"Breathe in… breathe out… don't panic…" Hershel mumbled to himself.

The Gressenheller committee had really gone-all in their decorations. Hershel thought they would've saved some more of the budget for the Winter Formal, which was bigger and usually had a higher attendance anyway— but apparently not. This year, silk banners of yellow and orange adorned the walls, and colorful paper leaves were scattered around the edges of the event hall. Bags of chips and bowls of punch (which Hershel knew to avoid) were arranged atop brown tables, and an impressive number of fake pumpkins framed a photoshoot area in the corner.

On top of all the decor, there was already a larger turnout than Hershel had expected— so while the room looked spectacular, mobs of fall-colored dresses and suits of black and white made it difficult to find any one person in particular. The number of colors whizzing past coupled with the constant stream of chatter and the obviously-sprayed scents of pumpkin spice were a bit overwhelming, even for Hershel, who normally didn't mind a jovial social gathering now and again (although he had to admit that perhaps his nerves were probably the real culprit of the butterflies in his stomach).

"Hershel? There you are!"

Almost yelping in alarm (which would have been horrifying), young Hershel spun around to find the object of his search right in front of him.

He froze up.

Claire— ever so beautiful Claire— was beaming up at him, a smile on her face that practically made the entire room glow. A simple but elegant, off-the-shoulder dress fit her comfortably, colored like the wine Hershel's mother was so fond of and cut right at the knee. Her hair, red undertones brought out by the dress, was done up in a high ponytail that curled as it fell. She wore no accessories, but her eyes glittered like black diamonds.

Then she giggled slightly.

"Hershel, have you forgotten how to talk? I do hope you remember before the evening is over, otherwise this dance will be dreadfully boring." Without skipping a beat, she grabbed the sleeve of his tuxedo (he'd opted for plain black and white) and started to pull him over to the dance floor.

"Wh-what?" Hershel managed to squeak out. He silently reprimanded himself that those were his first words of the night to the most beautiful lady he'd ever seen.

"We're dancing, silly! This is a dance, after all. And look, perfect timing." She grinned. "The music is just starting."

In fact, the music was starting. And Hershel was quietly panicking, and Claire was stronger than she looked.

Thankfully, a familiar voice kept the pair from actually making it onto the dance floor, at least for the moment.

"Hersh, Claire!"

Both students turned to see a blindingly bright pink suit, with Randall inside. After the initial shock settled that he'd actually gone through with the outfit choice, it registered that Angela was beside him.

"Randall!" Hershel clasped hands with the fashion disaster (who had also slicked back his red hair for the occasion) while Claire happily greeted his partner.

"Angela, it's good to see you! You look lovely!"

Hershel paused to appreciate the fact that she did look lovely. She also wore a red, knee-high dress, but it gave off a very different impression than Claire's. Hers was a mature ruby red, with gold embroidered patterns on the shoulders and up the left side, shining the same color as her curled hair in the light. Black tights and heels contrasted the bold colors nicely, and valuable-looking gold earrings (probably gifted to her from Randall) drew attention to her flawless makeup and already pretty face.

"Doesn't she, though?" Randall asked rhetorically, grinning and putting an arm around his girlfriend. "The bell of the ball, she is!"

"Randall…" Angela started, but Hershel cut her off.

"You are a very beautiful young lady, Angela. You deserve the praise," he stated with a gentle smile. "Are you two headed to the dance floor?"

"Well, we didn't want to show off too early," Randall replied with a grin, "but after this song, absolutely. Guess we can't keep them waiting forever, eh? We're going to show them what real dancing looks like!"

"Is that so?" Claire asked, a twinkle in her eye. "Well, I very much look forward to seeing you out there, then." With a confident grin, she once again grabbed Hershel's hand— he noticed a lot of his companions seemed to have that habit— and lead him over to the dance floor. He sighed internally, knowing there was no way out this time.

"Claire, I, er, feel that it's only fair to warn you—"

Claire glanced up with a look of interest.

"Well, I— that is— I'm not the best at dancing," Hershel spat out. "Certainly not the kind of partner someone like you deserves."

And it was true. He may have practiced for weeks on end with Angela with Randall as an overseer, and even reached a somewhat competent level of skill, but Hershel was still nowhere close to either of his tutors. And if he were completely honest, he felt a little sick to his stomach that Claire was stuck with him.

"Oh. My. Goodness." The lady-to-be put a hand over her mouth.

Hershel tiled his head in confusion. "Pardon?"

"You're adorable."

He didn't know what he'd been expecting to hear, but it certainly wasn't that. He felt his face start to heat up.

"I'm… er…"

"Adorable," she repeated. "Dancing isn't about skill, it's about having fun. And you know I would never have agreed to come with you if I didn't think you were the perfect partner for me. So stop being so negative about yourself and let's join the party!"

While Hershel tried to come up with a response to that, he felt himself pulled onto the dance floor and into the movement of students. He remembered a story his mother had told him about her and his father's wedding— how there had been so much happening and so many emotions that it went by in a blur, and even now she could hardly remember anything specific about it. He felt like he might be starting to understand that story a little more.

The dancing actually went okay, although Hershel still made mistakes from time to time and apologized for them profusely. (He had no doubt in his mind that the accursed butterflies in his stomach were at least partially to blame for the blunders.) The pair passed by Randall and Angela on the dance floor a few times, and each time they did someone waved a hello or shot a knowing wink or made some kind of comment about one pair being better dancers than the other. (Claire was responsible for a surprising number of the last option.) As the night went on, the crowd of people grew, until it was somewhat stuffy inside and the chaperones actually opened some of the doors to let in the cool air. Snacks got eaten, paper leaves got kicked around until they had to be thrown away, and groups of dateless friends hung out near the entrance and flirted with the singles who walked in. And it was sometime late into the event that a conversation Hershel never expected happened, after apologizing for what was at least the twentieth time that night.

"I'm so sorry about back there, I didn't mean—"

"Hershel."

"R-right, no more apologizing, sorry…"

Claire chuckled softly as Hershel slapped his forehead, swinging his legs back and forth in the crisp Fall air. After the young Layton had accidentally stepped on Claire's toes one too many times, the pair had decided to take a walk outside around the school grounds (a few other couples were doing the same to cool off) and eventually took a seat on one of the wood benches.

"You know," Claire said with a smile, "you're the most polite gentleman I've ever met."

It wasn't the first time she'd given that compliment. A while back, when Hershel was just holding open the door for his classmates like he always did, she'd told it to him in passing and he'd made the grave mistake of telling Randall. From that day on the title seemed to be branded on him, at least by his closest friends. Not that he minded— he'd always strived to be a gentleman, even if he hadn't really used the word.

"I was wondering," continued Claire, "if you might not be available on Friday to go do something together?"

Hershel looked over with a start. "Oh, u-um, that sounds lovely, but I'm pretty sure Angela already has—"

"Not with Randall and Angela," Claire stated. "Not that I mind going out with them, but half the time we go out as a group Randall ends up dragging you off to do something dangerous while Angela and I are left behind to place bets on whether or not you'll get hurt."

"You place bets on us?!"

Claire giggled. "No, not really. We do worry about you two, though." She sighed, but it was an oddly happy sigh. "Anyhow, we've never gone out just the two of us before. It's about time, don't you think?"

Hershel felt his mouth go dry. "You mean, o-on a date?"

"Yes, Hershel, on a date. Like tonight. But without the rest of the school singing too loudly and spiking the punch."

Hershel hadn't actually noticed anyone singing— he'd probably been distracted by focusing on the dancing or Claire or both— and he'd made sure both he and Claire stayed far away from the punch. But he wasn't thinking about that now.

"On… a date."

"Yes, Hershel."

"With you."

"Yes, Hershel. On Friday."

If anybody had been passing by the green lawn outside the full-to-bursting Gressenheller campus at that moment, they would've seen a very nervous-looking boy with a red tie and noticeably poofy hair sitting panicking on a brown wooden bench. But that was okay. Because by his side was the prettiest young lady the college had ever seen.

And Hershel had a date with her.

(A/N: I loved Layclaire with all my heart already but then my friend Dawndragon introduced me to confident sassy take-charge Claire and I loved it even more)

(Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the fic! If you made it this far, please leave a review, even if it's short. I have absolutely zero reason to post my writing unless people leave words for my hungry writing soul to consume.)