Archive of Our Own

You stood in your room, eyes wide as you stared into the mirror hanging in your walk-in closet. "You think this is ok?" Your eyes shifted to the reflection of your roommate.
"You look fine!" Rey reassured for the nth time this evening. 
"Maybe I shouldn't go. I mean, I've gone dancing before. But this... this is almost formal. And I hardly know anything about the fashion style. I don't even know the dance steps." You fiddled with the white-framed collar of your navy-blue shirt-dress; tilting and turning to look at yourself from different angles.
"I'm telling you, you look fine. --- Great, actually! Now hold still so I can pin the last curl."
 
Not even a second after, the doorbell rang.
"Oh my god, he's early," you panicked.
Rey grabbed you by the shoulders, letting out a frustrated sigh. "Deep breath in. Long breath out." She gave you a quirked //do it!// stare, and you did as told.
"Good girl. Now stay here. I'll let him know that you'll be downstairs in a few." Rey geared towards the door of the hallway. At the threshold she paused. "And stop messing with your dress! You look great!" She squinted at you over her shoulder and your hands fell like lead to your sides.
 
You chuckled. What Rey lacked in height, she made up for with a hefty side of fierce. Fierce and brutal honesty; and like the true friend she was, she wasn't afraid to use tough love on you. 
Just like a few days ago. When she had overheard you turning him down to go out for dinner and dance. 
The threat "If you don't call him back, I will! And I'll tell him that you said yes!" was only because Rey knew that you liked him. 
How she had found out was a mystery to you. 
Not that she was wrong. 
 
You did like him. 
Quite a bit.
Ever since you had started working at Ren & Partners' Corporate Law Firm, in fact. 
The thought that he would ask you out, however, never crossed your mind. Ever. 
Not with the way he always seemed to act around you: cold, distant, granting you little attention whenever you dropped off what needed dropping off; conversations of what needed getting done always short and to the point. 
 
There had never been any small talk, no unnecessary calls into his office, no hints of him liking you in any way. Only a few icy-blue stares and hardened, no-smile expressions. And even those didn't last long, him usually quickly returning his focus on whatever he was working on at the time.
Indifferent was a good way to describe his behavior.
Indifferent and cold.
 
Yet, for whatever unexplainable reason, you liked him. 
A lot! 
 
It wasn't just because he was handsome. 
(Tall, slender, blue eyes, red hair, fair skin, everything in balance. ) 
Nor was it the way he dressed. 
(Proper fitting suits, always creased the right way, and always the right tie with the right shirt.) 
And it definitely was not the way he behaved. 
(Distant, cold-shouldered, indifferent.)
 
 
It was... 
 
...something else. 
 
An unexplainable draw. 
 
 
Like he exuded an energy that was more than just power and confidence. Something that didn't stem from an awareness of his looks and his intelligence; like it did with some of the lawyers around the office. The type that knew that they could get whatever they wanted with just the wink of the eye. Who knew their looks combined with surefire attitude worked in their favor. 
That was definitely not him. 
 
There was a mysterious calmness to him, and it had an unexplainable pull on you.
You just never said anything; always hoping that your quick glances, whenever he walked past your desk, went by unnoticed. 
 
And they did. For the most part. Only twice he had caught you staring at him. And twice you were met with drawn down brows and the tiniest of scoffs. Unnoticed by his co-workers, but not by you. 
 
So him asking you out had indeed been a complete surprise. Especially to something like this: an evening of swing dance and jazz. And especially with the attached "wear proper dance attire" request in tow.
 
So now you stood in your room, wearing a navy-blue, white-framed collar, a-line shirt-dress, and vintage heels. Your hair was pinned into neat curls with an off-center victory roll and a gorgeous hairpin to the side. The whole look rounded off with matching makeup: bright red lips, defined brows, and dark mascara. You had even dared some eyeliner, with just a hint of wings. The fact that it had taken nearly twenty minutes to apply said eyeliner was a secret you intended to keep. Forever! 
 
If it hadn't been for the cellphone in your hand and the flat screen on your dresser, and a couple of modern framed Marvel prints on the walls, one could have easily assumed that you were in fact from the great era of swing dance, and jazz, and rhythm and blues. A decade past Ellington and Smith, maybe somewhere around Holiday, Crosby, Horne, Piaf, Fitzgerald, and Cole.
 
And yet, you doubted every small detail. Was this the right kind of dress? Should you have worn a more formal gown? Maybe with sequins? What about the hair? And are the heels too modern? Or too simple? Is the makeup too much? Stockings? Should you have worn stockings with a just-below-the-knee length a-line? The research had said that women from that era usually wore stockings. A modesty type of thing.
 
You panicked again. "He'll probably think, I look like a fool," you whispered to yourself.
"No, he won't," Rey's voice snuck in from behind and you jumped. 
"I should wear stockings," your mouth twisted. "Right?" 
"Girl. You. LOOK. GREAT!" Rey huffed out a breath with the last word. "Now go! He's waiting."
"I know. I know." You hurriedly gathered your lipstick and mascara, and stuffed the items, along with your cell, into a small purse. "Does he... does he look good?"
 
Rey shrugged. 
"What that does *you shrugged your shoulders* mean?"
Rey shrugged again. "He kind of looks like you told me. You know, suit and neat hair. Just ... fancier?"
Your eyes went wide again. Another glimpse in the mirror, you could feel the blood rushing from your face, a bit of nausea crawling to the pits of your stomach. "Oh god. I'm going to look like a fool next to him." 
"No, you won't! Trust me!" Rey pointed to the door and, when you didn't move, started shoving you towards the hallway.
 
You got to the end of the hallway, ready to make your way down the stairs when you caught a glimpse of him in the mirror by the front door. He stood proper and tall, checking out the pictures hanging on the opposite wall.
 
He indeed looked like he always did. 
Neat and well groomed. 
Except today, the dark-charcoal three-piece he had chosen to wear sat looser than his usual business attire. It almost looked a size and a half too big on him, especially the pants. But then you remembered your research, and you realized that that was the style way back then; when swing and jazz were in their golden age, and everyone looked like they were ready to go to some formal dance or club 24/7.
 
You leaned to get a better look at his reflection, noting the two-tone wingtips, and the fancy coat hanging over his arm. Then your eyes trailed to his hair and you couldn't help an inaudible gasp. 
 
Usually, he wore it slicked back, all in one direction. 
Tonight, he had opted for a left-sided part, making him look a bit like Gable or Valentino, except with red hair. The change wasn't that big but somehow it made your heart skip a beat or two. 
 
 
Good god,--- he was handsome. 
 
Old Hollywood handsome. 
 
Not that looks were the most important thing, but today,... today he looked ... perfect, and you... you weren't so sure anymore.
 
 
You could feel what little confidence was left within you whittle away.
"You're still up here?!" Rey yelled from behind, making you jump again, and him - in turn-  look up, a barely noticeable smile on his face. "She'll be right down, Armitage," Rey called out from over your shoulder, and he nodded, waiting, his smile a little wider after that.
 
"What are you waiting for?" Rey whispered.
"I don't know. He looks...," You glanced at him. "And I look..." your gaze dropped to your shoes.
"You look amazing! Now go!"
You didn't budge.
"Go, or I will carry you down these damn stairs!" Rey cocked her head with a dead-serious expression and you knew she wasn't kidding.
 
The first step took the longest, your heart picking up speed with each consecutive one. Him still looking at you while waiting didn't help. By the time you reached the last step, there was a noticeable tremble in your hands.
"She's just nervous because she doesn't know the dance steps," Rey blurted out from behind you, and he quirked a brow.
"Thanks, Rey!" Your lips pulled into a twisted frown.
"Just being honest. Have fun, you two. Curfew is... whenever." Rey disappeared to the living room, laughing. 
 
 
Damn her. 
 
Damn her and her brutal honesty.
 
 
You squeezed your eyes shut and hung your head, your cheeks becoming increasingly warmer. All you wanted to do right now was to disappear. 
It was already enough that you were nervous about going out with him. So Rey spilling the beans on your lacking knowledge of swing dance didn't aid the situation.
 
You felt him curl his fingers around your hand, squeezing lightly. "I'll teach you," he whispered, squeezing your hand again. 
Somehow, those words -coupled with his touch- rebooted your courage. Your eyes opened, another second before your head tilted up to look at him. Softened blues and even softer smile greeted you and you nearly forgot to breathe.
 
"Hi," he whispered and you managed a thin "hi" in return. 
He chuckled. "You look cute."
"Cute?" 
 
There must have been a hint of //oh no// on your face, mixed with //cute wasn't what I was going for// because the next words you heard were "I meant beautiful", right before he pulled your hand up to his lips for a wispy kiss on the back.
 
You gulped.
A thought flashed through your mind.
Just a fraction of a second of doubt.
Was this real or a dream?
There was a desperate need to pinch yourself.
 
"You ready to go?"
No reply.
"Y/N? Are you ok?"
"Uhm what....oh ...yes... Yes! Sorry, just thinking. Uhm... I... I wasn't sure which era you meant when you said proper attire, so... I hope this is ok." You smoothed out the fabric of your dress and waited.
He gave you a slow once over and smiled. The repeated "beautiful" from him was repaid with an abashed smile from you. And a whispered "thank you".
 
"Do you have a coat?" His brows contracted with that question, and your eyes widened in surprise.
"Is it that cold outside?"
"It's a little chilly."
"Oh... Oh... I can go get my jacket real fast. If you don't mind waiting."
"That means you'll have to wait another hour before she comes back downstairs," Rey butted in on her way to the kitchen; winking at you like she expected some type of reward for pointing that out.
 
 
Your cheeks flushed again. 
 
Why did she have to keep doing that?
 
 
"Let's ... Let's just go." You quickly reached for the door. You were sure, if you didn't get moving now, Rey was going to start blabbering about how you had had a crush on him since day one, and you weren't ready for that kind of exposure. 
 
"You can wear mine if you like." Armitage held up his coat with an encouraging nod before you could step outside, the cool air already giving you goosebumps. "I'm warm enough in the suit," he nodded again when he noted your apprehension.
Another rather chilly second and you surrendered. The fact that his coat was nearly a foot too long procured another chuckle. From him. 
 
You scrunched your nose and stuck out your tongue. More courage seemed to have found its way back to you. You pulled the coat tight, pacing to the sidewalk, hailing a cab. When you failed to flag one down, he came to your aid. With a snicker.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing." He held a lingering gaze, and you felt your heart pick up the pace again. Then he snickered, again.
 
 
"Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"Smirking."
"I can't help it."
You rolled your eyes. "Whatever."
"What? I really can't. You're... you're cute." That statement came with a quirked brow.
You shook your head in disapproval.
"Alright." His face became serious.  "You're beautiful. And cute. And..."
 
 
The cab honking interrupted him. 
Damn.
Out of all the times...
No matter. You swiftly moved past him into the backseat of the cab, him joining you, another snicker in tow.
 
 
"The Renaissance," he instructed the cabbie and you raised an impressed brow.
"I thought we were going swing dancing."
"We are."
"Isn't that usually at some club."
"Usually. This is more like a booked event."
Oh shit. "So... a dance dance?" Your brows contracted with worry. 
"You'll see."
 
 
Ten minutes later, the cab arrived at the Renaissance; a grand hotel so massive, it stretched nearly as long and wide as two football arenas side by side. A late 1910s remnant and Waldorf-Astoria ringer. One of the few hotels that had survived the tight grasp of the Great Depression; only because it had been declared a landmark just at the cusp of.
Definitely not the place you had expected he'd take you to.
Definitely not the place you felt dressed for.
 
You wished he had told you that this was a booked event. Booked was different from going to a club. Booked usually meant evening gowns and tuxedos and fancy invitations. Expensive jewelry and expected high-class etiquette. One million dollar vibe. And likely heated political and economic debates. None of which you felt prepared for. 
 
"I don't think, I'm dressed for this," you gulped when you peered out the door. A couple of women- clad in long, sequined gowns- were making their way up the wide stairs, both looking like they belonged right into some Gatsby themed party.
"You look beautiful." He got out of the cab and paid the cabbie, then stretched his hand towards you. 
 
You leaned and peered past him; more people in fancy evening attire strutting up the stairs. He looked back over his shoulder to see what had you hesitate, then heaved his chest. "Do you want to go back?"
Your attention shifted to his face. "No. --- Maybe. --- I don't know."
"Don't worry about them. You look gorgeous. In fact, you'll fit right in." He smiled, his blues profiling you. 
 
You took a deep breath in, then slowly edged towards the door. He wiggled his hand, and you scrunched your face, sliding your hand into his with an abashed smile. A tug and you finally made it out of the cab. 
 
 
With a bit of a stumble. 
 
Right into his chest.
 
Your face at least. Your hands grasped whatever fabric they could get a hold of, and you stayed clinging on for a few seconds. 
 
Just... 
 
a... 
 
few... 
 
seconds...
 
God- he smelled fantastic.
 
 
"Everything ok? Legs working ok?" He chuckled.
So did you. Into his suit jacket. "Yup." You pulled away, straightening out, and he held out his arm for you to hook in. "So fancy," you giggled.
 
He led you up the wide stairs of the Renaissance, an attendant greeting you at the oversized glass doors and asking for invitations. Armitage pulled two gold-lettered cards from his suit pocket and handed them over. There was a raised brow at you, and you gulped.
 
"Don't worry," Armitage whispered in your ear when he felt you tense up. "You look beautiful," he repeated, then nudged his shoulder against you to get moving past the entry.
 
You couldn't help the dropped jaw once you entered the lobby. You had only ever seen this place from the outside; pictures of lobby and halls only ever on the internet.
Grande pomposity was nearly an understatement. 
Dark marble columns stretched from intricately patterned floors to gold stuccoed ceilings. The walls, too, were covered in dark marble, accent lighting throughout. The marble itself seemed veined with gold. As did the edges of doors and the grand staircase's railings. 
 
Everything was decorated with furniture and sofas so luxurious you wondered if anyone was even allowed to sit in them. Let alone touch. Even the front desk seemed somewhat unreal: dark wood highlighted by the golden glow of overhead and table lights. The entire lobby, in fact, seemed consumed by that glow. 
So much so that it felt like you had stepped back in time. 
Or maybe into some kind of dream.
 
"Your coat?" A voice pulled you from the moment.
"What?"
"Your coat, Miss." A man in formal wear repeated, waiting for your ok. You nodded and he gently pulled the coat from your shoulders, handing you a small, numbered chip a second later. 
 
You tucked the chip into your purse, then peered around, noting Armitage smiling at you with a softened gaze. "I take it, you've never visited this place." 
You just nodded in response, peering around again, gulping again, just now noticing the small groups of people standing around, each group dressed to the nines in tuxedos and sequined dresses; everyone in deep conversation. Million dollar get up it seemed. And million dollar conversations.
"You're still worried, aren't you?" Armitage slid his hand into yours, squeezing lightly. 
You sighed, confirming with another nod, and he pulled your hand to his lips.
 
"Hux. Didn't think you'd show," a man interrupted before Armitage could place another kiss. Dark-eyed and dark curled, the stranger gave Armitage a smirked once-over, and then smiled at you. "And with a date."
"Surprised they allowed you back in here, Dameron," Armitage's brow lifted. 
There was a short, silent stare-off between the two men, then they laughed and shook hands, and you stood surprised. 
 
You had never seen Armitage laugh. Not like this. Sincere; but a hint of coldness remaining. If they weren't friends, they were at least colleagues of some sort. Or maybe old university acquaintances. 
 
"Y/N, this is Poe Dameron, from Organa and Solo Law. Dameron, this is Y/N. She's our new administrative assistant." 
"Ahhhh..., Y/N. Lovely to meet you," Poe grinned, swiftly kissing the back of your hand. You giggled at the chivalry. "Nice to meet you, Mister Dameron."
"Please. It's Poe. Only time people call me by my last name is when I'm in the courtroom. --- Or when they lose exuberant amounts of money to me." Poe's eyes wrinkled at the corners with the last statement before shifting back to Hux.
 
"Alright. --- Alright. That's enough," Armitage warned with a glare. "Let's not start with stories, or I just might let it slip why they actually kicked you out last time."
"Are you blackmailing me, Hux?" Poe stood with a pretended shocked face, and Armitage just responded with one of those icy stares.
Poe squinted, then laughed again. 
Another handshake with Armitage. 
Another kiss on your hand. 
With a wink.
 
"I think your date is waiting for you," Armitage gestured to a woman in a green dress staring your way; a tinge of warning in his voice when Poe's lips lingered just a little too long on your hand. The tone not going past you. Like displeasure wrapped in jealousy. And somehow it made your stomach tingle.
"Just being friendly. Hope you brought enough money," Poe wiggled his brows.
"Not tonight. Tonight I'm here with Y/N." Armitage smiled at you with those words, and the tingling sensation shot from your stomach through the rest of your body. He was here with you. 
 
 
With... 
 
...you. 
 
 
And by the sounds of it, he didn't plan on leaving your side.
 
"Ah yeah? Or are you just afraid of losing again."
Armitage's lips curled into a sour frown. 
"OK. Ok. No Poker tonight... Well, I better get. See you two on the dance floor later, eh?" Poe winked again, then hurried back to his date, the woman slightly irritated that he had kept her waiting.
 
Armitage exhaled sharply through his nose. Annoyance in the way his nostrils flared.
"Well, ... that was interesting," you said with wide eyes, then laughed. Diversion tactic to snap Armitage out of whatever he was thinking of.
"Hmmmm... You have to watch out for that guy. He likes to charm secrets out of people."
"Is that so. And what secrets has he charmed out of you?" You held a lingering gaze at Armitage's face. There was some coldness remaining. The same kind of coldness he usually had directed at you while at work. It was almost odd not to be the recipient. 
 
"None, yet."
"So you're immune?"
"With Dameron? Vigilant is more like it."
"Or observant."
Armitage chuckled. "Maybe." 
 
He gave you a slow once-over. "Let's not talk about work. That's not why I invited you."
Your breathing slowed at that. "Then why did you invite me?"
"Well, --- to dance, of course." Armitage held out his elbow again.
"Right. Dance. Oh god," your brows narrowed with a lopsided chuckle, and Armitage lifted his brow. "I can dance. A little. I just never swing-danced." Your nose crinkled.
"I told you. I'll teach you," he tilted his elbow further towards you and you finally hooked in.
 
The banquet hall wasn't far from the entrance, but Armitage took his time leading you there. Like he wanted to make sure you were indeed ready. After all, there was no way he could miss the growing tension in your arm squeezing around his.
 
The noise increased. So did the number of people standing around and chatting. 
More tuxedos. More sequins. Many held campaign glasses. Laughter was a given. 
A few more steps and you reached the hall, the noise level nearly doubling once you crossed the threshold.
 
You scanned the room. Chrystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Gilded stucco again. Unlike the lobby, the walls in here were in rich brown tones, broken up by gold lines and gold decals. Velvet curtains draped across windows and were hung nearly as high as the ceiling. Two of the walls were layered in balconies, overlooking the hall's floor, most of which was covered with large round tables atop expensive looking carpet. The balconies themselves were empty. Likely not part of today's booked event. 
 
You scanned the room some more. On the far end stood a temporary stage, and attached from that sprawled a wooden dance floor. Decently sized. Enough space for maybe one-third of the people here, to dance and still have room to twirl.
 
"The band must be on break." Armitage pointed out when he noted absence of music and absence of people dancing. Your shoulders dropping in relief amused him. "They'll be back," he smiled wide enough to create a deep crease in his left cheek. "Let's find our table for now."
"Our table?"
"Well, the firm's."
"So this is work related?" Not that you hadn't realized this once you had entered the lobby. There were an awful lot of lawyers around. But his words just confirmed the hint, and you felt your heart drop a little. So he brought you here out of convenience. Because you worked at the same firm as him. 
 
He hitched a breath and stopped walking. "Had I told you, would you have come along?"
"Likely not."
"Why?"
"Because." You shrugged. "Work and fun... I don't know. They don't always mix. I do wish you had told me beforehand. I would've dressed differently. I mean, work events. You have to show your best side, you know. Especially if the boss is here. And really, I haven't seen anyone else looking like I do." 
 
Armitage's face went from warmth to edged stone and you stopped talking. 
 
 
Dammit.
 
DAAAAAAAMMMMIT!
 
 
"Let's just go and sit down," your arm slipped from his. 
Armitage searched the vicinity and a few seconds later you two found your way to the table. "Hux. Nice suit," your boss, Kylo Ren, greeted Armitage with a strong handshake. "Y/N." Ren acknowledged your presence with a nod.
 
Armitage pulled a chair for you and you nearly flopped down without a care. Remembering where you were at, you decided the very last second to slow to an elegant drop of your body, straightening your back to make yourself look as sophisticated as everyone else that was seated. It was the least you could do. 
 
Armitage shook his head with a chuckle, then seated himself. "So is Phasma here?" he geared at Ren. 
"She is. She's talking to my mother," Ren's lips twisted as he looked across the room.
Your attention shifted to where his line of sight was extending to, searching for Phasma, one of the firm's executive lawyers. When you found her, you were surprised to see her talking to the man that had interrupted you earlier: Poe Dameron. 
 
Like Armitage, Phasma held a cold posture towards Poe. 
And you could see why: puppy dog eyes and charming smile, he made everyone in the group laugh. He was well liked, that was for sure. The fact that Phasma towered a good head and a half over him didn't seem to faze him at all. It definitely didn't stop him from giving her those wiggled brows of his.
"I take it, everyone is trained to withstand his charm?" You blurted out, pausing for a moment after the words had left your mouth.
 
There was a short silence, then a booming laugh. "She gets it," Ren kept laughing.
"She does," Armitage's face returned to a smile and you felt your cheeks turn warm while he held an intense gaze at you. 
It took you shaking your head to break from his blues. "So, what is this event? Is it a charity? Or just... " You peered around, again, profiling the people in attendance. Everyone either looked like a lawyer, or a business owner, or maybe even a city representative. 
"It's a charity event. Proceeds go to the children's hospital," Ren explained.
"So a good cause then," you smiled.
"We're not as cold-blooded as we appear," Ren stated, then got up and made his way to Phasma.
 
You watched after him. When he reached the table of Organa and Solo Law, you saw your boss hugging a short woman, then a man almost as tall as him; both looking at Ren like they hadn't seen him all year.
"It's about the only time he talks to them," Armitage's voice cut in from the side.
"Different values, I take it?" You said quietly, continuing to watch Ren.
"Very different," Armitage confirmed.
 
Just then the music started up, and people clapped, a few couples speeding to the dance floor. 
The beat fast, the couples spun and twirled in true swing-dance fashion. You smiled when you realized that most of the people who were on the dance floor wore outfits similar to yours, just all a bit fancier. 
"I told you, you'd fit right in." You felt Armitage fold his hand over your resting hand on the table. Your focus shifted to him, and he squeezed your hand. "You see those women sitting over there?" He gestured with his chin to his left, your right.
 
You nodded. 
"See how they're wearing long dresses?" 
You nodded again.
"They'll sit there all evening. Just watching. Sometimes, offering nothing but judging raises of the brow. And pouting. But dare to ask for a dance, their excuse is they're not dressed for the occasion. It's quite boring. They're quite boring."
"And I'm not?"
"You dressed to dance, didn't you? Even though you don't know the steps."
"I suppose so."
"Well, then let's go dance." Armitage stood up and held out his hand. 
 
You looked to the dance floor. Another song had started, more couples flocking to the floor, all of them looking like pros at what they were doing. 
"Uhmm... I... I don't know."
"Come on! I'll teach you."
"Here? With this many people?" You quirked a brow.
"Alright, well... how about the patio. If you don't mind the cold for a little while."
 
You scrunched your nose, again.
"Uhhhh... alright, but... if I step on your toes..." Before you could finish the sentence, Armitage had pulled you to stand, taking lead as he squeezed past groups to the patio. His eagerness to teach you was amusing, to say the least. The chilly air, not so much.
 
"Alright, now, your left hand goes on my shoulder and right hand into my left."
You rolled your eyes. "I know that much."
"Ok. Now... you have to move a little closer because the dance I'm going to teach you requires close body contact." Armitage's right arm slid to your back and he pressed you close to himself. It took all your effort to control the gasp trying to escape at the warmth of his body against yours.
 
"This isn't swing dance," you raised a brow.
"It is. It's called Pure Balboa. We move as couple in tight circles, rather than doing throws and spins." He explained. There was a hint of excitement in his voice. Like he had waited for this particular moment. 
"Ok." Your brow stayed raised.
"Or I can teach your Lindy Hop." Armitage stepped back, a smirk in tow.
"Is that what they were doing in there?"
"Yes."
"Uhmmm... yeah... no... Pure Balboa it is." You laughed.
 
"Ok, so, close contact. The count is in eights. Ok. Follow my lead."
Armitage started counting as he took lead. Not even three steps in and his face twisted in pain. 
"Sorry. I told you, I have no clue about this."
"Alright. Let's keep a little more space. Elbow length should do it." He adjusted and the two of you stood about a foot apart.
 
He started counting again, and again you stepped on his foot.
"Ok, you know what. Can I... can I just look at your feet for a while? And maybe go a little slower?"
"Sure."
You squinted and he laughed.
Your gaze dropped to his two-toned wingtips, and his grip on your hand tightened.
"Alright. Ready? One, two, three, four..." he started and you followed the pattern.
 
"Ok.... ok... I think I'm getting the hang of this," your eyes shifted back up and he smiled, continuing to lead in an eight count pattern, moving a little faster each time.
"Tell me a secret Y/N." He requested and you pulled down your brows. "Why did you come work for us? Why Ren and Partners?"
You shrugged. "There was a help wanted ad and I applied. I mean. I don't want to stay a secretary forever but for now, it pays the bills."
Armitage quirked a brow. "You mean administrative assistant."
You laughed. "That's fancy word for secretary."
 
"I disagree." He frowned, then picked up the pace. " Why not study law?" His face was dead serious with that question.
Another laugh. "Yeah right!"
"I mean it, Y/N. You're smart. I've seen you do research for Ren. Write a few of his arguments." Armitage held a serious gaze. Clearly he didn't like you undervaluing yourself.
"I... I don't know." You lightly shook your head and he hummed, his gaze still on you.
Then he smiled. Almost mischievously. "Ready for a spin?" He didn't wait for the answer. His left arm went up and he guided you into a spin. 
 
 
A bad idea.
 
You weren't prepared and nearly tripped. 
 
Only nearly.
 
 
Your hands found the fabric of his suit jacket, and for the second time tonight, you found yourself with your face pressed against his chest.
"Sorry," you snickered, abashed.
"Nothing to be sorry for," he whispered, and you looked up.
 
There was a pause. Just a moment where he held his breath and you, yours. 
 
 
He slowly leaned closer.
 
Very slowly.
 
Almost there.
 
 
"Hux!" Phasma interrupted.  
Armitage released a frustrated sigh. The //yes// that followed was closer to a hiss than an actual word.
"We're on."
"Be right there."
"On?"
Hux sighed. "You'll see."
"A secret?"
"Not really." His eyes wrinkled, a spark behind his blues.
 
He held out his arm, and you, yet again, hooked in. He led you back to the table, motioning for a waiter to bring you two glasses of champagne. The glasses clinked, and he downed his drink in a single gulp, something that left you a bit taken aback.
"I'll be back," he heaved his chest. Whatever he was needed for clearly constituted for liquid courage. The snicker you offered was involuntary, but he didn't seem to mind.
 
You steered away for a second, looking around the room, and noticed that nearly everyone had taken a seat. When you returned your attention to the table, Armitage had already left, and you had no idea where to.
 
Then the lights went low, and the noise level dropped to whispers and occasional coughs. Only part of the stage stayed illuminated.
A few seconds later, Phasma appeared on stage, adjusting the microphone to her height. She smiled, and the whispering died down. Clearly, people knew not to interrupt.
 
Seeing her up there was surprisingly unsurprising to you. Mainly because you figured she could sing. She always did seem to hum a tune whenever you delivered her morning coffee. Sometimes you even heard a few words here and there. So this was unsurprising. Only her dress was a bit out of the norm; but somehow so her. An LBD in flapper style with sequins and fringes that moved with every step she took, enhancing her already long legs.
You snickered. It was nice seeing people outside the office. Especially like this.  
 
Your mind drifted and you wondered where Armitage had disappeared to. This was conversation worthy, you thought. And you wanted to know if he knew Phasma would sing. Another quick scan around the room, but it was too dark to distinguish between the shadows moving between tables here and there.
 
Phasma looked over her shoulder, signaling whoever sat at the piano that she was ready. 
Another second and the pianist started, another light highlighting the person. To your surprise, it was Poe Dameron manning the piano. You husked out a chuckle. This was getting interesting. Especially since Poe worked for a competing firm.
 
Then Phasma started singing:
 
"The very thought of you and I forgot to do
Those little ordinary things that everyone ought to do."
 
She continued singing, each time lights highlighting more people as they joined with their instruments. You were taking a sip from your champagne when the bridge started, nearly choking on a cough when you saw Armitage highlighted up on the stage; him just about to place his lips on the mouthpiece of a tenor sax.
 
You knew this song. So you knew that usually the bridge was split between a trumpet solo and a clarinet one, but him playing the whole thing on a saxophone was just as beautiful. Sensual almost.
 
One more verse after that, then the song was over, the short silence after replaced with loud applause as the lights went back up. Armitage handed the saxophone back to whomever it belonged to and made his way down the stage towards you.
 
He plopped into his chair, smiling contently, his cheeks a few hues of pink.
You stared at him, and it sunk in that you knew absolutely nothing about this man sitting in front of you.
All that cold-shouldered behavior at work, those icy stares, the lack of small talk, the quiet nature. None of it made sense. Not in this moment. Not after having seen him play the saxophone the way he just did. And especially not after the moment out on the patio before that.
 
"Shall we dance," you asked with a whisper when the next song started.
He peered to the dance-floor, then perked a surprised brow at you. The fast paced number playing now wasn't for beginners, and you were aware. And so was he.
"That's why we're here, right? To dance?"
His face lit up even more. "Yes. But..." His brows contracted. "Are you sure?" 
"I asked, didn't I? I mean, better be quick before I change my mind," you chuckled.
"Alright!" He almost jumped out of his seat, and you shook your head, then followed suit.
 
"Let's keep dancing Pure Balboa. It's just going to be faster," he explained, the crease in his left cheek deepening, again. He pressed you close to his body, and started the count so you could count along. Just the first three or four eight counts.
 
You stayed on the edge of the dance floor, and unlike earlier on the patio, your eyes stayed fixed on his the whole time.  At least until he decided to change it up. His left arm went up, turning you into a spin, and to your surprise you didn't trip. "There you go!" He sounded proud. He looked it too.
 
"Let's try that again, except you spin out from my arm and then back in," he grinned. There was no chance to protest. He already had twirled you halfway out. A light tug and you spun back; right into his arms, your A-line skirt flaring a bit with the speed. "There you go, sweetheart, you got it!" 
You stopped dead in your tracks, your arms falling to your sides. "What?" 
"I mean," he gulped. "You got it."
 
Just then the song changed. 
 
A slow number. 
 
A slow slow number. 
 
//Moonlight Serenade//. 
 
 
You both stood still for a moment, your eyes fixed on the floor. 
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable," Armitage whispered.
You shook your head, your eyes staying fixed on the floor.. "I... I just don't get it. At work... I mean.... you're not mean to me, you're just always so... so distant. Like you don't care."
 
Another moment, then you felt his hands slip into yours, guiding you to hold on to his shoulder and hand. A nudge and you started dancing, your eyes remaining fixed on the floor. Actually, his two-toned wingtips.
"Do you want to know a secret, Y/N?"
The softness in his voice had your eyes shoot up. There must have been some confusion behind them because he in turn chuckled.
He leaned in and you could feel his breath against your neck. "I hate the weekends," he whispered into your ear.
"What? Why?"
"Hmmm... I don't get to see your smile on the weekends. So I'm always quite miserable."
"That doesn't explain..."
"My behavior. I know."
 
You raised an //enlighten me// brow and he chuckled again.
"See, that right there. You never smile at work. At least not when I'm around. And you never talk to me. And when you do, it's always work. You don't even look at me." Your voice laced with annoyance. Was this some kind of joke to him? Maybe it was a game for him. You didn't care. You didn't want any of it. "Tell me the real secret, or I'm leaving. I don't care if I have to walk home in heels!" 
 
You stopped dancing again, and this time, his arms fell first. 
 
You waited.
 
Nothing.
 
"Alright. You know what I don't have time for this." You turned on your heel and sped to the table to get your purse, shaking your head, then weaved your way towards the lobby.
 
"Y/N. Wait. Please?" Armitage caught up with you.
"No. I don't have time for this. I mean, ugh... I dressed in this ridiculous get up, worried the whole time if this was the right outfit... and then you... you... you didn't even tell me that this was a booked event nor that Ren was going to be here. I mean, what the hell Armitage? Was this some kind of bet to see if you could make a fool out of me?"
 
"What? NO!" Armitage stood agape. "No... never. I just... I didn't say anything because I was afraid you'd change your mind again about coming along. And you would've dressed like them. I wanted to spend an evening with you, Y/N. Not the office version of you." 
 
"So you don't like the office version of me? I mean which version would you prefer?"
Armitage's eyes widened. "You! Just.... You... Don't you get it, Y/N?"
"Get what."
"I like you. A lot."
"Really? Could've fooled me."
 
Armitage slumped his shoulders. Like in defeat. He stared at the patterned floor for a moment, then heaved his chest. "I like you. I mean, --- I thought tonight was rather obvious. And at the office. I mean --- you must have caught me staring at you at least once. In fact, I know you caught me. And every time --- every single time you stop by, I --- I don't know what to say. I choke up.  I can't even look at you because I'm afraid you'll notice me trembling when I do try to talk to you. Maybe I should've told you about tonight. I don't know. But I was afraid you'd try to be like one of them, and honestly, I don't care for them. I care about you, because you're sweet and nothing like these socialites or any of them. I don't care for them. Just about you. Ever since you started working at the firm."
 
You stood a bit perplexed, the last sentence wrapping around your mind.  //Ever since you started working at the firm// on repeat a few times.
You let out a disbelieving laugh."It's funny."
"What is?"
"Everything you said. I feel the same way."
His face fell into surprise. "You do?"
"You're not the only one who stares now and then." You whispered.
 
Armitage inched closer to you, skimming your arms with his fingertips. "I think, maybe we're both fools." He whispered.
For the first time you noticed the slight tremble in his touch. You laughed softly. "Yeah. Maybe."
He pulled your hands to his chest, the tremble remaining. "So? Try again?" He titled his head towards the banquet hall and you hummed.
"Tell me another secret."
"Which one?"
"Where did you learn to dance?"
"That's a long story."
"Then where did you learn to play saxophone?"
"Another long story."
You smiled. "We have all evening."
He smiled, a soft sigh in tow. "We do, don't we?"