To an Unsolicited Mind [t.r]

8. Afterhour Waltz

December 1945
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Snow coated the city like a heavy blanket none could lift. Chiara didn't mind, she found the winter wonderland to be quite beautiful. Borgin & Burkes was nearing its close for the day, so she sat against the front windows and watched how the snow would glint in the street lights.

Due to the orange tint, it almost looked like lava.

She flinched as she heard the lock click on the door. Turning to look at the clock, it was an hour too early. "What are you doing?" She asked as she watched Tom mess about with something on the counter, though from her vantage point she couldn't quite see.

Instead of a reply, orchestral music filled the air, seeming to come from every which direction. Furrowing her brows, Chiara stood up and saw that Tom had fashioned an old phonograph.

"What's this about? In a mood of some sorts?"

He didn't answer yet again, instead he walked out from behind the counter and straight towards her. Chiara involuntarily gulped as her mouth had gone dry, nearer and nearer he grew, and she was too caught up in her thoughts to step back.

Tom held up his hand, palm upwards, "dance with me."

Blinking a few times, her gaze shifted between his eyes and the pale hand in front of her before laughing a bit nervously. "Pardon?"

"You need to know how to waltz properly if you're to attend the Yule Ball."

"Who says I'm attending?"

He clicked his tongue, "says the dress you bought yesterday." Her cheeks flushed, how did he even know about that? It seemed fruitless to ask, so with a sigh parting from her lips, she laid her hand in his.

Tom walked her through it carefully, and thank Merlin she was a relatively quick learner. Only stepping on his toes one or two times. They fell into an easy rhythm, all the while Chiara's eyes were trained on their feet as she counted her steps.

Pulling his hands away from her, he muttered for her to keep going as their feet continued to step in the dance. Digging into his pocket, Tom grabbed a cigarette and ran it along his lips to wet the tip before lighting it. As if he never left, one hand found sanctuary in hers again while the other pressed to the small of her back.

"Try not focusing on your feet so much, you should have the hang of it by now." Appearing to not hear him, Tom rolled his eyes and placed a finger under her chin, tilted her head up. "Eyes on me."

She watched as the cigarette bobbed up and down with his words. It wasn't that she thought she was going to mess up if she didn't stare at her feet the whole time, it was just... in the moment looking at Tom so closely was a tad overwhelming. The nicotine from his cigarette calmed her however, at least a little bit. The smoke warming up her face and she absentmindedly inhaled deeper.

They continued to dance for awhile, well after hours, but neither seemed to mind.

Tom thought for a moment, debating before he let the words leave his mouth. Really though, what's the worst that could happen? "Would you like to accompany me to the ball?"

Chiara didn't allow her cheeks to flush, anymore than they already were that is. Giving him a halfhearted shrug, she tried to pass her tone off as indifferent. "Well I can't exactly go with anyone else."

"And why's that?" He hadn't really thought to ask about her personal life before, it was never a concern of his. Though the more he pondered, it should've been.

"With the war effort things are strained. My family and friends alike are all over Europe. Some are still in Italy, some in France, a handful are here but I don't know where. I even know a few fled to America."

He hummed as they continued to sway at a more leisurely pace now, the orchestral music becoming white noise to them.

Looking at his lips for a moment, she hesitated as she lifted the hand resting on his shoulder. Tom's dark eyes were trained on her, but he began to hold his breath as he watched out of his peripheral vision.

Chiara raised her hand, her fingers almost shaking as she took the cigarette from his mouth and placed it between her lips. Taking a drag, she blew the smoke out of the corner of her mouth before handing it back to him. Tom raised a brow, he found the whole situation curious.

"What about you? Family split up as well?" she asked carefully, not sure if this was territory he wanted her to cross.

Flashes of the orphanage popped up in his mind, then of the summer he had murdered his father. He almost wanted to laugh but instead cleared his throat, "you could say that."

She didn't bother to ask him what he meant, which he found himself oddly appreciating. He also noted how the tip of his cigarette tasted almost like citrus. It was an odd clash with the tobacco, however he found that he didn't mind it so much.

At the very back of his mind, Tom even wondered if that was what Chiara tasted like. Heat bloomed in his chest and he chastised himself for such a thought.

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Also pleasssseeee go watch "The King" on Netflix!! It's absolutely amazing oh my lord, I've watched it seven times lol