their lives were ruled by political considerations and financial decisions. Even though she was beautiful and talented, he knew his family would be less than thrilled if he officially declared his interest in her. Aligning with a family as politically conservative as the Abercrombie clan would raise some eyebrows. People often interpreted simple things as more significant than they were.

He didn't want to think about the political consequences of his decisions, but the lessons his grandfather had taught him were so ingrained he couldn't stop considering them even in a moment that should have been about unadulterated joy. He wondered if Farren's thoughts were similarly engaged. On paper, they were equals. In actuality, their circumstances were a lot more complicated. He was certain her family would consider him below her station. He wasn't English, his family was too liberal, he didn't embrace the limelight and the press. And on the flipside of the coin, his family would consider her below his station. A widowed socialite from a family of political extremists. Arguably, well to do political extremists, but Declan could easily picture his grandfather describe them as unremarkable. As far as the O'Dwyer family were concerned financial success trumped political success.

They both stood to lose by becoming more strongly associated, but her situation in this was even more precarious than his. A wrong move and her reputation would be ruined forever and cling to her for decades to come. If he messed up, he'd be labelled a cad for a while, but pureblood men had recovered from worse situations. Still, it was best to avoid taking another step forward until they were both ready to deal with whatever consequences such a decision would have.

"Of course, another dance. I wouldn't mind if this moment lasted forever." Once they stepped off the dance floor their situation had the potential to become extremely complicated very quickly. "You know, I envy all those people here and their insignificant lives. They can do whatever they please, see whoever they want and none of it will be national news. Wouldn't it be nice if we could have a couple of nights like this too? Just us, with nothing else to consider?" He knew it was impossible, that didn't mean he couldn't wish for an easier situation.

"Maybe I should write a book about that. About the two of us just being ordinary people like everyone else in this room. How do you think that would end?" The tension between them was still making him feel lightheaded. She felt so good, this moment seemed so right and yet something was scratching at the back of his mind that they were entering dangerous waters.

[Farren Abercrombie]

It was dawning on her slowly and then yet so very quickly what was happening between them. Now that she stood here in his grasp, her heart hammering against her chest, she wondered if they'd actively suppressed this as teenagers or been so naive to the realm of attraction they'd not even realized there was something there.  When he agreed readily to another dance she felt a lump in her throat she'd not noticed disappear. Though she disagreed about never wanting the moment to end. Instead she'd like to bottle this moment up like a souvenir of unadulterated joy and freedom and connection and take it with her as she pressed forward down this path.

His next statement made it abundantly clear of where his head was at though. Of course, Declan loathed society and the press that came with it. He was probably wishing that she was a nobody. That she was someone he could freely move through their world with just like these people in this pub would. Sadly she was not that. It pained her to think that who she had become in the time between their youth and their first date was someone he probably would actively avoid if it weren't for the fact that they had been so close before she was out in society. Would no one ever be happy to take her as she was?

Looking up at him she nodded, her expression somber, of course she understood what he meant. As much as he seemed to desire spending more time with her he also seemed to dread the realities of what that would entail. No one would blame him for that. One date that would have been so normal for anyone else in this pub was for them somewhat of a risk already. If there was no pressure what could they do? They were so close now she couldn't avoid how intimate the moment was. If she were any closer their lips could brush as they spoke. Those lips that had always distracted her as a girl. Clearly that should have been a sign. He could lean in now if he'd wanted to and kiss her and part of her wished he would though she knew he would never. "If you want simple I'm afraid you're dancing with the wrong girl," she lamented trying to ease the blow with a bit of snark though there was obvious regret in her tone. "But I am a witch. I do have multiple homes and private lands. As do you. We'd be just two oddly dressed people in a muggle town. No one knows us enough on the continent to notice us at dinner in Rome or Brussels. It'd be unconventional and blatantly avoiding reality but it's been many years since I ate pasta in Rome." The sparkle had returned to her eyes as she gazed into his, "I can't think of anyone I'd rather spend an evening with eating pasta and tossing coins into fountains if you're serious about pretending we can be a pair of nobodies for a day."

Perhaps it was mad but it wasn't so impossible. There were miles of trails and roads around Penrith. They could get to Rome nearly as easily as she'd come here. If that was what he wanted, what was to stop them? Unless that was a polite excuse. A polite and elegant way to remind her that as much fun as he was having now a life style like hers didn't match his in the slightest. It didn't. Their lifestyles and their families didn't match. Not that a couple of hours having a good time together one evening made her overly concerned with what her family would think. One benefit of having been married before was at least some level of apathy towards making them happy. She'd done it their way. She'd married their pick. It had failed miserably and that would always be a bargaining chip in her favor moving forward. Thankfully the music started again. They started moving again and despite being unsure what he would make of her offered idea or if he was realizing as he twirled her around the floor that this was impossible and she would never be someone he had more than a platonic interest in, she was glad to still be in his arms.

"As for our novel, Declan and Farren the Normal People, that's the working title I presume.  It depends on the genre you want. I think it would flow quite easily as a romance." It was a bold, blatant statement to make. But why not? He'd just said he wanted the night to last forever. That he wanted to spend a few nights just like this, the two of them, alone, uncomplicated. If they were normal people why wouldn't they have a romance? There would have been no Clive. No bizarre social and political class friction.  "I think it'd end pretty simply. Leading a bucolic life somewhere in Ireland or Scotland. We'd have horses and a large cottage with a pokey chimney and thread bare armchairs. Our evenings would be spent in the lounge arguing pointlessly about the merits of different books or talking about how modern art is rubbish. There'd be a shed in the back you escaped to to dabble with your potions when my piano annoyed you. Perhaps we'd have a spat with the neighbor about their sheep grazing on our lands. It'd be a simple existence but peaceful. You'd take on extra work near my birthday to buy me something nice and sparkly because my tastes were always too grand for our modest budget. I'd read your poems and leave you little encouraging notes on scraps of paper tucked between the pages of your notebook. We're boring. We're poor. We're simple. But we're happy."

[Declan O'Dwyer]

Ah, he'd said the wrong thing. She was trying to cover for it with humour, but he could feel the subtle shift in mood that had occurred. He didn't want her to feel unwanted or like he was unwilling to brave the consequences. It really wasn't that so much that as him not feeling ready for it yet. He'd never been the kind to take big decisions lightly and formally courting her was a terrifying step to take.  Then again, he'd known her for years. They'd always gotten along. They respected each other. Perhaps, taking the next step was logical and had been a long time coming.

"Good thing then that I am not known for being a simple man of simple tastes," he responded to her quietly. "But you have to admit, every once in a while, it would be nice if our decisions didn't attract so much public scrutiny."
 
He held her a little more tightly as if to emphasise his point. "Rome seems like a wonderful idea, and maybe I have an idea or two about some other locations, but..." he paused for a moment, "... don't think that is all I want." There was more he could have said, but the feeling of 'too soon' reasserted itself. He didn't want to rush headlong into something that might damage their friendship. Still, there was this unexplored potential for something more. Something that actually meant something to him.

"Horses and sheep?" he giggled at the domestic setting she was painting. "I think you might be bored within the week. I thought maybe we'd have a quaint little shop of some sort in the centre of town and a lot of friends to spend our evenings and weekends with. And we'd go dancing in the pub quite often." He laughed some more. No, he couldn't quite picture them just as simple country folks. And hadn't that been their struggle for quite some time? They both loved and hated what they were, what they had to do, and where life was taking them.

"I think, maybe, there is a path we could forge. If you wanted to. One that somehow combines it all. Who we are, where we stand, what we want." He tucked a strand of her hair back behind her ear. "I suppose I'm asking if you want me to ask you out properly. Because I think I would like that, even if it's likely to be very messy."

There he'd said it. Why did it always seem so difficult to make himself vulnerable. He felt nervous and frightened. What if she turned him down? There was no backup plan and he felt a mild sensation of panic rising inside of him. Was he being too forward? Too bold?

[Farren Abercrombie]

Everything moved just as quickly as the music. As soon as she'd thrown out a defensive veil, bantering playfully that she was complicated, he'd knocked it aside. He reassured her instantly, seeing through her move in a way few people could. It helped, to hear him dismiss her concern so easily, to deflect the fear she had extended him as an exit strategy.

His hold on her tightened to physically reinforce his support and she felt better. He must like her for her after all - as he always had. But again he was accelerating things and she wasn't sure she was keeping up. He was being frank, forthcoming even, and yet she felt like she was still trying to catch up to what was actually happening between them this evening.

He did want to spend time with her, alone, private, uncomplicated. Already he'd thought of places to run away to and hide out from reality. But he immediately countered that with an assurance that he didn't want to only run around in the dark going on secret dates. He wanted more than that. Her mind ran down the threads of what this could mean.

She'd arrived in Dublin unsure what the evening was.  Quickly she'd realized she was in fact on a date. Though she had no idea what one did on a date having never been on a date in her life. Things were moving so quickly through a series of events she'd never participated in. Even his words were difficult to process. Men didn't speak to her like this, ever. It was like she'd been sat down at a chess board for the first time ever, having never laid eyes on it, and told to play.

At least she felt capable of keeping up with the banter about their fictional, book lives. "Of course I would be bored of that life in a week," she confirmed giggling as well, "But fictional Farren is a more simple, content person." She smiled and shook her head. "The sheep are staying in the story. We can have a shop and dance at the pub but the sheep are non-negotiable." Laughing she met his gaze and the confusion and nerves settled for a fleeting moment. He was happy, laughing, holding her close and somehow even though they'd never done this before it was terrifying yet entirely comfortable.

They were older, he was more assured, more handsome. She was horribly complicated now and more independent but as they laughed, spinning around the floor in this grubby little pub, he was exactly who she'd always known him to be.

He spoke again and the whirl of the room around them seemed to slow. Around her she could hear the beating of people's feet to the tempo and her heartbeat just as loudly. This was a maneuver she'd not seen coming. It was somehow equal parts enthralling, exhilarating, and terrifying. Her expression slipped to something serious, her smile fading as she listened, surely he could see in her eyes how frantically her mind was working to process all of this.

As he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear his fingertips left a trail of sparks across her skin and her breath caught in her chest for a beat of the music. Her eyes searched his face for more, a hint of some kind as to how he wanted her to react. She was fully overwhelmed now. Farren didn't understand what exactly he meant by ask her out properly. Hadn't he asked her out? She was here now because he'd asked her out.  But the way he said it now, officially ask her.  He'd like that - even if it was very messy. There was nothing messy about being best mates. Nothing messy about things as they'd been.  But here he was in front of her, holding her close to him, earnestly suggesting they take each other by the hand and proceed forward in some kind of organized capacity into the future, together.

"Declan," she gasped softly, worried if she stayed silent he'd become scared and let go of her. Again her hand grabbed the lapel of his coat to steady herself even though her feet were sure under her. If she couldn't speak her mind she could at least physically show him that she didn't want him to budge. Her mind was frantically tripping over ways to respond to him trying to fill the deafening silence between them in the boisterous room. She looked away from him for a moment, overwhelmed. Everyone around them had not a care in the world. No one was paying them any mind even though she felt like everyone was waiting for her to respond just like him.

Licking her lips she swallowed another lump in her throat and turned her face back to his. It didn't matter if anyone could hear them. He had been very clear, vulnerable even to propose such a thing after spending so little time together. She owed it to him and herself to be just as explicit.

"Yes," she said, simply nodding as she shifted in his grasp. She moved closer, filling the little space there was between them, she draped her arms over his shoulders around his neck, her hands resting against the back on his neck. "I am overwhelmed," she admitted softly, her eyes dropping from his for a moment as her mild shame at being unprepared and vulnerable washed over her. "When I arrived here, I wasn't sure what this was all about. I can't say that I've done this kind of thing before and I'm sure tomorrow morning I'll wish I had said something poetic or coy or smart."

"To be honest, I'm not even sure what you mean," she laughed, clearly nervous. "You asked me out to get me here didn't you? This kind of thing....dates....etcetera, it's quite foreign to me. But if you're asking me....if I want to spend time with you, then the answer is yes. If you're asking if I want to spend more nights dancing close to you. Yes. If you're asking if I've discovered some unexpected pull towards you. Yes. If you're asking if I want to explore the fact that when your fingers brush over my skin it tingles pleasantly, yes. I would like that very much - I think. I can't remember the last time I felt this way. Just...happy to be next to someone." Exhaling heavily she felt some of the tension in her chest ease but the hammering of her heart continued to echo in her ears.

"But..."she added quickly, "I didn't realize until the other day, seeing you again, all those years apart, losing our friendship....well I don't want that to happen again. Perhaps it's too frank to say this but I feel like you're supposed to be part of my life. I can't bear to lose my friend again." Sighing she bit the inside of her cheeks trying to distract herself as she tore down yet another wall for him. There were few memories in her mind where she'd felt this scared, this vulnerable. Her fingers fumbled with the ends of his hair, lazily playing with a strand of his hair as some kind of means of grounding herself as she came to the realization of how she felt. "This matter is... I feel everything is bound to be - delicate. Still though, yes."

[Declan O'Dwyer]

"Like I know anything about that stuff either," he replied softly. "I've mostly been keeping myself busy with work." Sure, there had been some rumours about him every now and then, but nothing serious, nothing formal. "But we can figure that out together. I want more from life than a politically advantageous match. I think you do as well." She'd done the politically advantageous thing already. He hoped it didn't hold the same appeal anymore it once must have.

Finding words to say felt more and more difficult by the minute. He was content to spin her around and he enjoyed holding her. More talking, and things would get serious and deep. It was late and perhaps some of that how exactly and when and where was better left to the next day when their minds were fresher. Though he didn't want it to be true, the evening was winding down.

What he liked though was that there was much that remained unsaid, much he hadn't shown her, much they hadn't yet done. There were things to look forward to, things to hope for. And she'd told him she wanted him in her life. "And just for the record, you'll struggle getting rid of me now. I had a wonderful evening. I can't believe we ever let anything get between us." Maybe that wasn't quite the answer she was looking for, but just friends, as nice as it could be, was not enough anymore.

It was getting late, and he felt slightly dizzy from dancing. Though part of him wanted to stay it would hardly be proper to keep her past midnight.

As they headed back to their table, he noticed that the bush he had bought for her still hadn't bothered to flower. There went his plan of asking her for a second date right there and then. Had he been too distracted by her to notice that he'd bought a dud? Oh well, she'd have a random green shrub then. What did it matter? He could ask her out anyway, magical once in a century blossoms or not.

"When can I see you again?" He asked simply, as they picked up their belongings. Time to take Farren home and start saying their goodbyes. For now.