Most Ardently

by Gabe Cole Novoa

And unlike every other dance Oliver had seen Darcy at, the other boy looked genuinely happy at the prospect of dancing with him. So, Oliver found himself grinning back. “Why, Darcy, I thought you’d never ask.” When Oliver took Darcy’s hand, a shock ran down his arm like lightning to his nerves. Darcy’s hand was warm, soft, dry. It enveloped his easily, and Oliver followed the other boy to the center of the room feeling as though he were floating. By the time they reached the area where others were dancing, Oliver felt as though he were in a daze. Dreaming. And then Darcy took his waist with one hand and his hand with the other, and he had to be dreaming, didn’t he? How was he actually here, fully himself, dancing with Darcy, of all people? His entire body felt as though it were vibrating—he was impossibly aware of his entire being, of his closeness to Darcy, of the warmth emanating from his dancing partner. They were two boys dancing together for all in the room to see, and Oliver had never felt happier. “And here I thought you didn’t like to dance,” Oliver said with a breathy laugh. Darcy arched an eyebrow. “What made you think that?” Oliver’s heart froze in his chest. Had he and Darcy never spoken about dancing before when he was himself? “Bingley mentioned it,” he answered smoothly, even as his pulse pounded in his ears. “Ah.” Darcy laughed, and the tenseness in Oliver’s shoulders melted away. “Well, Bingley’s right that I don’t generally enjoy dances, but that’s becaus...

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