Rowan's big sister had to get married. Well, they were only one year apart, but she was the heir of the family, and Rowan was perfectly fine with that. He wouldn't have to deal with any responsibilities other than his own, and he had enough as it was. So, his sister was of age to be married, in fact she was even a bit old to be still single, so they thought organizing a ball would ease up some introductions and create the perfect environment to find the perfect suitor. Rowan was a bit exasperated of their parents' behaviors, but he understood they only wanted what was best for them.
And being a thirty-year-old cat lady wasn't well perceived by most of the society, quite unfortunately. It was a shame, really. Rowan had less pressure than his sister, since he wasn't the oldest, but they were in their twenties. Sure, he had a few relationships before, but they never had been serious enough to consider marriage. He wasn't a player but women liked him a bit too much for some reason.
"I can't believe they're actually doing this." Randa whined to him the evening of the event. She wasn't as comprehensive as him, and Rowan understood, considering it was her love life they were trying to deal with.
"It won't be that bad. The worst thing that can happen is old men trying to make you dance," he chuckled, and he saw the small smile she attempted to hide.
"Or having to dance with you," she retorted, and he scoffed.
"I'm not that incompetent, sister."
"Sure, you did improve since last time. I'm sure you won't step on more than two girls' toes tonight."
She laughed, and he couldn't help but join her. That probably would happen, he always had been a bit clumsy.
"All right. I'll let you prepare yourself, I have a nap to take," he smirked at her and she threw a pillow at him, which he avoided with a laugh. He exited her bedroom and returned to his own, where sleep waited for him.
Sometime later, he began to prepare himself as well, whining for the form when his mother fussed around him to make him look...
"As handsome as you were born to be." He rolled his eyes.
"Tonight is not for me, Mother. I don't understand why I must dress like this," he complained, buttoning up his crisp white shirt.
"Because why not take down two birds with one stone, darling?"
"I don't feel like taking down any bird tonight," he mumbled. "I want to find someone for Randa, ask him to go to her, and watch her get all flustered."
That earned him a light slap on the arm. "Now, I want to behave correctly tonight. Don't drink too much, and please don't hang with that Appleton girl."
He frowned. "Why can't I?"
"Because people might think you're a couple, and it's not proper."
"Not proper? It's not like we're behaving improperly, we're simply talking, and I like her. She's funny."
His mother's face twisted in a scowl. "Do not talk back to me, young man, and do as I say instead."
She was way too much strict to him, even at his age. Sometimes he regretted he didn't take that job in the city and didn't move out, but he couldn't bring himself to abandon Randa to them. She didn't deserve it.
He sighed and continued to dress, eager for her to let him go. She could be frustrating when she wanted to be.
His sister looked lovely in her dress, her hair high in a hairdo he couldn't begin to comprehend, and her eyes were enhanced with light makeup.
"Men will fall at your feet tonight, dear sister."
"Possibly, and Father and Mother will finally stop worrying about me," she sighed, before taking him in. You don't look half as bad yourself, you know. Eager to please?"
"Mother's orders. I shall burn this torture first thing tomorrow." He pointed at his bowtie, and Randa took his arm.
"The pain is worth it, little brother. Now, come on, we'll be late."
"All the better to make an entrance, if you ask me."
They made their way to the ballroom, where a lot of people were already chatting and drinking under powder and false pretenses. The room was tastefully decorated for the occasion, the chandeliers giving that intimate atmosphere, and the servants even wore masks. Their parents had undone themselves for Randa.
Rowan didn't like these festivities; he believed it was a waste of breath and energy, to pretend to be someone else for one night to receive false compliments and appreciative glances. He didn't want to live a certain way to please people he had no care for. This was why their parents obliged his sister to get married against her will, and the reason he couldn't talk to his friend, who just happened to be a woman. Why these rules, if everyone was unpleased and unhappy with them?
"What are you thinking about, Rowan?" Randa asked, and he looked down at her. They'd enter the room and were looking for their parents so they could begin to introduce Randa to gentlemen.
"Nothing, just how I wished I was in my bed instead of here in those stupid clothes." He moved and felt his tail coat brush the back of his legs.
"It'll go faster if you stop brooding. Here," she took a glass from a servant's tray. "Drink this, relax. How you can be grumpy almost all the time is beyond me."
"I'm not brooding," he refrained from gritting his teeth together.
"Aah, there you are!" Their father saluted them, and took Randa's arm and together, they disappear through the crowd, leaving Rowan on his own. Sighing, he took another cup from a tray and began to look for his friend that his mother hated.
Rowan kept being pushed around by strangers who didn't even acknowledge him. They probably didn't know who he was, and he made no attempt to let them know either. He drank the wine too fast, it was already getting to his head and vision a bit. He asked a servant to bring him water, he couldn't begin to loosen himself around these people, and he still had to find Letha, the only person he considered his friend, other than his family in this crowd. He knew her and her father were supposed to be present tonight. He sighed in defeat and gave up, deciding he'd better hide in a corner until the night was over.
He found an empty table by some miracle and sat on a comfortable chair, telling himself he wouldn't move for a while. He observed people conversing together, recognized some faces, but he wasn't the kind of person to try to make conversation unless on his parents forced him to. He wished he'd brought a book, at least he'd had something to do. Clarity slowly came back to him as he drank some more water, and he saw Randa discuss with a tall man, and it was obvious to him she was under his charm. He seemed nice, so Rowan relaxed. He let his gaze wander and suddenly caught the eyes of another man on him. Taken slightly by surprise, he saluted him out of politeness, and the other's lips widened. First thing Rowan knew, the crowd was dispersing itself to let the stranger come closer.
"May I join you?" He asked, looking down at him and the smile still grazing his lips. His hand was already on the opposite chair's back.
"Sure, feel free to join me in my boredom," Rowan answered. To his surprise once again, the man chuckled and slid in the chair closest to him. He looked at his glass.
"Only water? That might be the reason of your bored mind."
Rowan grimaced. "I'm trying to please my mother for tonight, so no alcohol to distract myself, sadly."
"Are you Rowan, by any chance, the son of the hosts?"
"Yes, I am. I'm afraid I don't know your name..."
"Brandon Appleton. I'm Letha's brother. She told me much about you."
Rowan smiled. "I didn't know she had a brother. She was supposed to be here tonight, wasn't she?"
"Sadly no. She had other matters to attend to, so I'm her substitute. I'll let her know you asked about her, she'll be pleased."
A servant walked by them, conveniently, and Rowan took two cups of wine. He offered one to Brandon.
"Here, perhaps this shall help loosen our bowties. I feel like it's getting tighter and tighter."
"Let me help." Brandon leaned closer and deftly loosened his neckwear, and Rowan couldn't help but stare at him as he felt his warm fingers against his neck. He had aristocratic features, with a straight nose and full lips. Even his eyebrows were perfect.
"So you're present tonight to support your sister?"
"Partly, and there's always entertainment," he replied, earning him a curious look but a crooked smile.
"Entertainment, you say?"
"All sorts of. The old ladies making it their mission to embarrass their husband is one, and also all the younger people eager to find someone to fumble their way with in the gardens on in an isolated room," Rowan said with a smile before sipping his wine. It was expansive one, it probably cost more than a whole month of a common man's salary.
"You believe yourself mature enough not to do that anymore?" Brandon teased him, eyes shining with amusement. His own bowtie was loosened, dangling from his neck, and a few buttons of his shirt were opened. With his slightly tousled hair, Rowan felt breathless for a few seconds. He averted his gaze to the people still surrounding them
"I believe my needs can't be satisfied such way anymore. I tell my parents and sister what they want to hear, but I..." He frowned. Why was he telling this man, someone he'd just met, all of these things? He'd kept his secret for so long, and at the first occasion, he was ready to spill everything to a perfect stranger. This was not the way to do in this society. Though Brandon didn't seem affected by his confession, instead he continued to smile with those dimples.
Music softly started from somewhere, the dances were beginning. People slowly made way for a dance floor, and Rowan watched with fondness his sister introduces the dance with the same man she was talking with earlier.
"Let me recite a poem for you, I wonder if you know it," Brandon suddenly said after a shared silence. On a calm tone, and with his bright eyes anchored in Rowan's, he began: " Then, at the point of agony and when all is beyond help, the tree's buds burst as if in jubilation, then, when fear no longer exists, the branch's drops tumble in a shimmer, forgetting that they were afraid of the new, forgetting that they were fearful of the journey - feeling for a second their greatest security, resting in the trust that creates the world."
Other couples were joining the dancefloor, linking arms and smiling at each other. Rowan tried to understand what Brandon meant by telling him that poem, what he was trying to tell him since the beginning of this conversation.
"Do you..." he started to ask, but stopped himself, unsure, but Brandon still understood and nodded.
"What if we stopped being afraid of the new, Rowan?"
He raised up, offered his hand to him.
"Would you like to dance with me?"
Rowan threw glances around, then at Brandon's open face, then his outstretched arm, ready for him. He got up from his seat and, throwing him a wide grin, joined their hands together.
The poem is taken from Yes, Of Course It Hurts, by Karin Boye.
