Pen
“That’s it, bro. I’m all Fred Astaire’d out,” Dax groans when York reaches for the control and hunts Netflix for another black and white dance movie. It’s way past two in the morning, but none of us are tired. Well, maybe tired of York’s choice of movies. I love Fred Astaire as much as the next person, but I switched off two movies ago, my mind elsewhere. With every passing hour my anxiety has grown.
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” York protests. “Look, they’ve got Swing Time too.”
Dax throws a pillow at his head. “Enough already!”
Chuckling, York flicks off the TV. The screen goes black, throwing us into semi darkness. This whole evening he’s been the joker, the lighthearted one. He’s kept us preoccupied with his wit and charm. I love and appreciate his efforts, but I’m feeling restless past the point of distraction.
“So what now?” he asks, and I feel the heat of his stare as I get up and walk to the window.
“It’s such a beautiful view,” I say absentmindedly as I look out onto the cityscape beyond the window.
“It is,” York agrees, stepping up behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist and rests his chin on top of my head. I get a whiff of his signature CKOne perfume and it immediately takes me back to our childhood.
“Have you heard anything yet?”
“They’ll be home soon, Titch. Try not to worry.”
I let out a broken laugh. “How can I not worry about them, about all of you?”
York turns me around in his arms and I tip my head back to look up at him. “Because we’re badasses, that’s why.”
“You mean arrogant?” I laugh, but it comes out choked. “No one’s invincible, York.”
“Zat is vhere you are vrong, my pretty morsel. I’m a vampire, and I’m invincible, mwa-ha-ha-haa!” he replies, tipping his head back in a mock Count Dracula impression.
“You’re such a dick,” Dax says, throwing another cushion at York’s head. It bounces off him, messing up his already disheveled hair so it sticks up all over his head in white-blonde spikes. Despite his cuteness, I can’t seem to crack a genuine smile. I’m too worried.
“Seriously, York. This isn’t funny.” I frown, trying everything in my power to be the strong person Zayn needs me to be and feeling as though I’m failing. It’s hard work being strong all the time. York presses his forefinger against the crease in my brow, sliding it gently over each eyebrow in turn. Then looks at me in that disarming way of his.
“I know what you need,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.
“I’m not in the mood…” I mutter. As much as I want him, the last thing on my mind is sex. I won’t settle until Zayn and Xeno are back, and whilst I have to believe Zayn will win the fight, that doesn’t mean to say he’ll be okay when he returns, physically or emotionally. Fuck, maybe he won’t be affected at all. I’m not sure what’s worse.
York presses his hand against his chest in mock horror. “Fuck, Titch, you sure know how to burst a man’s ego.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Stop it, I’m just messing with you. Come on, let’s dance this out.”
“Dance?”
He grins. “Are you tired?”
“No—”
“Then let’s dance.” Grasping my hand in his, York pulls me towards the door in the corner of the room that leads to their dance studio. “You coming, big boy?”
Dax rolls his eyes, but gets up and follows us both anyway. “You keep calling me that, York, and I’m gonna think you fancy me.”
“Hey, man. I just appreciate a decent sized, platonic-cock.”
“Platonic-cock? Fuck, man, I seriously worry about you sometimes.”
York laughs loudly, flicking on the light to the dance studio. “You need to lighten up. Women appreciate other women all the time. Just because I think you’ve got a decent sized dick; doesn’t mean I want to suck it.”
“Decent sized dick? Suck it? Fuck me,” Dax grumbles and I can’t help but grin.
“Any song preference?” York asks as we step into the studio. He winks at me, loving that his ribbing is making Dax uncomfortable. It’s certainly helping to lighten my mood.
I shake my head. “You choose.”
York kisses my knuckles then wanders over to the sound system. I feel Dax’s hand rest on my lower back. “How does he do that?” I ask, referring to York’s ability to remain so fucking positive.
“We all have our roles to play, Kid. York’s the optimist. During times like this he keeps us distracted with his banter and his stupid fucking jokes. That’s why Xeno swapped places with him. He knew you’d need the distraction, and you already know that Xeno is a moody motherfucker.”
“Yeah, I can see that now. So, what’s your role then?”
Dax shrugs. “I’m just the big guy who can fight.”
“No way, man,” York says, overhearing our conversation and suddenly becoming very serious. “You’re the one we can count on to be there no matter what. You’re the only one who can keep Xeno in check. You’re the fucking rock.”
Dax laughs. “First you’re giving my cock a nickname and now this? Anyone would think you love me, York.”
York plants his hand on his hip and gives him a sassy smile. “Of course, I fucking love every big, alpha-hot hole, inch of you.”
“Shut the fuck up, dude, and choose a damn song.”
“Ohh, I love it when you talk dirty to me,” York retorts, and I can’t help but smile. I’ve missed this banter between them. It warms my heart like nothing else. Xeno was right, I needed York here tonight.
“Jeez, alright. Don’t get your knickers in a twist, big boy.”
I swallow a laugh as York attaches his mobile phone to the sound system, resting it on the table. He doesn’t press play straight away. Instead, he pushes against a panel in the wall that I hadn’t noticed the last time I was in this studio, given I was preoccupied with Dax. It opens up to reveal a cupboard. He grabs two pairs of tap shoes from a built-in shoe rack and turns around grinning.
Dax groans. “I ain’t tap dancing.”
“These aren’t for you,” York says, handing one pair to me whilst he puts on the other.
“When did you—?”
“I bought them a week or so ago. Couldn’t have Zayn one-upping me…” he jokes, his gaze softening when he sees the look on my face. “I wanted to buy something nice for you too. These are the best money can buy. They’re made out of the softest Italian cowhide leather. I think it’s all the pasta those Italian cows eat on the daily.”
“Err, genius, cows eat grass.” Dax chuckles.
“Pasta, grass, whatever. I swear it’s like dancing on air.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything…” York takes my hand, looking down at me. “Dance with me, Titch?”
“Of course I’ll dance with you.” Rising up onto my tiptoes, I plant a quick peck against his lips, but when I pull back, he captures my head and deepens the kiss.
“York,” I mutter against his mouth, wanting so badly to lean into him, to forget about what’s going on this evening, but I can’t. I can’t. I pull away, my cheeks flushing with heat.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Dax rumbles, a lopsided smile pulling up his lips as he strolls over to a bench pushed up against the mirror and sits, watching us both. My heart stutters and I’m reminded of that time together on Xeno’s bed when we were kids.
“Another time?” I say softly, because as much as I love York and Dax, that’s not the kind of distraction I need, not whilst the other pieces of my heart are doing dangerous things in the name of the Skins.
“You better believe it, Titch,” York responds. Stepping back, he swipes a hand through his hair, blowing out a long breath.
“Blue balls ain’t a good look on you,” Dax says, cracking up.
“Fuck off,” York mumbles, but he’s grinning too.
Pulling on my new tap shoes, I perform a quick ball shuffle change, testing them out. “They’re perfect.”
York turns to Dax. “Are you sure you ain’t up for some tap dance?”
“Nope.” Dax shakes his head, and leans back against the mirror, his long legs stretching out in front of him. “Ain’t my style.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it… Then again, it takes some skill to dance like this,” York states with a cheeky wink before he starts tapping a series of impressive steps that make me dizzy just to watch. He’s a genius, there’s no denying that.
“Fucking show-off,” Dax grumbles, folding his arms across his chest. “Come on then blue balls, let us see what you got. Stop pissing around and turn the damn music on.”
York presses play, and a familiar tune starts playing out over the speaker.
“No. Fucking. Way.” Dax laughs raucously. “A very nineties tune, mate. You know you really were born in the wrong fucking era.”
“It only came out the year before I was born, so it is my era, sort of. I fucking love this song.”
York steps into the middle of the studio and starts to tap, grinning the whole time as You Get What You Give, by the New Radicals plays. He’s beaming, his feet tapping perfectly in time to the beat. It’s just what I needed. Something uplifting. Something to put a smile on all our faces.
Picking up his jaunty vibe, I join York in the center of the dance floor, copying his sequence of tap steps then interspersing them with some of my own.
“This song is making my ears bleed!” Dax shouts out over the music.
“You wouldn’t know good music if it punched you in the face!” York replies, giving Dax the finger. “Let’s show the fucker what he’s missing.” He takes my hands, twines his fingers with mine, and brings me around to face him, tapping with a lightness and a joy that I can’t help but smile at. I concentrate on his footwork, overwhelmed by his gift. There’s no way I can keep up.
“Your feet are ridiculous,” I mutter.
“Eyes on me, Titch,” he says, lifting my chin with his fingers and pinning me with his glacier-eyes. I’ll never get used to how he takes my breath away every time he looks at me. “Let your feet do the talking. It’s just me and Dax. Shake off your worries, Titch. Don’t think too hard.”
“But what if Zayn doesn’t—”
“No. Zayn will come home, Xeno will make sure of it. Now fucking move your feet!” he demands with a squeeze of my hand and a determined grit of his jaw. Jumping back, he flings his arms wide and sings along to the song as he taps with lightning-fast feet. For a moment, I watch him, awed by his talent. But this isn’t just about showing off, this is so much more than that. This is his way of relieving his stress, his worries. This is York funneling all his fears and turning it into something uplifting. He dances as though every step will ensure Zayn’s safety, believing that Zayn will come home unharmed.
There’s a power in that, in his belief.
It rubs off on me.
Behind us, Dax is bopping his head, watching York with respect and love. He catches my eye and winks, encouraging me. God, my heart feels so full despite the circumstances.
I feel the absolute love they all have for one another, for me. I feel their hope for our future, and all of a sudden, I’m that fourteen-year-old kid again. I’m that courageous girl following her heart and believing in four boys who brought sunshine and happiness to her life at the moment she needed it most.
My Breakers. My whole fucking heart.
Right then and there I make a decision to trust in the Breakers, in us, and I sure as fuck won’t give up. Jeb can go fuck himself. David can rot in hell. The Masks can try and do their worst. And Santiago Garcia, he’s going down.
Grinning, I dance as though Zayn’s life depends on it.
I feel the music. I hear the beat. I trust in their belief.
With every sequence of steps a feeling of hope fills my chest, giving me the strength to face an uncertain future head on. We dance with abandon, with impact, with positivity and a determination to let go of our fears so that we can be there for Zayn when he returns.
He’s going to need us. He’s going to need me to be strong.
“That’s it, Titch, move your damn feet!” York yells.
The song tells us all not to give up, to feel the music, to dance.
So, I do.
I dance until my worries are beaten into the floor beneath my feet and I’m the woman Zayn needs me to be.
Strong. Fierce. Determined.
