Dance, Dance

Osmund wasn't big on romantic events, but he had to admit when he heard about the dance in the beginning of the year, he was almost excited to be experiencing it not alone. Now, he couldn't say the same. His relationship with Xavior had been nothing short of pleasant, yet it couldn't persist any longer. He had already pushed his luck by continuing with it this late in the school year, even after he had promised Annaliese that he would end it.

The fact that he was currently engaged remained a burden as he readied himself for the dance. Naturally, Xavior was going to be his date, but Osmund wasn't sure how enjoyable the night would be knowing that it would probably be one of the last events they spent together. He was sick with imagining how Xavior would take the news. Every time he played the break up out in his mind, he pictured Xavior less than pleased, which gave Osmund the idea that no matter what, Xavior was going to be hurt. He couldn't stand the idea of hurting the one person he really liked.

Nonetheless, he did his best to bury the thoughts in the back of his mind and force a smile on his face. He was going to fake it until he made it that night and enjoy himself with Xavior. After all, it wasn't everyday he got to see his boyfriend all dressed up and got to show off his moves, not that Osmund possessed many besides standard ballroom dancing. He turned to face his date with his taut fake smile and tried his best to sound normal when he asked, "Are you ready?"

"Of course." Xavior smiled and took his boyfriend's hand. He had been looking forward to this night for months, planning the perfect outfit, brushing up on his dancing skills, even getting his hair trimmed a tad bit. Tonight would be amazing, and he would make sure of it. He had the perfect boyfriend, the perfect muggle suit, his hair looked perfect, everything was perfect. All he had to do now was enjoy himself and make sure Osmund enjoyed himself. He watched the other couples trouncing clumsily across the dance floor and cringed internally. Surely they had been taught better? At least now Xavior's dancing skills would look even better compared to those novices. "Care to dance?" He asked his partner.

Xavior looked amazing, not that he never did on a regular basis. It was obvious though that some care and thought had been dedicated to this night, which made Osmund feel all the worse. How easily Xavior found excitement in the night to come, and yet Osmund could hardly muster a smile. The whole night already ruined for him by an inevitable future. He owed Xavior one more good time together, but so far he was failing miserably, caught up in his own mind.

Osmund nodded at Xavior's request, hardly noticing that they were already there on the dance floor until his date had mentioned it. With little hesitation and consideration, Osmund had assumed the dancing position that he had been taught and repeated until his dancing was viewed as flawless. A hand on the partner's waste, their hand in the other one. In this position, it was impossible to avoid eye contact with your partner, so Oz looked directly into Xavior's brown eyes as he started to lead the dance. Prim and proper, like he had always been taught to do, and finally those lessons were paying off. Or perhaps they would've if Oz's mind had not wandered once more, his eyes averted from Xavior's, and causing his foot to come down upon Xavior's. "Oh!" He exclaimed, as soon as he felt something softer than the ground squish beneath his foot. "I-I'm sorry," the movement of their dance had been thrown off with the disturbance as Osmund paused to move his foot away. "I'm sorry, I-I never do that," He tried, sounding exasperated.

"Ow!" Xavior exclaimed as his foot was squished quite painfully under a shoe. They had been dancing nicely, albeit a little distractedly on Osmund's part before the disturbance so Xavior didn't understand why Osmund's dancing skills had suddenly decreased five hundred percent. All he knew was that his foot was now throbbing painfully. "That really, really hurt."
He moved away from the dance floor, disengaging from his partner. He turned to look back at his boyfriend. "What is wrong with you tonight? You act like you'd rather be somewhere else or something." He mused, moving his injured foot around. He had thought Oz would enjoy being at the dance with him, not wanting to spend his time thinking of something else.

Oz tripped over his own feet as he tried to catch up with his boyfriend who was quickly retreating from the dance floor. He didn't think that he had hurt Xavior's foot that bad, but seeing how it made the boy uncomfortable, he tried to help Xavior to a seat and propped up the throbbing foot, failing clumsily at it all.

At Xavior's accusation, Osmund was a bit taken aback. He had tried his best to hide his distracted mind, but clearly it had shown through. He sighed and dragged a hand across his blonde head before looking Xavior in the eyes. "Look, I said I was sorry. I don't know what is wrong with me tonight." A lie. He knew exactly what was troubling him, he just wasn't ready to admit it yet. "But there isn't a single other person here that I'd rather dance with than you," Osmund promised, and this one was the truth.

"I wanted this night to be nice..." He started and then drifted off, his eyes wandering to the spinning couples on the dance floor. They made it look so easy, but emotions and relationships were never easy to Osmund, being that he spent most of his life hiding them away and once he finally did get a boyfriend and was content for his, his bloody father had to ruin things by setting him up with Anna. He knew, going into the relationship with Xavior, that his father would never approve, but he never imagined that he'd actually like Xavior as much as he did. It was starting to become all the more clear to Osmund that Xavior wasn't just some boy he enjoyed kissing anymore. And that was why they couldn't continue. "There's just something that has been bothering me." As much as he wanted this night to be their last perfect moment together, he had already proved to have messed that up. "I...uhhh....we...we're not going to work out, Xavior," Osmund managed. He didn't know why he decided to word it that way. He should've just explained the whole thing to Xavior, but he wouldn't have thought of that until hours later, resting in the dark of his room while the dance went on without him.

Xavior's face crumbled. That had to be a joke. Wasn't Oz just saying that he'd rather be there with Xavior than anyone else? That he wanted the night to be nice? That wasn't nice. Not at all.
"Osmund Earnest Hollow, why the fuck would you say that? We're good. We're great. Why the hell wouldn't we work out? I-I..." He couldn't even finish his sentence. He was fucking angry. He was tired of shedding tears over this fucking boy like a child. He was almost an adult damn it. Adults didn't cry over stupid boys with stupid pretty eyes. "Tell me why we won't work. Tell my one good reason right now."

Osmund finished his stuttering and looked into Xavior's eyes. He didn't expect Xavior just to accept what he had just said to him, but wasn't sure exactly how he was going to react. If he cried, then Osmund would surely be softened by the tears and sink down to calm his friend down. He couldn't stand it when Xavior cried. But instead Xavior looked pissed. Osmund backed up a bit, taken aback. He didn't know what to say. All he knew was that he needed to end things now before Osmund really started to fall for the other boy.

"I...I..." Osmund stuttered. Xavior was right. Their relationship had always been more good than bad, so what could he say? There wasn't a thing Osmund didn't like about Xavior. The real problem was his father. "You know why I've never invited you to my house? Not Helena's house. Hollow Manor. The one in France. I can't bring you home, call you my boyfriend in front of my father!" He chuckled, cruely. "My father would never think you worthy enough. That's why we won't work out." It was a lousy excuse and that was because it was only half of the truth. Osmund slouched his shoulders and sighed. What was he doing? Maybe Archibald wouldn't think xavior worthy, but to osmund, he was more than enough for him. He was better than any woman his father found for him and he was way more than Osmund actually deserved. Osmund turned away from Xavior and edged away. "We won't work out because I am an asshole," he said softly. And then added louder, "we're through, Xavior." Go find someone who'll treat you better.

All Xavior could think was 'why?' Why wasn't he good enough? Why wasn't he worthy? Just plain 'why?' He knew Osmund had problems with his father but what did his opinion have to do with anything? Osmund's strange hero worship for the man made it seem like he could do no wrong. In Xavior's opinion, ruining their relationship was pretty wrong. But if Oz had really wanted to be together he would have fought for them. He would have tried. "Fuck you. Fuck your dad. You're just fucking like him."
And with that, he moved to slap Osmund across the face. If Xavior had to be in pain Osmund should too.

The words he had always wanted to hear were said suddenly but they couldn't have sound any more sour. Osmund always wanted to be like his father, didn't he? And that's exactly what Xavior related him to, along with a few 'fuck you's' which was probably why Osmund felt like he wanted to throw up. He could see the hurt in Xavior's eyes and couldn't look at him until he felt the sharp hit of his hand across his face. His cheek stung, but it didn't hurt as bad physically as it did emotionally. Xavior never was violent, and yet Osmund had pushed him that far.

He walked away, hand on the cheek that prickled like needles. His face was reddened and he could feel tears pushing at the back of his eyes. He had ruined the whole evening and had handled the break up completely wrong. He intended to do it gently and in a way that would allow for them to remain friends afterwards. His face buried in his hands as he suddenly realized just how much he had fucked up. He didn't blame if Xavior never wanted to talk to him again. He stumbled towards the exit.