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[fakejaded]

Britta waits until no one's around before she makes her way into the dance studio. At mid-afternoon on a Friday, she has the room free, the place empty until the evening class unless someone turns up to practice, and she prefers it that way for now. While she's been getting steadily better under River's tutelage (that girl is one intense taskmaster

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[weary_head]

Dean's a long way from home, but it feels, if not good, better, breaking out of his old routines, not going home after the Clinic to an empty bed, but elsewhere. He's chosen the beach today, intent on watching the sunset, but he pauses on his way when he sees a bright blonde head ducking into a door.

"Britta?"

[fakejaded]

It should only be embarrassing with the people who knew her at Greendale, but even so, Britta's eyes widen when she turns and spots Dean. "Hi," she says, and she's thankful she at least has shorts on over the leotard as she lifts a hand in greeting. "How... 's it going?" It's just ballet, not everyone makes fun of people for dancing - it's just people like Jeff, really, right?

[weary_head]

"Hey. This your place?" Dean asks, but no, it can't be, built too differently from the other huts. Dean's passed by it many times, but he's never been inclined to look closer until now.

Britta's outfit provides him no clues, Dean too grossly removed from the world of dance to recognize the garment as anything but stretchy, and he tilts his head. "What building's this?"

[fakejaded]

"It's the dance studio," Britta says, a hint of reluctance in her tone even as she smiles, stepping back and waving inside for him to take a look. "River, she, uh, got it for Christmas one year, I think? She teaches ballet." He's not going to laugh at her, she decides. Why shouldn't she dance if she wants to?

[weary_head]

"No shit...Didn't even know we had one of these, you guys do performances?" Dean asks, following her into the structure. He walks to the center of the room, brows lifting for the floor to ceiling mirrors on the wall.

"Kinky."

[fakejaded]

"At the end of term," answers Britta, already starting to laugh as she looks at the mirrors and then at him. "They're so you can see yourself dance. Don't get your head full of ideas." It only occurs to her after she says it that, really, he has no one to carry ideas out with anyway because his fiancée's gone, so of course she feels like an idiot for it, though he started it. It's hardly the most insensitive thing she's ever said, but she still finds herself faltering for a way to correct it.

[weary_head]

"Guy's head's always full of ideas," says Dean, too tired to be anything but truthful. There's no harm in it, he guesses, even if he doesn't know her well enough to say whether she needs the advice or not. Even if...he doesn't really know himself well enough right now to say if he believes it. "Even the 'sensitive' ones. What kinda dance?"

[fakejaded]

Britta almost laughs again, asks if that makes him one of the sensitive ones; in a weird way, though, she kind of thinks he is. He's been through a lot, but even with the whole tough guy thing he has going on, he doesn't seem hardened or anything. It makes her like him better, honestly. "Ballet," she says. "I was taking a class back home. I thought I might as well pick it up again here. And trust me, I know about guys. It's like a full-time job up in there, isn't it?"

[weary_head]

Dean chuckles. "Can be," he admits. These days, he's consumed with something else, but he remembers a time when he was all about burgers, boobs, and beer, in that order. "Probably the less women know about goes on in our heads the better."

He can see her in the mirror well enough, but it feels strange, and Dean turns to face her. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen ballet in real life. You do the whole Swan Lake thing, tiptoes and all?"

[fakejaded]

Britta shakes her head, smiling. "No," she says. "I'll... probably never work my way up to that. It takes years and dedication. I'm almost thirty and I've taken two classes in my whole life." She doesn't usually like copping to all that, but there's no harm in being honest about this; there's no chance at all she'll ever wind up en pointe. As much as she likes dance, she can't commit herself to it, didn't start soon enough. It's kind of the story of her whole life.

[weary_head]

"Doesn't mean anything. I never finished high school," says Dean, brow pulling downward. "Got my GED, but it's not the same to people, you know? But I've been taking classes, working at the Clinic, learning from a doctor there. Might get pulled out of here before I get anywhere, but I might not. Wasn't anything I could've done back home, at least, and it feels good." He smiles, faint wrinkles around his eyes. "You should keep it up."

[fakejaded]

"I didn't know that," Britta says, though there's no reason she should have. It's not like they're close, not like they're good friends, whatever they went through a few months ago. An experience like that gives people a sense of being bound together, but it doesn't really mean they know each other any. She smiles, sheepish. "I got my GED, too. I... just went back to community college, about a year before I got here. And you're right, there is no reason we can't try for more. I bet you'll make a really great doctor."

[weary_head]

"Guess we'll see," says Dean, smiling for both the vote of confidence and their mutually unconventional education. "Two dropouts in a ballet hut," he has to chuckle, lifting his hand after for a high five. "Team Making the Most of this Crazy Island."

[fakejaded]

Britta grins, high fiving him, but the smile dies after a moment and, on an impulse, she pushes up on her toes, just barely managing to plant a kiss on his lips. It's far from being the stupidest thing she's ever done, but with all he's been through, it occurs to her after the fact it's pretty dumb, too. "Wow, sorry," she says, backing up, glancing behind her to remind herself which corner she left all her stuff in. "That was - forget I did that."

[weary_head]

Dean's wearing a bemused smile when she pulls away, surprise evident in his every feature, and for a long moment he just stands there, heart beating away in his chest. Two months. That's all it's been since Angua left, and it feels like forever ago and yesterday all at once.

You need to get back out there, Roger'd told him, more times than Dean can count over two empty glasses, and Dean's never said a word, never wanted to put that advice into action, but his lips are tingling, and she's still right there, and the reckless part of him he hasn't tapped into in so long pushes him forward, one hand sliding around the back of her neck to pull her close. His head is spinning, and he doesn't really know what he's doing, but when Dean's chin lowers, when his hands angle Britta's face up to meet her for a proper kiss, it's entirely intentional.

[fakejaded]

There's a moment where Britta's convinced she's royally fucked up, because that's what she does, she screws everything up, and it's a terrible idea, to put that on him when he's dealing with a loss, and she doesn't want to mess this up because she actually really likes being his friend inasmuch as they're friends at all. It's a horrible, awful idea.

Except then he pulls her toward him and it seems like a really, really good one. She's done far stupider things and it's been such a long time since she kissed anyone, since she felt like someone wanted her, especially someone who actually knows her; she's always been better at chasing people away. Heart thudding up toward her throat, her hands settle on his arms as she presses closer, leans into it. Like most things she's done, it seems more than worth the mess that comes after.