No Worries, This Dinner is Sterile [Roderich and Braelyn]

Cooking dinner was always an exercise in caution for Roderich. He was, as usual, clad in a rubber apron (which technically was meant for lab work, but heck, it was easier to clean) and a pair of gloves. Everything was arranged neatly and systematically on the countertops and stove, all set on plates and cutting boards and paper towels, with a bottle of disinfectant not far from the meat he was currently chopping into thin pieces.

Tonight he was actually being more cautious than most, taking extra care not to cross-contaminate, because tonight Braelyn was seated nearby and would soon be eating with him. He'd done his best to make his house presentable for her, transferring the assortment of growing cultures from the main bathroom to his office (he never really used that bathroom anyway, and between the sink and the general width of the counter space he'd found it a prime spot to analyze swabs taken from various places in his house,) putting up the curtains he usually had in storage due to their ability to collect dust and pathogens, and even taking the time to do such small romantic gestures as setting some vases of flowers around, putting a CD of some Chopin impromptus on his stereo, and changing out the water filters (something he'd informed her of as soon as they'd entered the house, thinking it rather touching, personally.) He'd also dressed in one of his nicer shirts for the occasion--a thinly striped, dark blue one he normally reserved for attending conferences--which he doubted she'd take note of, but that he felt was necessary anyway.

All in all, he'd prepared for it to be a nice evening and was quite set on it turning out that way. Which meant that as much as he wished to turn and glance and smile at Braelyn at intervals as he cooked, he ought not to let his attention waver. The possibility of food poisoning was ubiquitous and serious business, after all.

Smoothing out an invisible crease in her skirt, Braelyn sat with perfect posture where Roderich had seated her. Her gaze switched from admiring the room to glancing back at the doctor as he intently prepared their dinner. Though she sat with a high chin in a proud, polite manner, inwardly she was chiding herself. She had arrived late to her and Roderich’s scheduled dinner at his house because the traffic had been bad. Though she knew that her tardiness wasn’t her fault and she had only been fifteen minutes late, she still felt like she could’ve averted the situation if she had left sooner.

Oh, well. Taking a deep breath to settle her nerves, she looked down into her lap and smoothed out a small fold. Her outfit for tonight had been an adventure in itself because she really didn’t know what to wear. After an entire hour of rummaging through her walk-in closet, and not wanting to come off as too formal, she had finally decided on a long-sleeved, light beige blouse, over a long, dark red skirt that was, in her opinion ,a perfect “twirl skirt”- though she doubted that she’d be doing any dancing tonight. In her hair was a matching red bow to her skirt and adorning her neck was a red neck bow. It wasn’t until she saw how well dressed Roderich was when he had greeted her at the door, that Braelyn felt like her outfit was acceptable. Glancing back towards him again, she again admired how very handsome he looked tonight.

She liked his home, the first thing she had noticed she had walked in was how clean the air smelt when she breathed; a fact that had calmed her a great deal because she had feared of having an asthma attack during her visit. When she had been about to mention the air quality to Roderich, he had cut her off by mentioning something about changing water filters. Not knowing what exactly he had meant by it, but guessing that by mentioning it to her he had done it as a kind gesture, she had only smiled and let her question pass. Smiling at the thought, she watched Roderich for a few more seconds with his focus undisturbed from his preparation before she began to feel slightly awkward.

Sitting straighter, she opened her lips to break the silence and said, “Are you sure that you don’t need me to help you with anything, Roderich?”

"I'm sure," he replied immediately. It wasn't that he didn't trust her to keep things sanitary--it was more of that he had a system going and her disturbing it would make him anxious, albeit unnecessarily so. Besides, he figured, she was his guest. He was supposed to be letting her relax.

He was supposed to be more conversational too, he knew. Keeping his eyes on what he was doing, he scoured his mind for something to say. He really ought to practice his small talk...

"How have you been doing in ballet?" he asked.

Ah, music--always an easy subject, especially when he was at home and didn't have to worry about some passing intern seeing him getting excited over it. Here he didn't need to concern himself with maintaining a serious appearance. Braelyn certainly wasn't someone he had to put on a face for--the fact that she'd kissed him back after his honest and awkward attempt at a kiss was proof enough of that.

Ah… so she was unneeded. In slight disappointment, she liked to help, Braelyn began to trail circles on her arm with her finger, slightly tickling the skin when Roderich spoke again. Regaining her smile, glad for the chance to break the silence, she sat straighter and said, “Very well actually. My choreographer is quite pleased that my dance partner and I have finally mastered the final piece.” Braelyn laughed slightly before she said in a slightly amused tone, “Actually it was I who couldn’t master it because every time Stephan went to kiss me, I would start to laugh.”

The ballet that she was dancing, that her choreographer had made, was of the love story between the sprits of the moon and ocean. It was a tragic love story, with the moon having to leave her beloved on earth and Braelyn had had trouble keeping a straight face when it came to the part when she, the Moon, had to kiss the Ocean, her dance partner.

“My partner’s fiancé found it humorous too.”

Smiling to herself in amusement, she innocently inquired, “And what about yourself, Roderich? Are there any developments in the orchestra?”

_{(The ballet is completely made up XD)}

"That's good," he said, finishing in cutting the meat and depositing it on a skillet. "I imagine trying to portray such a romantic gesture would have to be either very awkward or very funny. I know I wouldn't be able to pull it off."

It did seem that the only kind of acting he had any talent in was in feigning emotionlessness. When a situation required cool, professional detachment, he could portray that easily, sometimes well enough to convince himself that he didn't feel much about the matter. When it came to portraying feelings, however, such as when trying to show sympathy to an annoying patient, his attempts tended to come out stiff and stilted.

And with romance, of course, he was inevitably, shyly honest.

"Not many," he replied concerning the orchestra. "We're still working on the Borodin symphony and Hungarian rhapsody. We keep having timing problems on the second movement of the symphony, which is ridiculous because the patterns aren't that difficult, but our brass section always seems to lag behind the rest of us. I'm sure it will come together before the concert--the members of that section are just the type to slack off for weeks and practice intensely at the last minute. It drives me insane in the meantime, but..."

He sighed. "At least the Hungarian rhapsody is good. We've been playing that one for longer and the man that does percussion does a marvelous job. You've heard that whole piece before, haven't you? It's amusing how so many people have only heard the theme. I think the real beauty in the piece is how it builds up to that--that's what I like about a lot of classical music, really. The building to a climax and diminishing, instead of the repetitious constancy popular music tends to have. It's very moving."

Braelyn shrugged in response, though she knew that Roderich couldn’t see her, and said, “It can be but I find that portraying romance is so much easier than the real thing.” Pausing for a moment, she considered responding to the second portion of Roderich’s answer but thought against it; knowing her, she would say something to make him or both of them embarrassed.

Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Braelyn went over her last dance practice. Herself and her partner had executed the routine perfectly, coming to the end with precision and on count. She sighed however, with her duty as a nurse increasing and the future coming fast with her returning to school to become a cardiologist, she knew that her days with dance were numbered. Eventually, she would have to leave the profession for it to simply become a hobby. A fact that if she dwelled upon long enough, it would eventually make her sad.

Blinking with a small start, Roderich’s question brought her from her increasingly dismal thoughts and she stammered for a moment before her lips were able to form words to respond, “The Hungarian rhapsody? Yes I am familiar with it, it was a favorite to one of my professor’s in school when I was younger, he would play it often. I have to agree with you with that, the piece is quite lovely and inspiring. I am eager to watch your orchestra perform it.”

Pressing her hands together and raising them above her head for a long stretch, Braelyn once again admired the room. “I have to say, Roderich, that I am quite impressed with your home. I like it very much,” she said as she stood, having her leg beginning to get numb from the chair, and leaned against the furthest end of the counter, crossing her arms as she did, to smile in the man’s direction. “And I have to also mention, that being cooked for is an occasion I rarely get treated to. I can tell you enjoy it.” A faint blush appeared upon her cheeks as she said this, though it did nothing to diminish her smile.

"I know it isn't the most aesthetically pleasing place ever, so I'm glad," he said, washing his hands and reaching for a box of pasta noodles, gesturing to the white walls and wooden cabinets in the interim. "I don't have a lot of time to devote to decorating. That, and I want to make sure everything is easy to clean, so..."

He dumped the noodles in a pot on the stove. "The music room is probably the nicest. I ought to take you in there after dinner. I'm sure I could find some things to play that you'd enjoy."

He glanced aside at her as she leaned against the counter. He knew her clothes were clean and she wasn't close to anything, so he let her stay there. Besides, her blush was very pretty, and he felt himself reddening as well, aware that he was staring before he was able to tear his glance back to the food.

"I do," he murmured. "And I've had a lot of practice. I host a lot of the ensembles from the orchestra and cook for them. It's better than having us all go out to a restaurant--for my peace of mind, at least."

She couldn’t help but admire his modest comment; it was an answer she had expected from him. “I like it all the same. It’s a great deal larger than my condo...” she couldn’t help but trail off as she cast her glance back towards the large vicinity of the room. Upon his mentioning of cleaning, the link of some sort of similarity between their living spaces was evident, though she had noticed from the moment she had walked in. “Cleanliness I know all too well myself; I have a couple of charming ladies come to my place each day to maintain a dust free space while I dance or am working.”

The sound of poured noodles re-caught her attention towards him, as did the mention of his music room. “I would like that very much, thank you...” A darker hue of a blush adorned her cheeks. Turning to look with not much interest at the cupboard, she missed Roderich’s glance; she was too preoccupied with his casual offer to play his music for her. Though she couldn’t play a single instrument, she had tried a few but had been exempted due to her lack of skill and because of her talent for ballet, she still loved music. Where her fingers lacked, her body amplified. Every note taking her to the next step, the next position, passion expressed through dance.

Flicking her eyes back towards his direction, her expression softened. Her lips, the smile upon them had become smaller, more personal, when she opened them to reply, “Avez d'admirer un homme qui peut faire cuire” before she chuckled faintly.

_{Translation~Have to admire a man who can cook}

(fff, sorry for lateness)

"I considered hiring someone to manage the cleaning here," he remarked. "But I just...I like being able to know for sure that things are sanitized. I've pretty much set aside Saturday mornings for me to do the whole house, and that seems to work well in my schedule."

He smiled back at her with an honesty that, when it dawned on him how blatant it was, made him dip his head in awkwardness. "It's really something I learned from necessity. I had a summer job at a restaurant when I was going to medical school back in Michigan. I know all about how the cooks and dishwashers cut corners in food safety--the place was relatively upscale, and there still were instances of food being chopped on dirty counters, unwashed dishes being re-used, flies landing on everything...we even had a recurring problem of ants colonizing the coffee maker because people kept forgetting to clean it. I'm sure most of those issues didn't result in illness, but...I don't think I could get by if I went out to eat often. If I prepare the food myself, I can be certain it's safe."

He reached for a food thermometer, washed it and stuck it in one of the pieces of frying meat. After a few seconds, he removed it, flipping the pieces over. Hmm, not done yet.

“I would love to do the same, if I had the time. Outings such as this feel almost rare. Lately I’ve been so busy…” Anything else she was going to say was forgotten when she caught sight of the smile he casted back at her. She knew he cheeks were still blushing and she ignored them. She listened quietly to his personal information on the dirty little secrets of even higher end restaurants. Personally from her perspective, she had yet to file a complaint against any sort of establishment where food was involved though she’d seen it happen and more often than not, by her family to her great embarrassment. Quickly, she shook the thoughts from her mind.

Noting his precision and focus on his work, she felt compelled to inform that she had no doubts with their meal. Stepping forward a step, hands crossed behind her back, she said, “I am certain that it will be superb.” Offering a wide and bright smile, to which she knew he couldn’t see at the moment, she turned her attention elsewhere to nothing in particular. It was then that she heard her phone ring. Excusing herself, she walked over to her purse picked up her phone and glanced at he called ID. A bright bush swept across her cheeks and she quickly considered whither or not she should answer it. Before she could decide, the ringing stopped and a beep indicated that a voicemail had been left.

Putting her phone away, she returned back into the kitchen, more distracted now, and leaned against the furthest end of the counter once more. Curiosity spurred her to throw caution into the wind and, casually, she said, “If I may, but I have heard that you don’t particularly enjoy the company of the new nurse, Monsieur Francis. He told me of how he ran into you on his first day and he admitted that he thinks that you don’t like him because of it. I was wondering if it was true, if you don’t mind me inquiring?”

"Thanks," he said, and when her phone rang he paused in his movements, glancing over in mild curiosity. Hmm, had she been waiting for an important call? The way she left the room could be a polite habit, he supposed, or it could signify that she had been. At any rate, when she quickly returned, he decided not to be nosy about it.

The mention of Francis surprised him. She'd been speaking to Francis, of all people? Well, Francis was the charming, flirty type, from what he'd seen and heard. Roderich wouldn't put it past the man to approach Brae and attempt to make friends...or more.

"I've forgiven him for running into me," he said, a bit guardedly. "In truth I have mixed feelings about him due to his work ethic. He seems to have an idea of what he's doing, but he was notably late coming back when I sent him to get a sample for a fecal transplant. Probably let himself get distracted, I think."

That, and he didn't like Francis' inquires into his personal life after that incident with the chocolate. Honestly, they'd been in a professional setting, and he hadn't had a right to know. Roderich had to wonder, though, whether Brae was quite as uptight about such things as he was--what if Francis had asked her about it? Would she have told him anything?

"I never had the opportunity to thank you, by the way," he said, easing into that subject. "For the chocolates."

Braelyn blinked in surprise at the tone in his voice; it sounds somewhat restrained. From what she had seen, Francis seemed to be a charming man. A flirtatious, smooth man, but nice nonetheless. Upon hearing Roderich’s use of tone mixed with the fact that Braelyn had agreed to meet with Francis tomorrow caused a wave of slight guilt flush her cheeks. Should she tell Roderich? She knew she should, it wasn’t a date or anything with Francis and herself. It wasn’t like she was interested in Francis or anything of the sort! She was just making him feel comfortable with him being new and all… she knew how hard it could be to fit in.

“He never told me of what transpired between you after your initial meeting, but it was after sometime after that he and I met. I was on break so I offered to show him around the hospital and after we chatted for bit.” Running over the conversation she had had with the Frenchmen, she remembered of how Francis had inquired whither or not she knew Roderich; she remembered how carefully she had answered. “Interesting enough, and I pointed this out to him, that he and I both met you on our first day. He showed some interest on how well I knew you but, when it comes to my personal business I prefer that it remains my own business, so I just said that we are friends.”

Her gaze quickly shifted towards Roderich at the mention of chocolates. Chocolates? Her brow rose a bit, as did her lips slightly part, with confusion. Did she miss something here? Blinking a couple of times, embarrassment evident in her expression, she stammered and said, ”Umm... Roderich I believe you’re mistaken. I never gave you any chocolates.” A spark of curiosity, with what could possibly be an underlying layer of faint jealousy but she wasn’t sure, made Braelyn think, who could’ve given Roderich chocolates?

"I seem to have this habit of coming upon new staff," he said. "Sometimes, as with you, I don't mind talking to them. Other times, especially when I'm busy, it can be irritating--having to show someone where they're supposed to go, answering questions... I'm not sure why it's always me. Maybe I just spend more time in the hallways, considering how my specialty takes me all over the building."

Oh, thank goodness--she hadn't told Francis. Knowing that he and Brae were on the same page in this matter was comforting. Not that he could have really been angry with her had she told, but...

His own face clouded with puzzlement. "The day I met Francis, someone left chocolates outside of my door. It was one of those boxes with about twenty heart-shaped chocolates inside." Seeing that she was still drawing a blank, he sighed. "...It was probably his doing. I knew he had it in him to pull a prank like that."

He tested the temperature of the meat again, looking annoyed, then removed the skillet from the burner. The noodles followed shortly after, along with a sauce and some vegetables he'd had quietly simmering for a while. He put them all in a bowl together, mixing them and scattering some cheese on top.

"Here," he said, handing the pasta across to her. "Set that down on the table for me."

Giving the counter a brief and likely superfluous cleaning, he took a long loaf of bread and cut some pieces from it, putting them on a plate. He put the plate on the edge of the table, then went for some butter and parmesan, taking an obligatory moment to check the two thermometers monitoring the temperature inside his fridge. Placing those on the table, he mentally reviewed what he needed, recalling...oh, man, he should've asked her earlier. Darn.

"What would you like to drink?" he inquired, attempting to cover up that small faux pas by washing his hands yet again.

“Well, I am glad that I wasn’t one of those who would irritate you. I did, and still do, really appreciate that you took time from your busy schedule to speak with me on my first day. I was rather distraught from nerves and you really helped”.

Her mind was still preoccupied with trying to envision Francis presenting Roderich with a huge Valentine’s Day themed box a chocolates… the image that came to mind almost sent her into a fit of giggles if she handed been handed the warm bowl of pasta at the exact moment. Blinking once before she reacted as instructed, setting the dish upon the set table, arranging it neatly where it would be within reach for the both of them. She took a moment to inhale the dish’s delicious aroma; it certainly looked and smelt quite delectable and haven’t not eaten since early that morning had engaged slight hunger to began and gnaw at her stomach. Her mind was still abuzz with the peculiar situation that seemed to have occurred with Roderich; Braelyn could only wonder and guess as to why Francis would see fit to leave him chocolates and not say anything…

Mentally waving the hopeless thought from her mind, Roderich’s question made her turn on her heel, hands behind her back against a chair and, politely, she responded with, “I’m sure that whatever you are planning to have I will enjoy as well. I am not really particular with beverages,” and finished her sentence with a small smile.

"I wasn't as busy as usual that day," he said. "It was fairly quiet. Besides, you had a pretty sunny disposition once I started talking to you..."

She continually impressed him with just how accommodating she was, how wanting to please. It was a stark contrast to a lot of the other nurses that knew him, who took note of his rather snappish, workaholic tendencies and treated him with a certain coldness. He reckoned it was a combination of her youth and the fact that she hadn't been working too closely with him. Well, those factors and the romantic feelings that seemed to be developing mutually between them. The first two were just the more understandable, logical reasons.

"I was just going to have water," he said, thinking she deserved something a little less boring but obliging anyhow. The water was at its best tonight, at least--as he'd informed her earlier, he'd changed the filters for the occasion. He filled two glasses, placing one near her and one across from her, where he intended to sit.

Once all the plates and silverware and food were in place, he sat down, giving a slight motion towards the pasta. "Help yourself." Certainly, as his guest, she had the right to go before him.

She waited until he had seated himself and inclined for her to serve herself before she too sat, tucking her skirt neatly beneath her. Unfolding her napkin and placing it upon her lap, she thanked him politely and, since he had said for her to do so, began to fill her plate. Taking a reasonable amount of pasta, though not too much, she passed the dish along on her left side, taking care not to brush against anything, before she continued. The food smelt great, and she told Roderich so.

When her plate was filled accordingly with an amount from every dish, she began to eat. She ate slowly, taking small bites, back straight with perfect posture, elbows off the table, knife in her right hand and her fork in her left. The food was excellent, at perfect temperatures, and she made light conversation in between bites, relaxed in the comfortable atmosphere.

At the back of her mind, childhood lessons lived on through her actions of perfect etiquette and politeness. Back then, if she had performed badly or did something even slightly wrong, she was harshly reprimanded and it was made sure that she did the action properly. Although it had been years since she’s had a personal tutor for the skills of etiquette, the skills had been permanently engraved into her actions and she knew that she would never be able to break them; invisible ties and subtle examples of the life she resented.

Placing both utensils by her plate, she took a small gulp of her water, noting to Roderich that she liked the taste before gently placing it down again and taking up the dinnerware once more to finish eating. The entire time during the dinner, a smile never left her lips, even when she was eating, nor did her eyes dull from their bright gleam. She didn’t have to say that she was enjoying herself and was happy to be in Roderich’s company.

Finished, Braelyn automatically rested her fork, tines up, and her knife, blade in, with their handles resting at five o’clock positions on her plate, she made sure that no remnants remained upon her lips with the corner of her napkin before she replaced it on her lap and said, “My compliments once more, Roderich, for that was excellent! I dear say that I am quite satisfied and thoroughly impressed”.

He set his own napkin in his lap and spooned some pasta for himself, taking more pasta than she had, as well as two pieces of bread--he actually ate quite a bit on average, though his thinness wouldn't attest to that. He'd been raised in a family that valued etiquette, himself, but Brae's manners were much more refined and he found himself watching her rather curiously. He didn't know all that much about her past, aside from the fact that her parents were deceased, her father had been a cardiologist and that she was from Monaco...perhaps her family had been rich enough for her to be part of high society. That would explain the almost ridiculously controlled way she was eating. He wanted to inquire about it, but it didn't seem polite.

He kept the conversation mild, exchanging smiles and glances. She finished before him, of course, and he thanked her as he polished off what was still on his plate. Rising, he cleared the table, putting her plate and silverware in the sink for her and sticking the leftovers in the fridge.

"So," he said, washing his hands yet again for good measure. "How about I play you something on the piano?"

She didn’t speak up against him clearing the table by himself; she wanted to help but thought it would be better if perhaps she remained silent. She quickly excused herself while he was loading the fridge with leftovers to go to the washroom to fix her hair, make sure her mouth was clean, wash her hands, and to pop a mint into her mouth. By the time she returned, the table was cleared and Roderich was at the sink washing his own hands.

She was just about to ask about they were going to do next when Roderich’s inquiry answered her. Immediately, her face brightened with interest and pleasure; she had been waiting to witness his musical abilities since she had found out that he had them. Offhandedly brushing some of her platinum stands behind her ear, she responded, “I would love that very much, of course,” and extended her hand towards the remaining vicinity of the house and finished with an enthusiastic, “lead the way!”

He smiled and stepped aside to shut off the classical music he'd had playing softly in the background throughout the meal. After that, he headed down the hall, taking her hand (which was much softer than his, considering that she was more vigilant about moisturizing) and leading her into the music room.

It was still a fairly sterile-looking room, but less so than the kitchen. Here the walls were painted light blue and their monotony was broken by various paintings of nature scenes. There was a single window offering traces of the orangish sunset and leaving much of the place in shadow until Roderich bent to pull the chain of a stained-glass table lamp. He strode around the bench of the grand piano, passing a couch and a cluster of music stands, and sat down, flickering the lamp atop the instrument on as well.

"I'll find something you'll like," he declared, lifting a book that had been left open before him and flipping through it. Not seeing what he was looking for, he leaned over and picked up a few others from the hardwood floor, skimming the pages. Eventually he paused, considered, and placed a particular book on the piano's stand. He stretched, throwing his head and arms back, clenching and unclenching his fingers. He set his hands on the keys and swayed slightly, getting the tempo in his head.

Then he began to play.

He played passionately, eyes half-closed, body all in motion with the movements of his fingers. The piece was mostly memorized and he only glanced up at the music at intervals, lost in the emotions of it the rest of the time. He took care to hold and linger in all the right places, letting the last note fade for a bit before lifting his head and looking at Brae.

"Arabesque number one," he said, appearing mildly bashful, as though he'd forgotten she had been in the room. "Debussy, of course."

As his rougher hand took hers, a surge of heat rushed into Braelyn’s cheeks as she followed him further into his home. When they entered a room that was shaded light blue, her eyes duly noted the components of the room; she really liked what she saw. The fading rays of day caught her interest for a half-moment as Roderich turned on some light and shuffled with some papers. Following the kaleidoscope of different shaded light produced from the lamp, she turned her attention back onto the piano and strode over to stand the pianist.

A permanent smile was painted upon her lips as he began to play, for her. She watched him as he sunk deeper into the music, allowing it control. She found herself tapping her foot slightly in rhythm; in her mind, she imagined the moves that would coincide perfectly with the notes. She remained where she was, even if she really wanted to respond. It was beautiful… it had honestly been a while since she’d heard this sort of music. Such passion, love, enthusiasm… Braelyn felt a surge of respect for Roderich the more he played.

When he finished, her fingers were playing with her braid, a subtle smile on her lips, and she was slightly biting her lip in her relaxed state. He turned to her and she swore he looked like a bashful teenager awaiting approval for good grades; a wave of attraction for him swept through her.

She had recognized the music in fact and she responded so, “Of course…it was beautiful. Though…” a playful smile spread across her lips as she continued, “it is a true shame that you must be the one who sits here and plays, instead of being available to dance with to such beauty”.

"Dance with?"

How long had it been since he'd last danced to anything? (Well, not counting the nights home alone when he'd spin himself from one room to another to some music he had on.) Over a year, probably. The most recent occasion he could remember was when his family had opted out of hosting Christmas two years ago. That year, after he'd flown into Austria, he'd been shuttled to the home of some of his parents' wealthy friends and passed a few brief minutes waltzing with their daughter in the parlor. The woman had been a good five years younger than him and clumsy, managing to step on his feet a couple times in the midst of flirtatious remarks thinly disguised as inquiries into his work. He'd felt thoroughly awkward. Luckily, a vivid description of the herpes case he'd been treating had seemed sufficient to discourage her.

"I'm not that great at dancing," he told Brae, fiddling a bit with his shirt collar. "But if you'd like to dance with me, I suppose we could do that. I have plenty of recorded music...even some of myself with the orchestra, though the fidelity isn't spectacular."

It wasn’t until she heard his tone that she realized they that she had just asked him to dance with her. When in the world had she become so bold? Yes dancing was her passion but when it came to asking anyone other than her dance partner or someone actually from a dance company, she just didn’t do it. Well…. There was this one time when she had been still living back east and her friend had convinced her to go to a club with her but that was an entirely different story.

Tilting her head upwards in an attempt to hide her budding blush, she found some interest with the ceiling while she listened to him propose possible dance music. A frown fought with a smile on her lips, all in spite of her blush, as she returned her gaze to his.

"I, ah… it was only a suggestion on a whim. It…” Unable to find the right words, a shy or nervous chuckle escaped from her lips.

“I mean… of course I wouldn’t mind if we did and it does not matter if you are not great at it, I could easily show you some basics. It’s your choice is what I am saying,” and ended with a shy smile.

"Well," he said, managing a smile, "so long as my skill isn't an issue."

In truth, he was finding it an increasingly attractive proposition. He would be awkward at it--that was a given--but being that close to her, well...that seemed nice.

He rose, shutting off the lamp on the piano and walking back to the living room. It was a fairly suitable space, with a thoroughly vacuumed hardwood floor topped by a few soft rugs. There were a couch and some small tables along the wall, as well as a rectangular glass-topped table that he grabbed an end of as he entered, dragging it out of the way to leave an open area in the middle of the room. He went over to the wall unit then--which consisted mainly of shelves covered in books and the music competition trophies he'd won over the years--and squatted beneath where the TV was perched, fiddling with the stereo.

He skipped past a number of discs that were inside, knowing exactly what he was looking for. He selected play and straightened, facing her.

"This is from a show the orchestra did a few years back of famous waltzes," he explained. "Mostly Strauss, but a few other composers' pieces as well, including some from Tchaikovsky's ballets. I was the third chair violinist at the time, so I'm not particularly distinguishable in the recording, but..."

He took a few tentative steps forward, reaching for her hand and her waist. "...I hope I remember how to do this correctly. It's been a while..."

“No need to worry, “she said, “I am a good teacher”.

She followed him into the living room and then watched him with interest as he arranged the vicinity of the room to be more befitting their dance ambitions. Rolling up the cuffs of her blouse a bit as the music began to play; her became half lidded for a moment with the flow of music before she approached Roderich. Her back was straight, she slightly was on the balls of her feet to meet his eyes at the same level as he came to meet her and positioned his hands.

Fitting her fingers with his while gently placing her left hand on his right shoulder, cupping his muscle with her hand, to complete the closed position for a waltz. Looking up into his eyes, her professionalism for dance shining through her shyness, she quirked a smile and said, “The music is lovely and you will be fine”.

She gently raised their joined hands to be at level with their shoulders, glancing aside to make sure the position was correct before looking back into Roderich’s eyes. Although ballet was her passion, she was also well fitted and experienced at other dances such as ballroom, tango, and on the odd occasion, foxtrot. In their close proximity, Braelyn angled her face slight away from his lest their faces may touch, and in a calm voice she said, “D’accord, now lead me and I will follow and we shall see how well you dance, oui?”

(Oh geez, I'm so late. I'm sorry. *got distracted by other fandom*)

He began to move to the music, stiffly at first, with a look of concentration on his face. His steps weren't all spaced properly, but Brae was paying close attention and managed to keep her feet from being stepped on. The fact that she knew what she was doing helped a lot--as she followed his movements, he felt himself gently tugged into the correct positions, enough to jog his memory and not so much as to throw him off.

Soon his clumsiness melted away and he'd slipped into a comfortable rhythm. He became less aware of his footsteps and more of the warmth of Brae's hand, the curve of her waist and the pressure of her fingers against his shoulder. Her face was turned, but his gaze locked onto it regardless, studying her features. Without fully recognizing what he was doing, he leaned closer.

As the song wound to a close, followed by a brief round of applause, he slowed to a stop. It occurred to him then that he was inches from her cheek, and he was immediately caught between pulling back or staying there. While retreating from closeness was usually his instinctual reaction, this time his instincts seemed to be pushing the latter course of action instead. Perhaps, he thought, because they'd kissed before? But he didn't want to make her awkward now...