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The Ballroom of the Meadowgloom Manor had been built to impress.
After all, it was the heart of the manor, though nowadays, even at tonight’s party, it seemed almost reluctant to do so.
The towering teal columns felt like they could disappear into the shadowed height of the ceiling, as it framed the great archway beyond the dance floor. Suspended lamps casted pools of light across the polished wood and pale stone, while candles flickered in their sconces and trembled whenever someone passed too near.
At the far end, a grand piano rested upon its raised wooden stage, its black surface catching the occasional glint of candlelight, music drifted through the hall as the singers sung so softly it could either lull you to sleep, or have your body go along with its beat.
Silas A.P. Saparata was the latter, while Oskar Rex was neither.
Silas stood at the center of the crowd, moving with the music in a manner that could only be described as exceedingly cautious. A small shift of his shoulders here, a tap of his heel there. Once in a while, he attempted something resembling an actual step before apparently reconsidering the matter and returning to his previous position.
Oskar watched closely—It was hard not to, because despite the crowd of guests dancing more reverently than Silas had, Oskar’s purple eyes seemed to always drift towards him without much restraint.
Silas’ dancing was dreadful—absolutely dreadful, with how stiff he looked compared to those around him. And yet, somehow, Oskar had not looked away.
Furthermore, Silas's attire for the party was far more formal than what Oskar was accustomed to seeing him wear on their expeditions. There was no dust on his sleeves, no leather satchel hanging from his shoulder, no rolled maps tucked beneath one arm. His long light hair had been combed neatly compared to how it was usually tied whenever he explored Oskar’s lands, though of course, a stubborn strand had still fallen loose near his temple.
It made him look younger—actually, scratch that—simply less guarded, Oskar corrected himself.
Perhaps that was what had caught his attention, or perhaps Oskar was merely bored. The distinction seemed unimportant at the moment, maybe because he realized that both distinctions could co-exist at the same time.
Silas turned slightly, his gaze wandering over the ballroom.Then it stopped on him, Oskar raised one eyebrow as they made eye contact.
For a moment, neither man moved. Then Silas glanced down at his own feet as though they had betrayed him.
Oskar almost smiled and bit back a mocking laugh at his utter awkwardness, of course, it didn’t go unnoticed by Silas as he crossed the short distance between them. "You've been staring."
"I have been observing." Oskar promptly replied quickly.
"That is a rather generous description." Silas retorted.
"It is the accurate one." Oskar shot back.
Silas folded his hands behind his back. "And what, precisely, were you observing?"
Oskar took a slow sip from his champagne glass, to be frank, he had forgotten that he was even holding one. "Your dancing." He answered honestly.
Silas's expression fell. "Do tell, why has my dancing caught the attention of your eyes?" There was something almost teasingly dignified about the way he uttered that sentence.
Oskar found himself regretting being honest immediately. "Your dancing looked like a horrible attempt at doing so," Oskar huffed as he continued his sentence.
Silas looked at him. A long silence filled the air after Oskar’s sad attempt to regain his dignity. Then, unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth lifted. "So, are you implying that you could do better?"
Oskar's brows rose—he definitely could not, but well, he has already dug his own grave by this point, hasn’t he? "I assure you I could."
Silas didn’t respond, instead, he glanced toward the busy dance floor.
The orchestra had begun another piece, slower than the last. Fellow guests moved across the polished floor beneath the amber lights, their silhouettes stretching and folding over one another.
Silas looked back at him. "Then perhaps you should demonstrate."
Oskar's eyes slightly widened at that, as if he didn’t expect Silas to believe his bait. "Are you challenging me?"
"No." Silas hesitated. "I’m simply offering you an opportunity."
Oskar fought the urge to roll his eyes at that. "How charitable."
"I have my moments." Silas murmured, and if Oskar didn’t know him well enough, he would’ve thought his quiet tone was actually serious.
Oskar looked at him for several seconds. Then, he set his untouched champagne aside.
Silas blinked, as if his socially awkward mindset suddenly kicked in and he had realized what he just offered. "Wait—"
Unfortunately, Oskar Rex was a stubborn man who figured him out before he had even realized it, he extended a hand. "Come along, then."
The expression on Silas's face was almost comical. "You’re actually accepting?"
"I would hardly offer my hand merely to admire it." Oskar deadpanned.
Silas huffed at the usual snarky reply, "With you, I wouldn't put it past you."
Oskar's hand remained outstretched, Silas stared at it. There was a peculiar intimacy to the gesture, despite how ordinary it was. Perhaps because neither of them was accustomed to it.
Especially on Silas’ part, after all, on expeditions in Oskar’s lands, his hands were for practical things—hands that held ropes, hands that brushed dirt from artifacts and traced markings carved into ancient stone, hands that wrote, and wrote, and wrote like he was running out of time to discuss his discoveries.
But it was never something like this—hands that held those of a Land Baron.
Even so, Silas still placed his hand in Oskar's.
Oskar closed his fingers around it; ‘Warm.’, that was his Oskar’s thought, ‘warm, and slightly unsteady.’ He wondered if Silas noticed the same thing about him.
They stepped onto the floor. At first, Oskar allowed himself the satisfaction of being right.
Silas was terrible.
His first step was too cautious, his second was half a beat late, and his hand hovered uncertainly near Oskar's shoulder before finally settling there.
"Stop looking at your feet," Oskar murmured.
"I am trying not to step on yours." Silas defended himself.
"You are making that considerably more likely by staring at them." Oskar berated him quietly in response.
Silas sighed as he followed and looked up—what they hadn’t realized, though, was that their faces were closer now. Much closer than they had both anticipated.
The single word came quietly. "Oh." Oskar felt something in his chest tighten, he looked away first. "Just follow me."
"I thought I was supposed to be following the music." Silas withered, as he glanced at the orchestra a few feet away from them, still performing as beautifully as they usually do.
"Tonight, you may make an exception." Oskar retorted.
Silas gave a quiet huff of laughter. "How generous."
"Try to keep up." Oskar reminded him, swiftly changing the topic.
Silas looked quite annoyed at the incessant reminders. "I am."
"You aren't." Oskar disagreed with him quickly.
"I am." Silas merely repeated to defend his own dignity.
"You nearly walked into me." Oskar raised a brow as he stated his observation, which happened after Silas' defense.
"...I was distracted." Silas admitted quietly before he could even realize that he had.
Oskar blinked, "By what?"
Silas paused, Oskar felt his gaze linger, and for a moment, golden eyes bore into purple eyes. Silas didn't know why, but suddenly, his attire felt unbearably uncomfortable as he felt himself grow warmer by the second—or, if he were more honest, he did know the reason why, and it was becoming increasingly prominent the longer his eyes bore into Oskar's delicate purple ones.
"...Nothing." That answer was far too quick, Silas gulped subtly because of his utter stupidity.
Oskar's mouth twitched—like he wanted to say something in response—a tease, a snark, anything, but doing so would feel a bit… inappropriate, like he also couldn't trust his own mouth to not humiliate himself. So, without much though, he led Silas through the next turn instead.
The dance slowly settled into something easier.
Silas stopped fighting the rhythm. His steps became smoother, his movements were less deliberate, and the stiffness in his shoulders began to disappear. Oskar could feel it through the hand resting against his arm.
There was a strange pleasure in teaching him, despite the fact Oskar was actually a bit horrible at dancing as well. But there was a stranger pleasure still in realizing that Silas was learning quickly—of course he was. Silas had always been like that.
Give Silas a ruined temple, a language no living scholar spoke, or a map with half its landmarks missing, and he would devote himself to understanding it. He could spend twelve hours crouched in the dirt over a fragment of pottery, utterly absorbed, while Oskar would observe from his land nearby wondering how anyone could possibly find such a thing interesting.
And yet, whenever Oskar wanted to turn away, he invariably found himself always watching in the end anyway.
The only thing he never notices is that Silas always does the same thing too—watching him, that is.
"You know," Silas murmured, "you don't have to look so pleased with yourself." He murmured, and Oskar doesn't know if he's hallucinating, but his usual timid tone was accompanied with an unknown feeling that Oskar couldn't pinpoint, but if he really had to, he would compare it with... a whine?
"I am not pleased." Oskar denied, yet the small smile he had on his face wasn’t helping him that much to prove himself of innocence.
Silas frowned much harder at the small smile in his face. "You are."
"I am concentrating." Oskar corrected him.
Silas raised a brow at that horrible excuse, "On dancing?"
"On preventing you from embarrassing us both." Oskar rolled his eyes as he responded.
Silas smiled. "Y'know, despite the many times we have worked with each other, I never pictured you as someone who would be very concerned with my reputation."
Oskar's eyes widened at that, as he felt his grip tighten on Silas out of embarrassment, making the latter wince a bit. "I am concerned with mine." He corrected once more.
"Ah." Silas's voice softened, and despite the tight grip, he found himself not minding it at all. "Of course."
There was something about the way he said it that made Oskar's chest ache. He hated that—he hated the little pauses that seemed to appear between them whenever a joke came too close to something genuine. He also hated how easily Silas could unsettle him without ever seeming to realize he had done so.
But most of all, he hated that he could not bring himself to step away. Instead, Oskar drew him a little closer.
It was a subtle movement, and it was barely noticeable, the sort of adjustment one could blame on the dance.
Of course, Silas noticed anyway. His hands shifted in response, resting on Oskar's shoulder to subtly sliding all the way down to his waist.
Neither of them gave a reaction to the sudden actions they both did, maybe they were too frightened to do, which is why the orchestra carried them onward instead.
Along the way, their steps became slower. The ballroom seemed to recede around them. The voices, the clinking glasses, the distant laughter—all of it softened beneath the music. Candlelight moved across Silas's face as they turned.
Oskar caught himself looking at him again, not at his dancing this time, but at him.
At the faint flush beneath his cheekbones, at the loose strand of hair near his forehead, and at the way his expression changed whenever he forgot to be self-conscious.
For the first time in Oskar Rex's entirety of knowing Silas A.P. Saparata, he looked almost peaceful at this moment.
It was an expression Oskar rarely saw.
Perhaps because there were very few places where Silas ever allowed himself to be peaceful; The field. An archaeological site. A forgotten ruin. And now, apparently, in Oskar's arms.
The thought was dangerous, Oskar looked away. Silas noticed that, too. "You've gone quiet." He pointed out quietly.
Oskar had to resist the urge to close his eyes and wallow on the floor after he got caught, "Have I?" He hummed dumbly.
"Yes." Silas affirmed.
"Perhaps I have finally exhausted my supply of insults." Oskar hummed, his gaze drifted anywhere but at the light haired man’s expression.
"I sincerely doubt that." Silas said a little too seriously.
Oskar doesn’t know why, but the way Silas got so serious—like he was concerned—made his heart skip a horrifying beat. "Then perhaps you have exhausted your supply of poor dancing."
Silas finally smiled at that. "Perhaps."
They turned again. This time, Silas did not stumble. Oskar's hand rested firmly on his shoulder, and later on, he became acutely aware of it. The contact was proper enough, entirely ordinary for a dance.
It nevertheless felt like something they ought not be doing, or, perhaps, something they had both wanted to do for far too long.
"You know," Silas said after a moment, "you've never actually told me why you keep inviting me onto your lands."
Oskar's expression shifted. The question was harmless, but given the situation they were in, he didn’t know how to properly articulate a professional response.
"Because you’re a pitiful archeologist with no land to explore." Oskar decided on a snarky reply, but for some reason, he felt like adding another. “...Plus… you are… useful, sometimes.”
Silas gave him a skeptical look as he ignored the first reason and focused on the latter. "Useful." He repeated.
"Very." Oskar admitted begrudgingly.
"That's all?" Silas tilted his head slightly at that.
Oskar narrowed his eyes on him. "What else would there be?"
Silas shrugged. "I don't know. I thought that perhaps... you enjoyed having me around." The words slipped out of his lips so smoothly that it almost felt like a thought that had been rehearsed multiple times.
Oskar nearly missed a step at that sudden response, like he had expected every lame and timid reply but that, anything except for that.
Silas seemed to realize what he had said at precisely the same moment. His eyes widened. "I mean—on expeditions." He stuttered like a ridiculous idiot that got caught red-handed.
Silas’ pitiful stuttering didn’t stop there. "I only meant—"
Oskar needed to stop him before the rising flush on his cheeks became evident. "...I understood you." He murmured.
Silas blinked, gulped, and nodded stiffly at that. "Good." He replied curtly.
"Perfectly." Oskar agreed.
Silas looked mortified after that, Oskar believed he looked the same too, but he hoped he looked less obvious at it.
Oskar looked at him for a long moment. "You are useful," He repeated quietly.
Silas paused for a moment, then nodded. "And?" He hummed, prying for more after his dignity was regained back.
Oskar's jaw tightened, the music continued playing as he spoke. "And," He started, "you have a good skill of finding things in my land that no one else can."
Silas smiled faintly. "Artifacts?" He questioned, like he wasn't fully convinced.
"Obviously." Oskar huffed, as if there was a possibility that Silas’ discoveries could be about something else.
Unfortunately, in Silas’ old mind, there was. "And the other times?"
Oskar looked at him. The answer sat between them—yes, maybe in other times, whether it'll be in the past, present, or future, Silas would find something far more valuable than any artifact there could be, something neither man was quite prepared to name.
Silas's smile faded into something softer, they continued dancing after Oskar failed to give a reply. Their movements had become nearly effortless now, there was no longer any need for instruction. Silas had found the rhythm, and Oskar had stopped thinking about where his feet were going. They simply moved together beneath the soft lights, turning slowly as the music carried them around the floor.
For all of Oskar's complaints, he had never danced with anyone quite like this.
After all, in just a short moment, Silas' dancing had turned careful—no longer timid— As though every touch mattered. Oskar wondered if he was aware of that, perhaps he was.
Perhaps that was why his hand had remained so lightly against Oskar's shoulder, why his fingers had not once tightened unnecessarily, and why his gaze kept drifting away whenever their eyes met for too long.
It was almost unbearable.
And yet neither of them stopped, when the music finally began to fade, Oskar realized that he did not want it to. Despite the sheer irony of his refusal to dance a long moment before.
The final notes lingered through the ballroom, their steps slowed alongside it—One. Two. Then stillness.
Silas remained close, and neither of them immediately moved away. The silence after the music seemed louder than the music itself.
For a brief moment, the entire manor seemed to hold its breath. Then Silas cleared his throat. "I believe," he said, "I have been sufficiently enlightened on the art of dancing, no?"
Oskar smiled. "Hardly." He disagreed smoothly.
Silas almost looked offended, "I managed not to step on you." He uttered quite proudly, albeit his voice was still timid.
A small pause, "A modest achievement." Oskar reluctantly gave the compliment.
"I danced." Silas wanted to fish for more anyway.
"Debatably." Oskar was merely refusing and teasing him at this point for the love of the game.
Silas withdrew his hand from Oskar's shoulder. "You're impossible." He sighed deeply.
Oskar didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that the action made his heart sink a little. “You’re the one who offered to dance with me first, no?”
"And you accepted, against all odds." Silas reminded him.
Oskar opened his mouth to retort, but because of how quick Silas’ response was, nothing came out.
Because of that, Silas’ smile deepened.
There it was again—that little victory, yet it was not because of the dance, or proving that he could sway along the music. It was because of this; The quiet understanding that, for however brief a time, neither of them had wanted to be anywhere else.
Oskar glanced toward the dining room doors. "I suppose we ought to find something to eat."
Silas followed his gaze. "Starving?"
"Famished." Oskar sighed dramatically.
"That is hardly surprising, you spent the better part of the evening teaching a poor, old man like me to dance." Silas teased him.
Oskar gave him an offended look. "I grace you with my skills, and this is how you ought to thank me?”
Silas shrugged, “I was basically insulted for the better portion of the lesson.”
"I said you were less embarrassing after." Oskar defended, as if that was already the greatest compliment he could give.
"High praise, I know.” Silas followed along anyway. "You’re already very well known for it." He laughed beneath his breath, he began to walk toward the dining room.
Silas glanced back at him. "Coming?"
Oskar watched him for a moment. Then, without quite much thought, he followed.
Oskar slipped his hands into his pockets. "I suppose someone ought to make sure you don't get lost." He murmured as he took in the scenery that'll lead to the dining room.
Silas tilted his head at that, "I know you own one of many lands, but even I believe it’s quite pretentious for you to act like you own this manor.” Silas murmured as he slowed his footsteps to match Oskar’s pace.
Oskar folded his arms as he continued walking, unaware of Silas’ action. "I used to own this damn land, before I sold it to that pretentious lord for a price that underestimates it’s worth at the present time.” He murmured irritatingly.
Silas smiled. "Well, since you seem to know it so well, then lead the way, friend."
Oskar did, and as they disappeared together beyond the ballroom's great archway, the candles continued to flicker over the dance floor behind them.
…As for the fact the word ‘friend’ made his cheeks form a shade of dusted pink, no one else but the haunting ghosts of this manor should know about it.