Can I Have This Dance?
( PROMPT: This one-shot is based vaguely off this scene from High School Musical 3 )
A/N: I was suddenly struck with the urge to re-watch High School Musical 3, and I really loved the rooftop dancing scene with Troy and Gabriella ( that’s my childhood right there ), so I wrote something based off it! And, I’d just like to say thank you to everyone who reads my stories and offers such nice comments! I may be too shy to reply to them all, but please know that I read every single one of your comments, and I love and appreciate every single one of you. Also - please fill my inbox with more requests of the bae Peter Parker! I love writing for him, and it’s amazing to see how creative all of you are being with your requests
and I would totally do anything for him.
“When I asked you to teach me dancing, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
Peter’s laughing nervously as you tug harder on his hand, dragging him out onto the school rooftop. You’ve never been up here before, and what you see surprises you. There’s a soft carpet of grass that crunches pleasantly underfoot, wooden planter boxes with fresh flowers and herbs, and even a garden swing and some wooden benches.
“Can’t we just head back to my place?” Peter asks pleadingly, his eyes darting up to rest on the heavy clouds of pewter grey swirling overhead. “There’s Netflix. And popcorn. And –”
“Quit stalling, and get over here!” You call out laughingly, spinning around – with difficulty – on the balls of your heels. As of yet unused to the strappy, heeled stilettos on your feet, you have to take odd, shuffling steps over to Peter. “I didn’t put these for nothing! And don’t you want to be able to impress Liz Allen come prom?”
Peter dumps his bag on the bench, reluctantly shuffling forwards. And this is where your plan hits a slight snag. You hadn’t factored in how close he would be standing, the smell of his cologne ( something spicy and sugary and delicious ), or the warmth of his fingers, fair and wholly familiar as he lifts your right hand in his, and settles his other one lightly on your waist. As you rest trembling fingers on Peter’s shoulder, feel his warm and calloused fingers close around yours, and the burning weight of his hand at your waist, you feel warm, and a little dizzy.
Peter Parker was your chemistry laboratory partner. You’d walked into class one day, saw him sitting at your usual seat, fair, sparkle-eyed, tousle-haired and perfect. Your heart, so used to being lonely, had thumped almost painfully in your chest. The two of you had become fast friends, but by the time you’d managed to muster up your courage to tell him how you’d felt, he’d already developed a crush on the uber-popular Liz Allen.
“C’mon,” You say encouragingly, trying to ignore the spikes of jealously eating away at your heart. “Can’t have you stepping on Liz’s feet at prom.”
Peter laughs, shuffles his feet nervously. “Right. Okay. What now?”
“Okay, now move your left foot forwards, and step to the side with your right – No, not that side! Your other side!”
“Geez, (Y/n), you sure we’re doing this right?”
“’Course I’m sure! My dad taught me!” It’s one of the father-daughter bonding moments that you can actually remember. “Let’s go on.”
“It’s going to rain! Can’t we continue in, say, a month’s time?”
“Rain-schmane.” You say, sticking your tongue out childishly, even as a drop or two of fat rain runs through your hair. You can already see strips of lightning in the distance, blending in with the perfect lines of light from the downtown skyscrapers. It won’t be long now before the storm. “The prom’s on Saturday, you know. The clock’s ticking!”
“Funny, I thought that was the thunder.”
You continue calling out instructions to Peter, correcting his footing and posture, uncomplaining even when he steps on your toes. Alright, maybe you did squeal a few times, much to Peter’s embarrassment, but as much as your feet protest at the rough treatment, you find yourself loving every moment of it. Love moving through the space in his arms, your bodies close together, your thighs brushing, the scent of his clothes and hair, close and fresh –
Your face feel warm. You wonder if your shirt is soaked with sweat.
How sad is it, that you’d jumped at the chance to teach him dancing just so that you could spend more time with someone who didn’t return your feelings?
“I think you’ve got the hang of this,” You remark, glancing up at Peter as the two of you begin your second turn about the floor, still relatively slowly and carefully. “Let’s try it with music!”
You have to laugh at the utter look of horror on Peter’s face. “Music?”
“It’ll be fun, promise.”
Wriggling out of Peter’s arms – and trying to ignore the sudden sense of loss trammelling through you – you dig your phone out from your bag. You scroll through the songs on your phone until you find the one that you’re looking for and hit PLAY.
“Really?” Peter asks, eyes aglow with amusement. “High School Musical? Wait –” Realization breaks over his face, like the sunrise over the clouds. “– Is that why you insisted on binge-watching all three movies yesterday?”
“It was a good series!” You say defensively, humming along to the first strains of the soft, familiar song. “And you were totally rocking out with me when ‘A Night to Remember’ came on.”
“Think they’ll play it at Prom?” Peter asks wistfully, holding you close once again.
“We could always bribe the DJ,” You suggest, his comment surprising a little laugh from you. “Heck, I could be the DJ.”
It’s not like you’ll be doing anything come prom night besides lounge around in your pyjamas and eating your weight in chocolate. Besides, you’re sure that your collection of songs on your phone is way better than whatever the hired DJ has planned.
“I bet your set list consists of only High School Musical songs.”
“Er … Maybe?”
As the singers croon about catching lightning in smooth, dulcet tones, Peter hesitates for the briefest moment before stepping into the dance. The first steps are stilted, but as he gains confidence, the two of you are soon spinning and whirling about with the same smooth alacrity as the dancers in the movie.
You’re floating on a cloud, held steady by the firm grip on your hand and waist. Even with your high heels and the butterflies coming to life in your belly, you’re twirling about like a princess in an old-fashioned movie.
Dizzy and flushed with happiness, you let out a high pitched stream of giggles, burying your face in the crook of Peter’s neck. Stupid! You curse yourself, but you don’t have it in you to pull away. Peter laughs, not minding in the least, making no attempt to push you away, sounding just as giddy as you feel as he lifts you up into the air.
He’s stronger than he looks, you think vaguely, feet flying out behind you as you shriek with joy. The two of you barely notice that the heavy drops of rain have begun to fall in earnest now, plastering hair to faces and clothes to bodies.
And as you cling to Peter, feeling the closeness of your best friend in your arms, and the warmth of him on your skin, you think, “This is enough. This is enough.”
And it is. You can almost forget that he’s taking Liz to prom.