A New Way of Living

Chapter Twelve

Author's note: I do not own West Side Story or any elements of it.

A few nights later, and Vivienne still hadn't heard from Riff since their last meeting.

She wondered if perhaps he viewed it as a mistake. A stupid error caused by nothing but desperation and wanting. But still, if she had spent the past few days thinking about nothing other than it and the past few nights dreaming it again and again, then she surely thought he must have been doing the same. Or at least, a small part of her hoped he was.

Just then, she settled into a paragraph of long meaningless words with all logic and all meaning, finding her brain click into position enough to absorb it.

Then, the door swung open and she looked towards her window, grunting to herself when she realised she'd forgotten to place the red scarf by the window to signal her desire for solitude. She leaned back in her chair, seeing Riff walk in. She straightened up then, wondering if he'd come to relive their previous meeting. He strode past the kitchen and towards her bedroom, leaning against the doorframe with a casual ease that made her envious for some reason.

"Hey," he said, his body relaxed but his face semi-serious. "Get dressed."

She stuttered, fumbling for a snappy comeback to his demand, before looking down at herself and answering with confusion, "I am dressed."

"I mean dressed-dressed. There's a dance at the gym tonight, and you're comin' with me."

She only noticed then that he looked different. His hair was combed back and he was wearing smarter, cleaner clothes with a slick jacket to match. If he wasn't so disruptive, she might have thought he looked handsome.

"I am not," she scoffed, turning back away from him towards her books.

"This ain't a request, girly-girl," she heard him reply.

"Riff, I can't. I have to study."

"My date for tonight bailed on me, so you gotta come. Believe me, you ain't my first choice."

She turned around them, raising her eyebrows at his thinly veiled insult. He let a small smirk creep across his face.

"You can dance, can't ya'?"

"Of course I can dance," she countered. "But who says I wanna dance with you?"

At her words, his smirk faltered slightly, and she felt pleased with herself.

"Look, just come with me for a couple of hours, and I'll have you back before it's too late. Besides, that scarf thing ain't even up so I'm followin' your rules. Alright?"

"I can't."

"Come on. They say a little mixin' is good for the brain."

"Oh? Did that help you with all your studying?" she asked, brow quirked in challenge.

"I wouldn't know, I got kicked outta' school," he replied, looking away briefly and dusting imaginary fibres off his collar with his knuckles. "That wasn't for lack of intelligence, mind you...more a problem of motivation. Come on, don't be such a party pooper."

They stared at each other then - a stand-off waiting to see who would break first.

"...You're not gonna leave me alone until I go, are you?" she eventually sighed.

"See, you're gettin' to know me much better," he replied, cheek lacing his voice. "Come on, get your ass up and get ready, or we'll be late. I'll be outside."

With that, she watched him turn around and go, leaving her alone in the apartment as if he hadn't even come and disrupted her evening in the first place.