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Outside two ornate wooden doors stood a couple. They can hear the chatter of the people behind it, and the muffled music. It was all hauntingly familiar.
The young man was dressed in a navy velvet suit. He would never be seen in anything of the sort in the real world, but that only proved how odd this situation was.
The girl was brilliant. Her gown layers of satin white feathers, wings open and accepting of their fate. Her long white gloves were adorned with iridescent jewels,of which he couldn’t make out. The glow of the lights cast a faint halo around her. To Michael, she truly was an angel.
“Are you ready to go in?” she asked.
It was then who he realized who he was with. “Allison?” he said.
“Hm?” the girl tilted her head. “What?”
Michael wasn’t sure how he found himself here, with a girl he hadn’t spoken to in years. “What is this? Why are you with me?”
Allison’s smile stayed, but her eyebrows raised in confusion. “You said you’d take me dancing tonight.” She gestured to her clothes. “We dressed up and everything.”
Michael eyed the doors. Is that what we’re doing? “Oh,” he replied dumbly.
“You promised,” she said, straightening her posture and looking up at him. “We can’t back out now.”
"I don’t know about this…” Something inside him made him feel hesitant to open the doors. This felt off. Where did they get these clothes? How come he had no idea what day it was? This wasn't something they did together normally, right? Surely he would have remembered.
Allison grumbles. “Just- follow me, alright?”
She grabbed his hand before he could say anything one way or the other.
“Come on.” She pushed open the door, and he reluctantly followed.
A large ballroom stood before them, glazed wooden floor and deep blue curtains set around floor to ceiling windows. They peek out into the blackened sky dotted with white stars. Golden chandeliers glowed with a bright white that hurt his eyes to look at for too long. At one end of the hall, a full band stood atop the stage. Brass, Violins, A pianist on a pure white grand piano. They soothed the crowd with numbers that pulled at Michael’s heartstrings and reminded him of bygone summer afternoons. It was something that spoke to him in a way little music could.
There was conformity amongst the people on the dance floor. They all kept to themselves mostly, faces blurred in the crowd. No judgment, barely any an interaction save for the stray brushing of arms, and in most cases a pardon would suffice. There might have been many people, but the pair couldn’t be more alone.
The dancers were paired off, two opposing lines facing each other. Men to the left, women to the right. This is how it started every evening. Michael was quick to dismiss the sight of an unknown building and a former lover as components of an odd dream, but looking around the ballroom hundreds of memories, seemingly all taken place here, were quick to flood his mind. Whatever this was, it was very real.
Allison had already taken her place at the end of the line. She was still, face turned towards the music.
Michael thinks about how she always used to dance. How she had memorized the whole routine of Asuka Furutani. At the time, he passed it off as some desperate grab at validation. He wasn’t into that scene anyways. But there was something about her movements that were so lightweight, carefree. Lost in her own whimsy. He doubted she even knew he was there. He felt a pang of jealousy, but couldn’t place why. Michael never cared for dancing. Hell, he didn’t even go to his senior prom. It was all fake anyways.
Which is what made it all the more strange that the scenario he came back to every night was that of her in his arms.
Michael moves into his place across from her. She greeted him with a smile.
The pairings around them stepped closer, and so they too, embraced. The overwhelming scent of rose made Michael want to gag. Everything was just too suffocating.
He placed one arm around her waist. He is an anchor, keeping her from wandering eyes, straying too far. He felt the touch of her hand on his shoulder. Such a gesture would once send a chill down his spine, but he barely acknowledges it now. All is a formality.
The music began and they start the three-step. Michael leads. He always did.
Allison had kept her eyes closed as of late, her movements as beautiful as they were erratic. But she remained in perfect step with her partner, and settled down if the song dictated.
There is a familiarity to the way they push and pull. He would let her go and send her out, one pirouette after another. He watched her hair twirl round and the skirt unfurl. For a moment, it was almost too perfect. But then she would return, pulled into the rhythm like a ship rocking with the pull of the tide.
In the moments their eyes met they shared what they could not say in words. There was a longing in her expression, doe eyed and lips pursed, waiting for an answer he did not have.
But now he wondered if that wasn’t what it was. As they were together night after night, it felt like more of a learned helplessness on the side of his partner. Alas, he could only speculate, as she was not one to drop hints.
“Aren’t you going to say I look beautiful?” she smiles up at him, with a playful tug at his collar.
Michael clears his throat. He thought they’d abandoned the pointless small-talk. Sometimes it was better to just get lost in the music. “Why would I tell you that?” he answers. “I don’t think I want to, especially now that you told me to say it.”
Allison’s expression falls. “God, you’re so uptight,” she sighs. “I’m just having a little fun.” She leans back carelessly, and he follows as they dip to the floor.
Michael does not respond, and as the two regain balance he tries to recall what exactly about all this bothers him.
They’ve done this dance before, and Allison had certainly behaved worse in the past. Michael can remember one particular instance some time ago. The music had felt as if it would never end. It was dance after dance, and his partner quickly became fatigued. She complained of sore feet. She wouldn’t talk to him like she normally did, instead dragging her feet relentlessly across the floor.
“Could we stop for a second,” she heaved, “I need to catch my breath.”
“You know we can’t do that,” he responded curtly. Her remarks were starting to shave away at his psyche. “Lean into me if you have to.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“I don’t get why you’re being so childish.”
“Aren’t you tired too?” she asked. “We can sit for a moment outside. It’ll be good for both of us.”
“I’m not tired,” Michael answered casually. This was a lie, he was always tired.
“Then I’ll go, it’ll just be a moment-”
“No-” he stuttered.
The girl looked bewildered.
“You can’t…” he muttered softly. She doesn’t understand, Michael thought. He has already lost her once, and the hurt fractured him into something he couldn’t comprehend. Now was not the time. They were finally together, happy. He couldn’t lose that again.
“Michael, I want to leave,” she tried again, a tinge of fear in her voice. She loosened her hand from its clasp in his.
“Allison, don’t,” Michael’s voice dropped, and his grip instinctually tightened around her wrist. “I don’t want us to be like this.” He’s desperate now. “You understand, right?”
“Let me go!” she cried, frantically pulling away. Nearby dancers begin to look over, cast concerned glances.
Michael couldn’t hear his thoughts over the swelling of the music. If only she’d just-
Time seemed to slow as she broke free from his grasp. The violins echoed that of his sorrow as she ran off into the crowd, and there were disgruntled shouts and cries from other people. Michael stood on the dance floor alone. You ruined this, a voice tells him. You always do.
It didn’t take long before these moments of disjunction began to seep into the fantasy. A comment here and there, more or less well meaning, that would stay with him and send Michael near spiraling, to the point where he might miss a move and step on her toes. A mishap that should have just faded into the background and into his subconscious. But they burned, hot with anger and shame.
Even Allison knew that what they’d become was something monstrous. But she had chosen to become blind to it. This dance was a farce, and she reveled in the fact. Michael watched as his partner became prone to fits of mania, her rampant laughter making it harder for him to focus. This was all some game to her, wasn’t it?
“Why are you laughing?” he would ask.
“I mean look at this!” She gestured to the rest of the room. “What’s not to laugh about?!”
It just looked like the ballroom they always danced in. The same music, the same nonexistent people. “I don’t see how this means anything.”
“Exactly! This place is devoid of it because it's yours! Isn’t that wonderful?”
Michael felt a pang of guilt. His apathy had created this place. Every inch was masterfully designed, a twisted daydream that said, ‘You made me this way'. Why did it feel so wrong? Why was he subject to the very same pain that brought him here?
Because, the larger part of him said. This is all you are, and all you will be. There is nothing left between you two but memories.
“I mean look at us.” Allison pulled at the tiers of feathers layering her dress. “We’re perfect, aren’t we?”
“So why do you keep going?” he asked.
“Well,” she chuckled to herself. “Once you start, you can’t exactly stop, can you?”
Michael did not question her further. The two kept on dancing. He knew that she could walk away. There had always been an element of choice to their game. The dread of knowing exactly when was another.
They hadn’t spoken all that much tonight. Whether it was Allison’s disgruntled attitude, or the increasing detachment Michael was starting to feel towards this place was unknown. There were a thousand apologies he had prepared in his mind, from the boy he once was, and the man he could never be. But would she even listen?
Michael knew there weren’t many ways to mess up a waltz, and that brought him comfort in the beginning. Now he knew this structure was there for a reason. Things wouldn’t change, no matter what he said to her. So when the songs began to fade out and only silence was between them, he could hear the fragments of his failures, calling out to him.
Because she doesn’t care. You did this to her, and you don’t even feel shame.
“Michael!” a voice calls, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“Huh?”
Allison stands in front of him, concern written on her face. "You totally zoned out. You had this glassy look behind your eyes and you stopped moving.”
“Oh…” his voice trails off. How much time had passed? How long was he trapped in that moment for?
“Are you okay?” she asks, hesitantly.
“I’m fine,” he says. “Does this happen a lot?”
“It does happen pretty often,” she admits, with a bit of a wince. “I mean- you had gotten pretty good at the whole poker-face no emotion thing and I thought ‘wow,’ but now...” she plays with the fabric of her skirt, then looks up. “It’s not even a front, is it?”
“I’m not sure anymore,” Michael’s voice feels hollow. He’s just waiting for the moment where he wakes up. Surely it will be soon.
“Well, you’re all I have, so you can’t go and give up on me,” she says. “I can’t be the only one dancing.”
“No promises, but I’ll try.”
“Good,” she replies. She wraps her arms around his neck and leans in. Her breath is hot in his ear. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve never felt like this before,” she whispered. “I think this might be heaven.”
No, Michael thinks. We’d surely be happier if it was. “What do you mean?”
“We get out here and I feel like I’m floating, like flying. And I feel physically lighter, and suddenly all my problems just melt away,” she says. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
“Um, something like that, yeah.” Internally, he lets out a sigh of relief. She’s alright, I’m fine, nothing has changed. Nothing has to change.
“I mean, all you have to do is let it go. Everything. At least, that’s what I did,” she said.
The two were dancing to a fairly upbeat, high tempo song, but Michael still felt dazed. Allison keeps talking, to fill up the space, but it’s all in one ear, out the other to him. Where was he again?
“I think this must be how it feels to be a star,” she sighs, looking out towards one of the windows. “I wish I was a star.”
“Allison, I-” Michael stuttered. He can feel his insides being pulled apart, the voices of doubt screaming not to continue.
What is even the point? None of this is real. Any hope of change would disappear with the morning light. He would wake up from this, and begin again tomorrow like he always did. This won't fix her. Fix me.
I’m not strong enough for this, he thought. He didn’t want to take these weakened fragments of himself and begin the process of putting them back together. The feeling of change was always the worst. A selfish part of him didn’t even want to try. Trying meant opening himself up, meant pieces of him were more liable to chip off and fall apart, gone forever. What if he wasn’t the same? He could be worse than this if he changed. Changing made room for fatal flaws.
Here, they were perfect. He had control, even if it was only over the steps he took and the words he said. They did not need to change. If Allison cared enough to stay, surely he’d have enough empathy not to shatter their world out of his own selfish interest. She was afraid too, just as lost as he was. He was a fool to not have realized sooner. She, too, was putting up a front.
“I’m sorry,” he spits out, and the words are caustic. It burns because he’s wrong and always has been, and finally admitting that feels like the flesh is burning off of him. You’ve ruined this! The voice screams. Look at what you have done!
Allison doesn’t respond. There is a forlorn expression on her face.
“I’ve ruined us,” Michael says, and his voice is quieter than he wanted it to be. “You said it yourself, we’re only here because of me.” Because I won’t change.
“Don’t say that, it’s not true!” she interjects. “I’m happy here, with you.” There is a hesitance to the last part, as if she wasn’t even sure of what she was saying. She looks up at him with a face that reads 'did I do that right?'
Michael feels her words lay heavy on him like lead weights. They crush his ribcage, lungs collapsing in on itself. He shouldn’t have said anything. She shouldn’t be staring at him like he’s the last person on earth. Like they weren’t totally lost. We shouldn’t have come here.
He doesn’t have the courage to ask if she’s okay. Because he already knows the answer.
She wipes at the tears dotting her eyes with a gloved hand. “At least we’ve done all we can.”
“But that’s wrong,” he chokes out. Michael has stopped the dance in an act of defiance, a little boy throwing a fit. “I could change. And I want to, I really fucking do!” He feels his sense of control slipping out of his grasp, heartbeat thumping in his ears. “God, why does it have to be this hard?”
Tears silently streak down Allison’s face. “I know,” she whispers. “But you’re trying, you’re doing your best, and that’s..." she sniffs. "what really matters.” She steps closer, carefully, and wraps her arms around him. She shudders with every unstable breath, but does not let go.
Michael feels the heat of her body close to him, reminding him of the warmth of the summer sun on his back. His nails feel more like claws digging into her, holding on with all he has left. “I’m so, so sorry.” Seeing her this distraught fills him with a keen sense of dread.
“Shh… We’re okay, we’re alright.” She begins to slowly rock back and forth, humming to herself. He can barely hear it. The couples around them are swaying to the rhythm of a slow dance.
Michael knows this is wrong. He doesn't feel lighter. Right now he was the heaviest he had ever been. Why did his admission not remove an ounce of the weight? He hangs his head over her shoulder. Why can’t I be better?
After what feels like eons of silence, the tears subsided. Allison looks back up at him, with a tired, sad smile. “We both know it’s a losing game, Michael. But you have to keep hoping. For the both of us. You can do that, right?”
Now Michael can feel the tears forming. “You’re my hope,” his voice is shaky and uneven. “You’re my star, Allison.” He takes a breath in, but the words catch in his throat. Could he really live without her?
Allison exhales softly. “We will be fine,” she says, more as a re-assurance to herself than her partner. "We always are." When she lets go, Michael goes numb. Surveying her face, she has seemingly returned to a blank slate. He can’t decipher what she’s thinking.
The couples around them begin to split apart, forming their separate lines. The final dance of the night. He blinks away the tears and steps a ways back.
She curtsies, taking the folds of her dress in hand and tilting her head down. He can only see her eyes now.
He bows, low to the floor, and when he resurfaces, offers his hand. She accepts. The two come closer.
A new song has begun. One he’s never heard before. But they resume their dance as if nothing has passed between them. Michael closes his eyes, listening to the crooning of the trumpet melody. The cry of the solitary piano. He feels the melancholy overwhelm him, and he loses himself in it once more. For one more night.