You have two magical evenings with Drake.

5. Classical Music and Dancing

The first lecture after Christmas, Drake strolled inside very much like the day he first joined your class. A bit late, looking elegant in suit and tie, and paying no attention to the teacher. This time, however, he paid all the more attention to his classmates. Nodding, smiling, giving little waves, and to your increased delight he took his seat next to you.

Sitting beside him, you were reminded of how much you had missed him. Every day of the holidays you had thought about him and even counted the days until uni would start again – highly unusual, for you.

"How was Christmas?" you whispered.

"Dull."

"Were you in America with your family?"

"I was here in town, not doing much. I learned to bake gingersnaps... and practiced my Swedish. Oh, and I memorized the textbook for the new semester if there is anything you want explained."

Your chest grew tight. Had he been alone all through Christmas and New Years? Poor him... You wished you had known, then you could have come to visit.

He poked you playfully. "Don't look like that, it wasn't too bad. I listened to a lot of music which was fun. I even bought CDs with that loud, noisy junk you guys listen to."

You couldn't talk more because of the ongoing lecture – people nearby were frowning at your whispering – but his grateful smile made you feel better. You were glad that Catrine suggested you buy him a present, and even more glad you had chosen something music related.

At lunch, Drake gathered everyone around him. "I have a belated Christmas gift for you."

"You didn't have to," said Catrine.

"I wanted to." He unfolded a glossy folder with the title 'The Barber of Seville'. He explained it was an opera by Rossini, and that he had tickets for the entire class to the Sunday performance.

You were thrilled to get an evening in Drake's company – even if it was together with everyone else. But when Sunday arrived, you became nervous. Opera seemed so fancy; what would you even wear? Should you bring a snack? Probably not popcorn and soda like when going to a movie...

After changing clothes several times and spreading the contents of your wardrobe all over the room, you at last picked your most proper outfit, and brought no snacks.

You arrived at the opera house half an hour early, and found Drake already waiting in the lobby. When you joined him, you decided to be bold. "I have never been to the opera before. Can I sit with you, so you can explain if I don't understand?"

That was an excuse, of course; you just wanted to be near him.

"Sure." He didn't seem to suspect anything.

When everyone had come, you went to your seats together. They were at the third balcony, right in front of the stage. Ascending the stairs, you looked out through the panorama windows and admired the view of the Göta Älv river gleaming pink and orange in the evening sun. A sheen of frost was covering its calm surface.

You entered the narrow balcony and took your seat. When you peeked over the railing you saw how far below the floor was.

"Afraid of heights?" asked Drake amusedly.

You weren't, but you didn't mind if he thought so. "Very. You must comfort me!"

"I don't believe you." He grabbed your shoulders, jokingly pushing you forward.

You gave an undignified squeak as the sheer drop before you made your belly tingle. "Asshole," you giggled, though you were secretly pleased with his teasing.

"That's me," he acceded unashamedly.

You took hold of his arm, leaning against him. "Now you made me even more afraid."

"Liar." But he didn't push you away.

A sound began; the orchestra was tuning their instruments in the pit below the stage. The murmur of the audience silenced expectantly as everyone took their seats, and then the lights went out and the music began.

Drake whispered in your ear: "This piece is called the overture. It's an intro to the opera." His breath tickled your neck and you shivered.

His arm was warm under yours and his perfume drifted to you. Did he think you could focus on the music under such circumstances?

But to your surprise your attention was soon caught by the unfolding drama. They sang in Italian, but there was a thin monitor above the stage with the translation. The singing was beautiful, and you found that you cared about Rosina and Count Almaviva. You wanted them to have their happy ever after, despite how stupidly the count went about his wooing.

Drake kept whispering explanations to you, because the storyline was often confusing and not very realistic – though still entertaining – and in doing so he sat so close to you his leg was pressed against yours. You still held his arm and contemplated taking his hand instead, but you were too afraid. What if he pushed you away? Hand-holding was quite something else than just sitting close. He might not be as into you as you hoped... and you didn't want to risk losing his friendship.

Instead you decided to be content with what you had and enjoy the pleasant evening.

The following weeks, the lectures and labs continued as usual, and as time passed you became more and more convinced you had to do something about your crush on Drake. You couldn't keep pining like this; it had a bad effect on your studies. And your appetite, and sleep, and mostly everything else, too...

On top of it all, there was talk on your campus about the upcoming spring ball, a very grand prom hosted by the technology university. One of your classmates had a contact who was a student there and could get you tickets.

None of your friends were going; Catrine found it too expensive and Martin didn't like parties with a dress code. Andreas was not in town that weekend, and Drake seemed unaware of the event.

But you were intrigued. A ball... it sounded luxurious and exotic, like being in a fairy-tale. But in order to go, you needed a date, and the only date you wanted was Drake.

If you asked him, he was sure to suspect why.

After pondering about it through many sleepless nights, you finally decided to ask him after all. A prom meant classical music and classical dancing – you could make it sound like you asked him because he might like it, not because you wanted to go on a date with him.

And if he turned you down, then at least you would know. Then you could forget him, and the way it felt now that would almost be a relief.

Despite your sound reasoning, bringing the subject up the next day made you a nervous, fluttering mess. You could only pray he wouldn't notice how badly your fingers trembled.

"So, eh, did you hear? There's this ball coming up at Chalmers, with fancy clothes and music, and waltzes and everything. Right up your alley. Wanna go?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. I bet you are good at dancing, and I need a..." You had meant to say 'date' but changed the word at the last moment. "Uh, a friend to go with."

For some reason, being called "friend" always made him look pleased, but he still seemed ambivalent. It took a while until he replied, during which your heart pounded so hard you feared he could hear it, and the trembles in your fingers worsened.

"Sure, why not?"

Nearly staggering with relief, you fought the urge to make a victory dance. "Good. That's settled then," you said as calmly as you could.

The day arrived at last. When you went out to the waiting taxi, you for once felt beautiful and attractive. Your outfit was rented for the occasion and fitted you perfectly, like it was made for you.

Drake had asked you to order the taxi, since he – strangely – had no phone. But he said he would pay for it, which was a relief; after buying the ball ticket you were rather broke.

When the car drove up his street, you became nervous, but in a good way. Drake and you were going on a date! Or, not outright a date, but it still felt that way. You fidgeted with the fabric of your fine clothes as your heart beat faster and faster.

You saw him from far away where he stood waiting. He wore a black dress suit with tails again, with a green bowtie and matching pocket square, and he had combed his hair differently. It fell over his forehead in a side parting that suited him much better than his normal slicked back style.

As he entered the car, he looked around curiously as if he had never been in one before, and patted the leather upholstery appreciatively. "Nice." Then he turned his eyes to you and stopped his motions. "You look great," he said after a brief pause. It sounded like he had meant to say more.

You felt at a loss for words too. He was so handsome it almost hurt you physically just looking at him.

"You too," you managed.

Then the taxi started and the intense moment was interrupted by Drake's excited exclaim: "Wow, look how fast we're going!"

The driver chuckled. "Fast? This?"

The car was in fact going very slowly, yet Drake seemed mesmerized by the ride, his face glued to the window like an eager retriever.

After a while, he seemed to remember something and managed to tear his gaze away. "This is for you." He put a small box in your hand.

"For me?" Surprised, you opened the box. There was a bracelet inside, with alternating green and silver beads. "Oh my God..." you breathed, toughing it with awe. "It's beautiful."

He pulled up his sleeve, showing an identical one on his wrist. "I wanted us to match tonight. Here, I'll help put it on."

As his finger touched your arm, a shiver went through you. The bracelet felt cool against your skin.

"Thank you. I love it!" You probably ought to say that it was too much, and he shouldn't have, but for once you held your tongue. He wanted you to have this and obviously could afford it. You didn't want to make him feel bad.

When you arrived not long afterwards, you ascended the stairs to the banquet hall together. Observing the other finely dressed students, you saw Drake was easily the most handsome man there, looking so much like a prince you again wondered whether he was one for real. A prince in exile.

Walking on his side, you felt like royalty too.

On top of the stairs, a photographer offered to take a picture of you together. You were about to say yes but Drake swiftly said: "Nej tack," in heavily accented Swedish.

As he pulled you away, you gave him a quizzical look.

"We will remember this night without a photograph, I am sure," he said smoothly.

You nodded. There was no way you would ever forget such a magical evening, and then it had not even begun.

The banquet hall was amazing. Chandeliers spread a mild, warm light over the many tables, decorated with spring flowers and confetti. You found your seats next to each other, with your names written in gold letters on neat cards. Drake pulled out the chair for you before taking his own.

Drake and you were surrounded by technologists, who turned out to be both nice and funny. They didn't mind speaking English for his sake.

Thanks to them, you were taught the customs of a formal dinner. There were many toasts – to the spring, to women, to men, and other toasts just because – and each time you were supposed to say "skål", raise your glass, and meet the gaze of first your date, then the person on your other side, and lastly the one opposite to you.

You loved the toasting. Looking deeply into Drake's large, pale blue eyes gave you flutters each time, and you thought he might be similarly affected. The way his pupils grew slightly wider made you think he actually felt something more than friendship too.

The evening progressed most pleasantly. You ate, one tasty course after the other, sipped sparkling wine and cider, listened to speeches and classical music, and of course talked to Drake a lot. He told you about formal dinners he had attended in his boarding school, and what his favorite foods were, and named all the classical pieces the orchestra played in the background.

He treated you most attentively, politely refilling your glass, and actually standing up when you had to go to the bathroom, and again when you returned so he could pull out your chair. You had never before felt so indulged and cared for.

When the dinner was over, the tables were moved aside to make space for dancing. Drake bowed to you. "May I have this dance?"

You readily accepted, your chest becoming full of butterflies, even more so as he took your hand and led you onto the dance floor. His hand was larger than yours, warm and calloused.

The first dance would be a waltz as was the spring ball custom. You stood facing him, placing one hand on his broad shoulder and the other in his hand. Again feeling his warmth, his scent, meeting his gaze as he held you.

When the music played up he took the lead and elegantly moved you along the circle of pairs, dancing like a professional. His steps were so graceful you at first felt clumsy, despite how much you had practiced at home, but when you began to relax in his arms you soon found his skill helped you. Following his lead, you waltzed in unity, feeling light-footed and uncommonly gracile.

Others were looking at Drake and you with admiration, and no wonder. He was outshining the entire dance floor and it spilled over to you.

"Where did you learn to dance like this?" you asked breathlessly, both from the exertion and his closeness.

"I learned it as a boy. My parents often hosted balls and other social events before the war and I was expected to dance with all the old hags. I didn't mind the dancing as such, but the stink of Chanel and mothballs nearly became the death of me." He made a mock suffering grimace.

You frowned in puzzlement. "What war?"

"Did I say war? No, I meant before the... eh, bad times. You know, when uh..."

Even more puzzled, you tried to figure out what bad times those might be. Something financial, maybe, if it had put an end to balls and social events? "The nineties' recession?" you suggested.

"That's the one, yeah." He spun you around a few turns and you had to focus on your steps instead of talking.

But you couldn't help wondering a little. It felt like he really had meant to say "war", but if so, what country was he from then? Somewhere in the Middle East? Perhaps his family were oil billionaires from Kuwait or something. Though, with his hair- and eye color he didn't look very Arab... unless he was adopted?

Either way, his casual comment had managed to increase your curiosity about him even further.

After the waltz finished, more followed. You danced until your feet hurt and you became hot and out of breath.

"Shall we catch some air?" Drake suggested, offering his arm.

You went down to the street outside, joining a small crowd of other tired guests, letting the fresh spring night air cool you off. When Drake removed his suit jacket and vest, you had a hard time taking your eyes off his shapely torso hinting through the shirt he wore underneath. You wished he would button it down, but this time he didn't.

You drifted closer to him under the guise of moving away from a woman's cigarette smoke.

"I have had a magical evening so far," you told him.

"Magical?" He grinned. "Glad you think so. I'm enjoying it too; great food, great music, and it's been nice to waltz again. Been a while since the last time. Thanks for asking me."

His smile was irresistible and you returned it. "Thanks for accepting."

You returned inside and were thrilled when Drake hung his jacket on a chair first. Now when you put your hand on his shoulder in the dance, you could feel the warmth of his skin under the thin fabric. It made your heart throb quickly.

Your dancing improved steadily; you learned from his confident lead. It felt like being in a dream. You were allowed to be in his arms for a whole night... to continuously keep eye-contact. To feel his muscles move under your fingers, and his hand holding yours...

The final songs were slow and romantic. Drake drew you closer until you were practically dancing in a hug. As you leaned your head against his chest, the surreal feeling increased. This was too good to be true.

But soon it would end, and despite everything you still didn't know how things were between Drake and you. Was this only friendship, or had it become more? He was your prom date and you had danced all evening, but he said himself he had even danced with old hags in his childhood so that didn't necessarily mean anything. Maybe he just liked the dancing itself and didn't care who he did it with?

You needed to see him again, just the two of you, but the next ball was a year away. What could you suggest instead?

The music stopped. Time to say something...

At the last moment you had an idea. "You know, now that we tried your kind of entertainment with that opera performance earlier and now a classical banquet and a ball, we ought to try my idea of a night out," you said lightly, trying to act casual.

He looked amused. "What might that be? A student pub with bad music and getting wasted on cheap drinks?"

Your face grew hot as you were reminded of how you followed him home, drunk as a skunk. "No, but what do you say to fast food for starters, then watching a movie and eating lots of popcorn, and afterwards sharing a few drinks in the park?"

"Together with the rest of the class?"

You looked down, fidgeting with your sleeve. "Or just the two of us? Would be less, uh, crowded..."

He hesitated before replying, and when he did he sounded a bit guilty: "I've never seen a movie... it couldn't hurt, I suppose."

"What?" You forgot your embarrassment. "You never saw a movie? Not even renting a VHS and watching it at home?"

"My parents were very old-fashioned," he said uncomfortably, and now it was his turn to avoid your gaze.

"That explains a lot." You thought about how he always struggled with technical appliances, and didn't even have a phone or a TV at home.

Not until you were getting into the waiting taxi a while later, did your brain catch his choice of tense. My parents were very old-fashioned. Were. Had they died?

Maybe you could ask him on your next date.

The thought filled you with a new swarm of butterflies. He had accepted! This was not the end; soon you would go on another date! And perhaps after that one, you would finally know what his feelings for you were.

A/N:

In case anyone wonders what the reader's outfit for the ball was, it's a bit difficult to say because it depends on the reader's gender and style. But google "spring prom" and check images, and pick the most beautiful dress or suit you find – that's what you were wearing. :)

Translations: Nej tack = no thanks, skål = cheers