Victoria&Albert Museum: Renaissance City
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"Josiah, can you get the house phone?" Dahlia asked. "It's been ringing for the past three minutes."
"Hang on!" he shouted, running down the stairs in a half buttoned dress shirt. When he picked up the phone, he held it between his head and shoulder to button the rest.
"Hello?"
He heard a small gasp on the other end. "...Josiah? Sweetie, is that you?"
"Mother..." he said, removing his hands from his shirt to grasp the phone.
"Oh dear," her voice sounded soft, almost as if she were on the verge of tears, "I'm so glad you're okay."
"Of course I am."
"I'm so sorry...for everything. Promise me you'll return home soon," she pleaded. "Tell me you're coming back!"
From the tone of her voice, Josiah thought perhaps her intentions were genuine. That maybe for once in her life it was real salt tears staining her designer blouse, that she put physical appearance aside to allow herself the indulgence of an ugly sob—but true intentions are always hard to recognize when they're hidden behind a phone. "Mo-"
"Honey, I haven't said anything to your father. We can fix this—he'll never need to know. If it was Charlotte you didn't like we can find another suitor I-"
Aha.
"-the Fitzgeralds can be intimidating and I understand-"
"Mother."
"Yes dear?" She was frantic.
"I have to go now. I have a wedding to attend."
"O-oh, okay."she said. She also tried to say goodbye, but he hung up before she could add anything else.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✦ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Dahlia's friend was named Autumn and, like the season, she smelled of pumpkin with a hint of warm vanilla. Freckles dusted her skin like cinnamon powder, and her brown hair twisted about like vines—she was a real-life woodland pixie. Her husband, on the other hand, although named Floyd was the epitome of winter. His eyes were like ice, his skin sickly pale, and there were flecks of silver in his otherwise jet black hair. They were a hideously beautiful dichotomy. They were evidence of the famous phrase "opposites attract". They were...
...your average arranged marriage.
Nonetheless, that was a good thing for them, because no amount of love could pay for the cost of the grand wedding anyways. The outdoor reception was filled to the brim with foreign luxuries. White satin and velvet roses adorned the layout, while the seating arrangement opened up to the vibrantly blue Adriatic Sea. And above the dance floor hung strands upon strands of bright lights that twinkled like fairies. It was such a raw, magical place for such a phony event.
Thoughts heavy with his mother's phone call, Josiah sat a table, now empty because everyone had left to dance.
We can fix this, she had said.
That statement in particular echoed in his mind, an emphasis mainly on the word fix. She made it seem as if her masterpiece were shattered into large pieces, as if it—he—could simply be mended with glue. What struck him the most was that her idea wasn't completely ludicrous. After all, standing at a decent distance was enough to hide any hairline cracks that were forever left like scars upon skin.
When ABBA's popular hit "Dancing Queen" started playing, even more people left their seats, leaving Josiah to sit in complete isolation.
You can dance!
You can jive!
People were chanting along to their hearts' delights. There wasn't a single soul in the room who didn't know the lyrics word for word.
Josiah watched as Isaac sang and danced with Dahlia, having the time of his life. He took her hand—twirled her several times. She was laughing, more than he'd seen her in a long time as a matter of fact. Isaac tended to have that effect on people. He found himself glaring, perhaps with envy, for a few seconds before Isaac's gaze met his.
Oops.
Isaac started heading over.
"What are you doing all alone?" he shouted over the music.
"Dancing in my throne."
Isaac frowned and grabbed him by the wrist. "This is like...the best song ever. Get up or I'll make you."
"What are you doing?" he whined as they neared the floor.
Getting in the swing
You come to look for a king.
"Dance with me, idiot."
Isaac twirled him as if he were Dahlia; the hand that loosely held his was warm from excess body heat. When Isaac moved about, so did his hair and his billowy, partially open shirt. Lights above them sparkled, reflecting small beads of sweat on his exposed chest. Isaac was laughing hard, his smile carefree and wide. His energy was contagious, and soon enough Josiah found himself forgetting his thoughts and joining in his pointless laughter as he sang (more accurately, shouted) along.
Ooh, see that girl!
Watch that scene
Dig in the dancing queen.
Josiah watched helplessly as Isaac threw his head back, shut his eyes and lost his mind in the music.
Ah, it's just as I'd thought.
When Isaac ran his hands through his messy hair, he exposed every soft feature of his doll-like face. Every feature Josiah wanted to press gentle lips upon, even though he knew they never engaged in such intimacy.
I really, really want this boy.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✦ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Isaac figured it was best to take a break when a slow song started to play, despite the many girls who pleaded otherwise. He excused himself from the floor, ignoring their cries, and headed towards the bathroom on the other end. Opening the door, he was greeted by a strong stench—an unfortunately recognizable combination of vomit and beer.
Disgusting, he thought, but he needed to go anyways. He'll make it quick.
"Hey you!" shouted a man, the source of the odor as Isaac learned, hidden in the unlit corner of the room. "I know you."
"Pardon?"
He wore a suit, proving he was indeed a guest of the event, but there were patches of dried vomit as if he'd just been drinking in the bathroom the entirety of the party. "I said I know you! You're that disgusting fffaggot from t-the dance fffloor." He was blatantly drunk, slurring his words and staggering his steps. "You were touching...filthy people like you-"
Isaac didn't want to hear anymore. Were two guys not even allowed to dance together? The dance was playful and fun for God's sake. He turned immediately, but before he could get out, the old man grabbed his wrist, grip so hard it'd leave bruises.
"Let go of me!" he cried.
"Not before you get what you deserve!" The man had an empty glass bottle in his hand, clearly ready to use it. Isaac yanked his hand back as hard as he could and narrowly avoided the swinging bottle. It shattered into hundreds of small pieces when it hit the tile floor. Isaac didn't say anything else. He just ran out the door, leaving the drunk with his broken glass.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✦ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
"That was quite a dance out there!" gushed Dahlia. "I've known you your whole life and I've never seen you show so much emotion!"
"Could say the same for you," Josiah chortled in return.
"I'm serious. I felt like I watched all of your cares sail into the horizon and disappear. I saw each and every one of your miseries carried far, far away by the breeze."
He snorted, "Didn't know you could see emotions."
"They're the lighthouse," she said.
He stared, confused by her flowery prose.
"They're a source of light," she explained, "And in this dark, empty, and endless ocean, I can see them from wonders away."
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✦ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
"You said he was in the bathroom?" asked Josiah.
"Yes, and I haven't seen him around," said Isaac, pale and tired when he returned, "he's probably still there. I don't even think he really recognized me. He's just so drunk I think he'll hurt anyone."
"I'll inform security."
Isaac just nodded in silence. He was shaking.
Josiah got up from his seat and started heading towards the entrance where they were located. People can't even be civil for one night, he thought.
Just before he arrived at the door, he was interrupted by coarse voice.
"Josiah Beckett, is it?" The voice belonged to one of his father's most influential business partners—a man named George Henry for that matter. His mood shifted from pleasant to loathing.
"Indeed, sir" he said, plastering on a grin and shaking his cold, dry hand, "glad you remember."
Josiah felt the man caress the back of his hand with his thumb. "I never forget a beautiful young face."
"I'm flattered."
"...enjoying the wedding?"
"Yes, although I don't know the bride nor groom very well."
"I don't either" He took a long sip from his beer. "For a moment I honestly thought this was a waste of my night." The older man stepped closer, "...but now that I ran into you...I think you can change that."
Josiah just continued smiling, though it became rather tight lipped when he heard the tone of his voice. "...why is that sir?"
"I'm sure you've heard about you father's recent investments..." his voice lowered and he scrunched his face, "...they haven't made me too happy."
"...what would then?" Josiah shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "Make you...happy."
"You know very well what would, boy," he said, smug grin suddenly revealing itself.
Josiah intended to brush off the comment with naïveté and stray from the subject when he saw Isaac in the corner of his eye, remembering the security guard and the drunk man. It was then something inside him snapped. It was the same something he felt when things weren't going as he'd wanted—whenever he felt like he wasn't in control.
People—they're all the same.
He scoffed, narrowed his eyes, and met the man's provocative gaze directly.
"...Does your wife still refuse to blow you?"
The man recoiled as if he were an innocent man being accused of crime. "No need for such vulgar language kid. It's an exchange of favors—you have your father to blame for his lousy mistakes."
"What happens if I refuse?"
He smirked. "You're a smart kid. I believe you'll make the right decision."
"I am." Josiah merely cocked his head. "And I will." He brought himself to the old man's ear and made his voice velvet.
"Meet me in the men's bathroom."
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