What a Catch

The dance was going a lot better than Christian had initially thought it would. He wasn't being completely awkward with his date, he finally got to see Xavior again and they were now on speaking terms,  and he learned he actually did remember how to dance. As far as dances go this one seemed to be a pretty good one, not that he had any others to base this off of. While his date was off socialize, she was good at that while he was not, the teen had time to walk around. He didn't have much to do besides stop for small talk with anyone that wanted to talk about quidditch. This was what he was doing when he saw Osmund for the first time that night, only he was heading for the door.

Christian immediately said bye to the people he was talking to and walked off, simply not caring that they were in the middle of a sentence. He walked a bit faster through the crowd to head the teen off. He made it to the door first and stared at the Montagnard as he approached. "You were going to leave without having a dance with your best mate, how rude." He said with a smirk standing in the way of the exit.

Immediately after Osmund said the words, he felt more horrible than he had before thinking about doing the action. Of course he hadn't entered the dance with the plan of breaking up with his date, but as soon as they had gotten there, Osmund knew that he just couldn't wait any longer. Their relationship was doomed to fail and Osmund wasn't able to explain to the boy why, so he had just left.

His chest felt heavy and for once Osmund wasn't sure if he could stop the tears that wanted to fall so badly. "What have I done?" He whispered to himself. The whole idea of the dance was soured by his actions and he couldn't stand the image of himself reflected in the silverware on the tables. Himself with the black suit and the snow-colored hair. He wanted to throw up.

He wanted out of there and immediately and started to meander around dancing couples to the door. He passed by a group of people talking, not noticing Christian was among them until he had spoken and even then, Osmund just stared at him for a moment before the words sunk in. He knew Christian was joking, but part of him was criticizing him for neglecting to talk to his best mate at least. What a self-centered asshole you are, Osmund Hollow. You've hurt Xavior and now you will hurt Christian. Not today, though.

Osmund stepped forward, his arms outstretched, and then wrapped them around the boy, his head on Christian's shoulder so he couldn't see his reddening eyes. "Alright, mate. Let's dance," He said weakly and tried to move his feet appropriately, but it was hard in the most informal position they were in.

Christian had only been teasing his mate about his early departure from the dance and not coming to find him for a dance. It seemed as if his words had a bigger impact than that though. He wasn't going to insist on a dance if his mate wasn't up for it, and he should know Christian wouldn't. So why did he look so upset by it? He came to the conclusion that there must be something else on his mind. He had been about to ask what was eating at him when Osmund suddenly wrapped his arms around him and put his head on his shoulder, much like Xavior had done earlier.

There is no question about Christian's opinion on hugs, he didn't like them much. He was getting much better though and certain people he was okay with hugs. Oz was one of those and it wasn't even a real hug it was still a dance. He recovered from the initial surprise quickly and wrapped his arms around his mate in return. Having learned to dance in this position earlier with Xavior, who was taller making harder, Christian had no problem guiding them away from the door.

The Cerisier leant his head against his mate softly and let silence fall while they danced awhile. After sometime of this he finally spoke up. “Wanna talk?” He asked quietly.

Osmund was surprised with how well Christian was taking the hug, knowing how much his friend loathed hugs, but then again maybe it was disguised well enough as a dancing position that Christian didn't notice the difference. Osmund took the silence that formed between them as an opportunity to compose himself, but found it an impossible task. He couldn't stop thinking about what he had done and it made it all the worse when Christian asked whether or not he wanted to talk.

"No," osmund replied, his voice cracking. Then he lost his composure some and hot tears spilled from his eyes without his command. Osmund pressed his face against Christian's shoulder to hide his tears, but the other boy surely noticed the oddity in his voice. He tried to for words to either make an excuse for his behavior or to explain, but nothing would come out of his mouth. Instead he just gripped onto Christian harder, his fingers digging into the material of the suit is mate wore as Osmund took a quick breath in, sending a shake through his body and let more tears fall from his obscured face.

"I'm so sorry," he managed finally, but whether he was apologizing to his strange behavior towards Christian, or indirectly to the absent Xavior, even Osmund didn't know.

This year was full of new experiences for Christian these ranged from scoring more points than the snitch was worth, to asking a girl to be his date, to comforting people. It's probably not hard to guess but this teen never was much for comforting anyone besides himself, but this year he had done so with his cousins and now his mate. He had never seen him like this before, the Cerisier felt like if he wasn't careful he was going to break the boy in his arms.

He offered talking if that was something he need but felt bad about doing so when it appeared to make it worse. He heard the crack in his voice when he said no, it was the same sound Christian had made when Oz asked about everyone he loved dying. That was the on verge of tears voice and sure enough his mate soon buried his face in Christian's dress robes and he could tell there was tears.

Xavior had cried plenty of times around Christian but Osmund was always stronger than that. His mate increased his grip and a shake went through his body with the tears. He pulled him in closer at that shake, there was no space between them now amd hopefully no room for more shaking tears. He had to remind himself to keep them moving so no one questioned anything. Christian whispered soft hushes to his mate. "Don't." He whispered in response to the apology. "Its okay."

"Fuck," Osmund started as Christian's response made it clear that he knew exactly what Osmund was doing. He hated himself when he cried. Big boys didn't cry, Osmund learned that when his first nanny had died. She had been more like a mother to him than the busy with work Helena had ever been, but yet when he stood by her casket and let tears shake his seven year old body, his father taught him a lesson he had never forgot. Sometimes he did cry, but not like this. Never in public and never in the embrace of another person. He despised how uncharacteristically weak he was acting. "I'm pathetic." His face rose from the sleeve of Christian and the back of his hand cleared his reddened, wet face. He let a single laugh escape, laughing at himself. "I've failed you father," he said, to no one in particular. "And I've failed Xavior." His eyes were still bleary with tears, but he wore a pointed face, one that he thought represented strength. He looked Christian in the eyes then. "And now I am standing here with you, just waiting to fail you as well." What remained of their embrace was finally broken as Osmund let go and back away from Christian, trying to avoid running into any other dancers.