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It had started with small things, tiny things- things he could make excuses for even. He wasn’t allowed to talk with them, so he couldn’t exactly tell the man with warm eyes who followed him around and tried to make him laugh to go away. He could excuse spending hours exploring, simply watching in rapture at the world so alive around him- He needed to make something that reflected on the beauty of creation already built, so of course he should spend as much time as possible observing.
But then there were things that were…. A little harder to make excuses for. Like now, as he walked among the throngs of people in the midst of a festival, wings hidden and with a hand around his wrist as those warm eyes turned to him again and asked where he wanted to go next.
The evening had already been stunning, full of excitement and noise and light as people shouted and laughed under the light of the full moon in a way that made everything feel like too much yet not enough. It had already been so much more than he could’ve imagined, with sticky sweet soft things that melted on the tongue and so many things to see and do that they almost took turns pulling the other around. Grian, to whatever new, exciting thing caught his attention, and Impulse, to the things he knew from previous years.
It was one of those things, as music drifted on playful breeze, that had made Impulse light up and pull him with a laugh towards- something. Where the sound of his joy echoed the laughter in the air and there was music and energy and movement-
So here he was. Spinning and hopping with reckless abandon. He might not know how to dance, but, he thought, as he looked at the people around him, he might like to learn.
It was a giddy sort of laugh that bubbled past his throat, and he seized it, riding the bubble of something bright and warm that filled his chest full to near bursting as he turned to face him and impulsively said, “teach me how to dance”. It’s not the question it was meant to be, he’s too caught up in the atmosphere of this unreal feeling night, but before he can stumble over his words to correct them- Impulse was shaking his head with that funny sort of grin on his face. “There’s a lot of dances out there you know,” and his voice was light as the air. “Do you even know which ones you want to learn?”
“All of them!” He crowed impetuously, because why not on a night like this, well past the midnight hour in a wonderful haze where anything feels possible, when Impulse didn’t care about what he should say or do or stupid rules. “Every single one!” He said, as the world fell away for a moment- and all he could do was gaze up at his friend as the music filled the air and his heart beat fast as a hummingbirds wings in his chest.
And then Impulse laughed, he shrugged and the words spilling past his lips are almost secondary to the rush of elation that filled him, that they’re barely even said (if you’re sure-) before the energy buzzing under his skin sent him leaping forwards and throwing his arms around him, unable to stop the laugh from escaping him as he spun Impulse around. Even then it’s not enough, the happy-bright energy sending him spinning and flapping his hands in a way he’s too happy to even care about how undignified it might look. His face nearly hurts from how much he’s smiling but he can’t make himself stop- the tingling warmth from when he touched him lingering and only making everything feel that much bigger. He’s fairly buzzing with energy he can hardly wait to use, to taste to see to love this even more than he already did.
It feels human, he thinks, in aching cheeks and sore feet after hours of spinning each other around. It feels so achingly human in such a wonderful way, to do things like this. To experience them. So human, in fact, that he doesn’t hesitate to turn to Impulse and call it his favorite part of the night.
It’s only later he remembers he’s not supposed to have favorites. To disturb things, to interact, to get attachments. But it’s hard to care, to feel guilty when the ghost of warmth from the contact tingles across his skin, when he had so much fun, got to be something other than that distant, impassive watcher. He tried new things. He spent time with someone he thinks he’s getting rather attached to. Someone who makes his heart flutter and his chest feel funny. He danced and he laughed and he remembers feeling like he was flying as he was in contact with someone for the first time he can remember for decades now. He had so much fun he almost feels guilty but. It’s hard for the guilt to even touch him. This night was his favorite, and if he’s not allowed to call it that then it must be a crime really. He did so many things he wasn’t supposed to but he can’t bring himself to care.
It’s in that moment, reflecting on the warmth in his chest and the way he longed to linger, to keep holding him close as they slowly spun, in something that felt so real, dancing as real people do…. He finds himself quietly thinking he’s allowed to call the night his favorite, because maybe he wasn’t being a very good watcher either.