h2>Dating : Winter Ball
She strides towards him, wobbling slightly in the heels she uncharacteristically wears, and he stares, transfixed. For three years he’s wanted this relationship, three years of yearning after her, three years of mishaps and rejections, three years that undoubtedly seem worth it now that he gets to not only watch her approach but be the one she is approaching. Her short dress, of length that he would normally question, highlights her beauty, drawing eyes from everyone. Her eyes, occasionally flicking to the ground to manage her footsteps, remain fixed on him for the most part, he in his rented tux with its crooked bow tie.
He waits, unsure of the etiquette in this scenario. After the shock of seeing her, a shock that hits him just as hard this time as the first hundred times, questions bombard him: Do I wait for her to reach me? After all, we are going inside and I am standing right by the door. Or do I approach and offer my arm? Is my hair in the right place, or is the wind blowing it around? Should I say something now? Wait until she’s closer? Do I tell her how beautiful she looks or wait until her moms wouldn’t hear? Am I smiling properly? Staring too much? Standing weirdly? Where do my hands go? Why am I not taught any of these things in school?
Suddenly, she wobbles, and he looks down at her heels, making sure nothing is amiss. After ensuring that the wobble was in fact due to her inability to wear heels rather than a flaw in their structural integrity, he notices that the bracelets that always adorn her right ankle are conspicuously present, clashing horribly with the rest of her outfit and setting him more at ease. She, despite her unexpected outfit, is blessedly herself, the glasses-requiring (but rarely wearing) braces-clad Harry Potter nerd he loves. Of course, the butterflies in his stomach have yet to fully abandon him, but he decides that an understated “you look great” once she reaches him and in earshot of her moms is the best way to go, with later comments building upon this foundation.
Once they enter the house, putting the corsage on proves to be another awkward time. As he fumbles with the (extremely easy) clasp he becomes hot and flustered, uncomfortable with the eyes of their moms on him. Finally, after several fails, they move on to the boutonniere. Seeing the long needle meant to hold the boutonniere in place unnerves him slightly, but he keeps his cool as the needle violently pierces his lapel, firmly clasping it there.
Stepping outside, they pose before a tree, she in her beautiful red dress, with her hair down besides a small braided crown, he so entranced by her that he forgets to complain about the photos. Countless cameras, endless clicking. Through it all, they remain connected, his hand on her shoulder, alternatively fake and real smiles flitting across their faces. Finally, when they determine their cheeks can take no more, the flashes cease, and they are permitted to escape. They hurry to her car, worried that, given enough time, the parents (now including his father) would call them back.
Entering the car, they look across at each other. She quickly leans across the center to plant a quick kiss on his lips, then starts to drive. As she drives them to her friend’s house to take even more photos, he looks over at her and knows that, for now, there is nothing more he needs.