tell me who you are ❄️
valentine’s day ball | @crsage
Joon gives up on socializing with other party-goers; anyone approaching him is met with a scowl and grouchy, mood-killing remark. There’s only so much oblivion to social cues, lackluster conversations, and accidental stepping of toes he can handle in one night. He feels like he’s inherited the unsavory personality traits of his parents. Why is he the spitting image of his father’s bumbling social awkwardness, but none of the endearing charm? Why did he have to inherit his mother’s snappy, easily irritable mouth instead of her grace and hospitality? Is hoping to have a single decent personality trait too much to ask?
The Gryffindor unofficially claims the snack table as his home base. It’s the perfect spot! He’s within reach of enough heart shaped pastries and pink punch to last the night -- well, at least until Jon’s had enough and retires for the night.
If someone needs to talk to him? He can stuff his face with food and let them do the talking. If someone wants to dance? He’ll awkwardly shuffle with two glasses of punch and pretend he’s waiting for someone to return from the bathroom.
As music plays and couples group up for a dance, he’s quick to pick up two glasses of punch and avoid eye contact. “I hope Jon’s having fun out there,” he thinks. “He seems to enjoy it -- enjoy parties and balls and things. Maybe people will avoid me if I pretend to have a cough? I wonder if there’s a charm to give myself excess phlegm--”
He’s pulled from his thoughts as people migrate to the dance floor, leaving behind the stragglers: the grouches, the wallflowers, and the unfortunate few who got stood up by their dates. There’s someone across the room that looks just as uncomfortable as himself, as though they’d been mirroring each other’s body language the entire time, and he feels sorry for them.
He feels incredibly sorry because someone they have no interest in seems keen on dragging them to the dance floor.
Joon sighs and looks at the snack table, bidding his safe home base one last goodbye. Then, he crosses the room with two glasses of punch. “I got distracted for a bit, but here’s your punch,” he says to the stranger. “Oh wait, you said you didn’t want the pink one. Well, let’s go over there...to the snack table...on the other side of the room...let’s go together...since we’re dates...two dates going to the snack table on the other side of the room.”
