29. A memory they can’t let themselves forget
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The grand patio was tiled in green and gold, like summer, with the kind of smooth finish that let you gaze at the stars. It was easily at least half the size of the ballroom it circled, long and wide, fit for summer parties or maybe just good enough for springtime poetry readings - however it was Alderaanian nobles liked to use their space. The marble and gold banisters led to a shallow flight of stairs to the lawn. It was to these that Blakk was headed after skirting the evening celebration indoors … at least until Ziminder stopped him.
He’d humored Zim, dressing in the Alderaanian attire he’d been presented. Blakk didn’t know where it had come from - maybe it was even Zim’s once upon a time, when he’d been younger. He’d arranged it as best he could, given the bandages around his torso and his arm still in its sling. But the jacket still hung open, draped over one shoulder, and Blakk had wrestled with coming down to the celebration at all.
When he finally did, he’d assumed Zim had given up on waiting. He had guests to entertain.
But here he was, in the open doorway, the orchestra behind him spilling its melody into the night. Blakk wondered how it was that Zim, of everyone there, had been the one to notice him.
He should go, but Ziminder was done up in such regal splendor that it was hard to look away.
Blakk finally freed his gaze in favor of the emptiness of the patio. Dance? Who would want to dance with an invalid? Blakk wasn’t sure he could dance right now, not well, not fit for the graces of Alderaanian nobility and all the guests inside. And wouldn’t they be looking for Zim soon enough?
But Ziminder took his hand, with the kind of firm gentleness Blakk imagined could get wild deer to follow him. The white gloves turned to pearl in the moonlight, and Blakk’s stomach flip-flopped. He didn’t know how he could have ever taken this man for anything other than a prince. Mindful of his “good” arm’s still-healing injury, and the brace hidden inside the jacket sleeve, Ziminder drew him back to the center of the patio and settled his arm around Blakk’s waist. With the music drifting out to them, Ziminder swept him into a dance.
It was slow, but majestic, Blakk’s half-crippled awkwardness not seeming to faze either Zim or the rhythm as they spun slowly across the patio. If anyone finally came out to watch, Blakk didn’t notice; it was enough to gaze upon the window light moving across Zim’s features, and the way his warm eyes sparkled when they turned to Blakk.
Blakk didn’t know how long they were out there. He’d lost track of time at some point. He was flushed when they finished, from the exertion, Blakk told himself. He expected Zim to leave, finally, find another dance partner, someone he hadn’t seen for a while, while he’d been off chasing bounties.
But Zim stayed with him, and they watched the stars and listened to the music, and Blakk tried not to watch Zim instead. And then Zim escorted him back to his room, and, for the first time in a long time, Blakk looked forward to tomorrow.
