Lead & Follow

Assemblé

Part 1: Lead

Sixth Movement, Assemblé

assemblé, also called Pas Assemblé, (French: "step put together"), in classical ballet, a movement in which a dancer's feet or legs are brought together in the air and the dancer lands on both feet. It can be done front, back, dessus, dessous, and so on.

(From Britannica[dot]com)

🖤🤍

Two people who never presumed to reunite come together under a familiar canopy of string lights, and around you servers begin to fill the space with glimmering tea candles. 

The mood is more than a little romantic, and you nurse a chilled glass of sparkling water. Pretending to busy yourself with the way bubbles effervescence against dwindling cubes of ice is hardly enough to ignore the heat of Baxter's poignant stare.

"We meet again," he remarks fondly between sips of black coffee pulled from a porcelain teacup. The way it clacks against a matching saucer feels loud in the empty space, and you think you've never seen this country club so unoccupied. 

It takes some time for a waiter to bring out your order, and it's because you've caught them just before the dinner rush; nightly preparations begin in the background, but, for the most part, you and Baxter feel alone. 

"I used to come here with my parents every now and again," he informs as he rests his chin in the palms of his hands. You find it cute that he remembers to keep his elbows off the table cloth, even so. "Though the only part I ever welcomed was the dancing."

"That makes sense for a professional dancer," you observe with fondness, and you chance a glimpse of his expression. His gaze is sentimental, and the corners of his eyes crinkle with warmth. 

"I've won a competition or two, but it's more of a passion than a vocation," he says modestly as if it's enough persuasion to forget his skillful display on the dance floor.

"It's a good thing I didn't realize I was in the presence of such acclaim when you asked me to dance," you tease. "I might have really tripped."

You'll choose to ignore the irony of your words; you didn't trip, but you surely fell in his presence.

"I would have caught you," his response is effortless, sincere. "Even if we hadn't shared a dance, it was hard to ignore the best dressed teenager in the entire venue."

Your grip on your icy glass makes the skin of your palm cool, and you bring it up to soothe your warming cheeks; you stumble in attempts to refuse his claims, "T-That's hardly possible."

"So you'll understand my disbelief when I realized that enchanting flower girl was proven more than a pleasant dream," his eyes are half-lidded, and his words are saccharine sweet. "A vision in black and white."

You bite your lip, and remember that Ma had suggested you wear your nicest sundress–black lace off the shoulder, and an ivory skirt embellished with dark, swirling florals. Her intuition had been spot on, if it'd left an impression this enduring.

You clear your throat, but your tone is persistently squeaky, "W-What's your thing with black and white, anyway?"

The topic change does little to conceal your flush, and Baxter sighs somewhat adoringly. If you keep this up, he fears that scarlet might bring an untimely end to his neutral-toned preference. 

"Care to guess?" he retorts slyly, and he relishes in the expression of vexation which passes over you. "It worsened with convenience. Formal events often lend themselves to the color scheme, but I wonder if you can predict why it started in the first place?"