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For years, Dex dreamed of how he’d crash the Foxfire Leaving Ball when the time came. Giant robo-creatures. Punch spiked with balding elixir. Confetti that stuck to people’s skin. A dance floor made into slippery ice.
To him, it stood for everything he hated—pretentious, dull, completely in line with the horrors of matchmaking.
So to be standing on the Foxfire grounds, in full formal clothing no less, at the aforementioned event and happy about it? Is... well, one of the strangest things that’s happened to him in a while. Which is saying something.
Part of it makes sense. After all, the Black Swan has dismantled most of the Council’s worse systems. All of them, Sophie included, have finally been released from either organization’s service—told to rest, to enjoy these last remnants of their childhood that was so cruelly stolen.
Tonight is a celebration. For a better world, for peace, for the chance to finally rest freely.
Tonight—at this doomed dance he’d dreaded for so, so long—the only thing Dex is unhappy about is that Fitz and him are still secret.
Sophie walks up to him, holding both of their drinks. “Here,” they say, shoving one of them into his hand. “Wasn’t sure which flavor you’d like, so I picked the weirdest—read: grossest—looking one they had.”
“Thanks.” Dex raises an eyebrow at her. “I’m going to pretend that was in no way meant as an insult.”
She beams at him. “You wound me. I would never.” They tug at a free lock of their hair, which has been twisted up into an elegant bun that surely won’t last half the night. Her subdued red suit fits them perfectly. It wouldn’t have been allowed just a year ago. But for Sophie Foster—after taking down a terrorist organization, toppling the government’s age-old awful laws, and just generally changing the world—dismantling a dress code had posed no problem.
“Where’s everyone else?” he asks, glancing around at the crowded central dance floor from their place on the edges. It’s not that he doesn’t like their classmates, just... it’s weird, now. They think him untouchable, admire him (which is a strange change of pace) but he’s still not one of them.
“Unsure,” Sophie admits. “Getting here. Not surprising Fitz, Biana, and Keefe would take forever, though. Uh, Tam said he’s not coming, but someone, probably Linh, might drag him along. Marella’s missing too—but she’s considering crashing, just for fun.”
“It’s not really crashing if she’s automatically invited,” Dex points out.
They shrug. “It might be if she’s planning to come like I think she is.”
“See, that worries me.”
“Trust me—I'm worried too.”
The two of them lapse into a comfortable silence. Dex glances over at Sophie, a confession dancing at the tip of his tongue again. It’d be so much easier to just tell her he and Fitz are dating.
It’s not like he has to worry about being accepted anymore. The Lost Cities are finally beyond that. It’s just that Sophie still seems to think that he and Fitz are barely hanging on to liking each other, that his hatred may resurface at any moment. And Dex has to admit—just before they started their relationship, the tension had been getting ever so slightly out of control.
So, because of that, and also everyone’s general obliviousness, they’d decided to wait and see how long it would take everyone to notice—solely because it would be hilarious. The result so far? Nine months, fourteen days without so much as a trace of suspicion.
Dex is beginning to think he’s just friends with literal idiots.
“Oh! There they are!” Sophie elbows him in the side, jostling his drink (which, to be clear, is bland as any other kind of elven party punch) as she points across the grounds.
He uses it as an excuse to subtly throw his cup away and glances towards where she’s pointing to. Biana, Fitz, and Linh are slowly making their way around the crowd’s outskirts.
Even from this far away, Dex’s heart gives a faint stutter at the sight of his boyfriend all dressed up. He can’t take this. He really can’t take this.
“C’mon,” he says, heading forwards without checking to see if Sophie’s following.
There are people absolutely everywhere. At least three of them bump into him—only one of which bothers to apologize. The music’s quiet for anything resembling a party—Sophie's dragged him along to a couple human ones—and one of those over-elaborate ‘tapestries of sound’ that elves love far too much.
But even the Leaving Ball can’t put Dex in a bad mood. His face breaks out into an involuntary grin the moment he reaches Fitz... and his companions, of course.
Both Biana and Linh look gorgeous. They’ve been planning this out a while, actually, with Linh excited to have a chance to dress up and Biana thrilled to have someone to obsess over makeup with. Their dresses suit them perfectly.
There. That's enough of a requisite pretty girls description to adequately not give up the not-dating ruse, right?
Dex turns to Fitz, the only person he wants to stare at anyway.
Fitz. Well. His suit is ever-so-slightly tight in the chest, more than enough to send Dex’s stupid heart careening out of rhythm. His hair, which has grown out enough since everything to gain a bouncy curl to it, is fluffy and falling just slightly in front of his face. He's smiling, big and brilliant and beautiful, face crinkling up.
And—and he’s wearing eyeliner. Eyeliner. Which, for Dex, is very close to being the final straw, and the sheer restraint it’s taking to not immediately kiss his boyfriend senseless should be commended.
“Earth to Dex,” Biana says. He startles, realizes that he and Fitz have been gazing into each other’s eyes like the lovestruck fools they are. Fitz flushes. Is this when she finally realizes...?
Nope. Biana turns to Linh, grinning. “Ha! That’s three Sophie’s-weird-human-references already. Beat that.”
“Please,” Linh says. “Don’t count your chickens before they’ve hatched. These things are a dime a dozen.”
Fitz turns to Dex with an exasperated sigh. “They’ve been doing this all day.”
Dex tries—fails—to stifle a laugh. “I really don’t think they’re meant to be used quite like that.”
“Hush.” Biana clucks her tongue. “I can’t hear you.”
Sophie finally joins them, a mildly shell-shocked expression on their face. “I never want to go through that again,” she declares. “About thirty different people had to stop and talk to me, and all of it was nonsense.”
“Say real nonsense back,” Linh suggests. “Like ‘beat a dead horse’. I don’t get that one—but point is, they’ll be horrified.”
“It means—nevermind. Where’s Keefe?” Sophie asks, glancing around.
“Obstructed by his vanity,” Fitz supplies. “He’s spent over two hours on his hair. When we left, he didn’t even have his dress on yet.”
“So it’ll be another week or so then,” Dex guesses.
“Probably,” Fitz agrees. “You... you clean up nicely, you know.”
“And yet I still can’t hold a candle to you anytime.” It’s strange, twisting their words like this, hiding their blatant affection—but Dex is sure that if anyone bothered to look, they could see it shining in him: through the warm awe in his voice, the adoring light in his eyes.
Fitz laughs, low and sweet. He murmurs something Dex can’t quite make out. “It’s such a nice night,” he says softly. “Strange to think it’s ours to say goodbye to Foxfire.”
It is, truly. Unlike for most of their classmates, this isn’t moving past their childhood, because that was gone so long ago. But it is letting go of the pretensions that they are children still. It is the beginning of the next stage of their eternal life, which is just... empty, their own, theirs to fill.
Dex isn’t sure how he feels about that yet.
“Yeah,” he says. It’s half-lost to the breeze, which swishes cool around them, but Fitz smiles reassuringly at him anyway.
They'll make it, is the thing, isn’t it? If they can live through war, they can live through peace. If they can fight through the worst of times—the fear, the death, the pain—while still forging bonds that matter beyond anything, they can just be everyday elves. It’s as simple as that. Right?
The music shifts. It wraps smooth and silky around them. Linh takes Biana’s hand, tugging her out onto the dance floor—not seeming to notice how Biana’s eyes widen.
There’s something about this new song that’s sending couples flocking to dance, to sway together as they hold each other tight in their arms. Fitz extends one arm to Dex. “Shall we?”
Dex laughs and takes it.
They don’t head to the center of it all, where people weave and bump tight together. Instead, they stay along the quiet edges, underneath the Pures that tower firm above them.
There's a moment like everything holding its breath as their hands settle flush against each other. Their form must be awful—though Fitz could likely dance a waltz better than any storybook prince—but all they need is to hold each other close.
“I still don’t know what I’m doing after Foxfire, you know,” Dex admits.
“We’ve got a really, really long time to figure that out,” Fitz tells him. His breath flutters on Dex’s cheek. Their chests are almost touching, as they dance gently in tune to the music. One of his hands curls around Dex’s waist.
Dex grins at him, tilting his head lazily to the side. “Guess so.”
People are staring, surely. Past his boyfriend he can see the oh moment clear as day on Biana’s face. But the thing is, no matter what it means for later, there’s nowhere he’d rather be right now. He has this. After years of wanting and war and the looming possibility of not having a future at all, he has this. He has Fitz.
The grass is soft and springy beneath their feet. Fitz navigates it nimbly. His teal eyes dance in the dim light, at once so soft and so earnest. “Dex?”
“Yeah?” The world is silent, is just them. Their footsteps are slowing again.
“I’m happy,” Fitz says, beaming, tears rising in his eyes. “I just wanted you to know, love. I’m so happy.”
“Me too,” Dex whispers, emotions a beautiful storm within him. They’re so close it’s overwhelming, and there’s a finally untainted joy sparking in his soul, roaring through his veins. Because they know, now, that they’re not going to lose this. Not anymore.
He lifts one hand up, presses it to the side of Fitz’s neck and face, savoring the feel of him. They're still dancing, wind stirring around them, Foxfire miles away.
“You know,” Fitz says, something twinkling in his smile, “Sophie’s looking at us weird. Not sure if they’ve quite realized yet, though.”
“Mmm,” Dex says, considering. “I think we’d better throw her off the scent, then.”
Fitz’s breath flickers, in and out. “So we must.”
Dex is completely, utterly caught up in his boyfriend’s eyes. This is, he knows, exactly where he belongs. Warmth is pressing out at all his edges. “I’ve never once even thought about how ridiculously attractive you look in eyeliner.”
Fitz laughs softly and blushes brilliant red. “And I’ve never daydreamed about you through all of class.”
“I consider you my sworn enemy.” Dex lets his hand drop from Fitz’s face to rest against Fitz’s chest, a smile slipping huge across his face. Leaves flutter from the trees above through the dark.
Fitz presses kisses along his jaw, so tender Dex sighs, arches his head back. “You’re the worst.”
“Right back at you,” Dex whispers.