When the music slowed and the tempo dropped, Alfred was left alone. His friends drifted away, all linked arms and small smiles. They had their places in the arms of each other, didn't need to tap someone nervously on the shoulder, eyes downcast as they requested a dance.

That was Alfred's job. He was the awkward one without that other half, without someone to loop his arms around and slowly sway with. He could only stand, and stare, and wish there was a punch bowl to linger around. He could only hope that no one would see the lost look in his eyes as the lights flashed and swam and people rocked against one another.

He skirted the walls with a gangly loping gate born of anxiety. He'd go to the bathroom like he always did, stare at himself in the mirror and wonder why he was never able to find another to dance with.

He didn't notice the figure he approached as he made for the wide doors, registered it only as a decoration, something he could edge around. He hadn't expected it to move, to lurch to one side in an effort to avoid him as he tried to avoid it.

They collided not like cars, not with an unstoppable energy or the bruising of bodies, but with the soft noises and apologies that came from stepping on a stranger's foot. The impact was a muted thing, reminiscent of when Alfred, inspired by a fit of energy, had thrown himself against the tumbling mats in gym.

Alfred looked up with a mouth full of words, already spouting half-apologies and excuses as easily as he breathed. He stopped mid-sentence when he saw who stood before him, cliche as any scene from a movie.

The boy before him was tall, taller than Alfred. His hair was light, a lilac sheen cast from one of the strobes blinking on and off. His eyes were wide and surprised, caught between emotions as he looked down on Alfred.

His clothes were all wrong. A dress shirt and slacks, fitted and ironed and formal. He was trying too hard, too done up and fancy, like he'd never been to a dance before and had no one to instruct him how to dress otherwise.

But then he smiled in a way Alfred had never seen anyone smile before. Nearly lost to the dim lighting, weak but with a touch of hope at the corners. Like a person with no one else to dance with.

Like a kindred spirit.

"Ain't got anyone to dance with either, huh?" Alfred said with a smile of his own.

"I am looking, but it seems everyone is hiding, or at least with someone else already," the boy returned. He had a voice to remember, a rolling trill in his words, an even tone held within his accent.

"Ah, tell me about it. Story'a my life, I swear," Alfred said, his smile growing brighter. "Heck, we may as well dance with one another."

The silence between them swooped down like a hawk on a mouse, an instantaneous death from above. An intertwined pair of people moved slowly by them, like fluff blown on the breeze. They both watched, shifting their weight from foot to foot, hands empty and twitching.

"I'm Alfred," Alfred said as the couple moved on and he mustered the courage to look back at the boy.

"And I am Ivan," the boy said in turn.

Their eyes met, and held, and neither of them blinked. There was conversation between them without words, instead hidden in their small smiles that were returning, their mutual awkwardness. Alfred rocked on the heels of his feet and laughed at nothing in particular, and Ivan joined him.

"Maybe we should dance together─" Ivan said after a moment, and then caught himself. "Unless of course you would prefer not to. I mean, I would not want you to be uncomfortable, dancing with another man like that."

Even in the low light, Alfred could see the warmth that settled in Ivan's cheeks and trickled up along the tips of his ears. He wondered if maybe, possibly, in this room full of swaying bodies and already formed friendships, he'd found someone like him.

"A'course I'd like to dance with you," Alfred said with a grin, stepping out on to the floor. "I'm all ready when you are, big guy."

Ivan followed him onto the floor. They stood there for a second, Alfred looking up at Ivan, Ivan looking down at him. There was a silent decision as to where whose hands went where, a single nod from the both of them and the flutter of eyelashes on Alfred's behalf, a coy, excited look on Ivan's.

Ivan's hands settled on Alfred's waist, warm and careful, nearly ticklish. Alfred looped his arms around Ivan's neck, leaned up in a quick hug for a second before settling down. He liked how it felt to have hands on him, not pushing or wanting, but simply there. And he liked how it felt to stand so close and move against another body.

But mostly, he liked how comfortable this stranger was, nothing more than a face and a name and touch.

Their eye contact was fleeting as they danced. Ivan had beautiful eyes, vivid heather that drew him in, but the closeness of it all was too much. It was easier to look off into the distance, to rest his head against Ivan's chest for the smallest moment and feel the reverberation of his words before they left his throat.

Alfred learned so much in that one dance. He learned that Ivan was a year older than him, a student new to the school. He learned that Ivan, with his beautiful accent, was from Russia. That he had two sisters and lived only a five minute walk from Alfred's house. He learned thought he had beautiful eyes of his own, and that Ivan wanted to know if he could have the next dance.

And Ivan learned Alfred would very much like that.