Aurelia

Did I say cake and a dance? More like two tequila shots and another pep talk from Lolli-N.

After half an hour of my protests, Enea dancing like a lunatic in the corner of the room, and Illion talking with bajillions of people, I finally step my ass across the hall, and push through the crowd to where he is.

“Illion of the Marillion.” The tequila in me speaks before I can catch a breath, and before anyone can stop me, I speak, “dance with me.”

The chatter around him quiets to a murmur; everyone turns to look at me.

Whoops.

Illion stares at me with his mouth half open, like a goldfish swallowing for air. I can’t see his eyes, but the tip of his nose, and his cheeks, are tinting pink.

“Dance with me.” I repeat, firmer this time. Can’t back out now.

“What a tempting invitation!” He laughs the silence away, “I’d love to.”

The others join in on his cheery laughter, and he jumps off the table, looping his arm through mine.

“Go bitch!” Shrieks Enea from the back of the crowd, and I can see her pumping her fists at me.

Illion waves back at her, “we all like bitches!”

I don’t think he even knows what that means, but at least he elicited a few chuckles from around us.

“Sorry, she’s had a bit much to drink.” I mumble.

Illion shakes his head, “I think we all have.”

“Not you. I haven’t seen you touch one drink.”

“I had them before. It was an affair. Drinking a bottle alone in the bridge, quite scandalous.”

“You’re very daring.”

“Not as much as when I’m drunk.”

We’re standing in the middle of the dance floor now, with his hands around my waist, and mine on his shoulders.

It’s the same upbeat song from the Marillion advertisement; layered synths, echoed bells; a dance tune from the stars.

Illion pulls me into the rhythm with him, until we’re just swinging each other around with no real direction, trying not to laugh at how clumsy we are.

He’s a good dancer; if you don’t count the number of times he trips over his own feet, and I have to ‘catch’ him. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol that makes it seem that way.

I can’t really tell who’s catching who at this point, but that’s alright.

“Why are you always wearing those glasses?” The words rush from my lips by accident, just as we’ve finally fallen back into a rhythm of slow dancing again.

“Don’t you like them?”

“Well, don’t you have eyes?”

“Yeah?” He sounds confused.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“I bet your eyes are prettier than those glasses.”

“I…. Yeah…Probably?” He chuckles awkwardly and pushes his glasses up.

“You should show me later.”

His cheeks turn deeper red than a strawberry, and I can see him swallowing nervously.

I seem to be having the opposite problem; actively fighting the rising urge to open my mouth even more.

Oh, my gods, Aurelia!

What the fuck! This is lesson on not drinking so much damn alcohol! Poor man’s probably never been flirted with his whole life.

You’re definitely scaring him.

“Oh, hello Captain!” Lolli-N rolls up next to us, just as I swear it couldn’t get any more awkward.

Illion slowly begins to detach himself from me, turning to the robot. “Everything peachy?”

“Perfectly peachy.” She gives me a quick look, which I can only call a smirk, and then focuses back on him. “All shifts start at 6am. It’s nearly 11pm. End of the party for you.”

“Oh.” Even though he’s facing away from me, I can hear the tremor in his voice. “Right.”

Lolli-N leans in close to him for a minute to whisper something, but I can’t make out what. Then she rolls away, waving at me with a grin.

“It’s a bit late.” Illion turns to me. “I can take you back to the room if you like, or you can stay here; wouldn’t blame you.”

“I don’t think I can get back to my room myself.”

I could. I absolutely could. But he doesn’t need to know that.

Might as well get rid of the awkwardness sooner rather than later, considering we’ll have to put up with each other for six months.

“I’ll show you.” He waves at me to follow, weaving through the dancers as they sway in the disco lights, to the elevator I arrived in.

“What floor is it on?” I ask innocently, playing the part.

“Twenty-second. Room one.” He presses the shiny gold button on the top of the panel. “I’ll give you a locator tomorrow. If you get lost, you can call Lolli-N.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s okay.”

The little ding of the bell ascending each floor pierces through the tension, and I hug myself tightly. “I’m sorry about the glasses thing.”

A little smile grows on his lips, and he shrugs, “oh, no, don’t be. It was just…unexpected.”

“I blame it on the tequila.”

“Yeah.”

The bell above the doorway dings a final time, and the doors slide open, revealing a pink and blue corridor. Tiny moons etched into the walls glow in the soft lighting, and Illion leads me through the hall, along the swirly patterned carpet, to a blue door at the very end.

A shiny number one is stuck to the paint, and it glitters in the light, resembling the disco ball downstairs.

“Staff unpacked your baggage for you.” Illion mutters. He slides the key card through the crevice in the wall and pushes the door open.

As I step inside, a wave of nostalgia hits me; it’s so vintage, so antiquarian, so…Illion.

Glass baubles forged in a million different colours hang from the ceiling over the middle of the room, throwing rainbows and speckled light over the furniture.

To the left, is a round bed. Intended for one but could probably fit two with a bit of compromise. At least the blankets are outdated; softer, thicker, like everything was before the fabric regulations.

To the right, is a desk. Or rather, an oddly shaped piece of furniture that looks like a stretched blob of blue tack, with piles of paper stacked precariously on top of each other. I’m tempted to blow on it, and watch it tip over like an avalanche.

My hand runs over the desk, across the surface of a book amidst the papers, Functions of a Cybernetic System and Default Patterns.

I raise an eyebrow, but don’t mention it. Perhaps later.

“Closet is there, if you want to change.” Illion hovers next to me, dragging my gaze to a door covered in The Marillion stickers, ‘thank you’ notes, and children’s drawings of Illion and his crew.

“And bathroom is there.” He points to a second door, plain blue. “Like I said, staff unpacked everything, but there’s extra under the sink.”

“Thank you.” I turn away from the desk and go to find my pajamas. The closet is not as big as I’d expected, but my clothes have been organised neatly next to his.

I pause for a moment, running my hand along his suits. He has four, not counting his current one. Four, with doubles of each. Blue, white, yellow, and pink. Each with ‘Captain’ sewn onto the right shoulder. Each made of costly material before the regulations; aged. My fingers feel ancient touching them.

Once I’ve finished dressing, I come back to the main room to find the lights dimmed; Illion is asleep on one side of the bed, suit, and shoes still on, blanket pulled only halfway across his body.

His shoes are still on! What kind of lunatic sleeps like that?

My mouth (and tequila mind) are on the verge of betraying me again, but I resist the urge to wake him up and demand he remove his shoes.

If he’s asleep so quick, he must be exhausted. And he has a shift early tomorrow; I wouldn’t appreciate if someone woke me up.

I crawl onto the opposite side, distancing myself as much as possible. The bed is on the smaller side, so it’s a little tricky, but I get comfortable under the blankets anyway.

Ugh, what a lovely wedding. Just exactly what I dreamed of when I was a little girl.