Flaming

It’s hypnotic, the way Jonatho dances like no one’s watching—or more accurately, like he doesn’t care who’s watching. He bobs his head to the rhythm with a cuteness that is absolutely spellbinding, and he wears a cocky smirk that seems to indicate some tiny part of him is entirely aware of how adorable he is.

Suddenly Jonatho stops, comes up to the couch, and extends a hand. “Up on your feet, Red.”

“Red?”

“That’s your name now. Rad Red. The raddest redhead of them all.” He takes hold of Zakary’s hand and pulls him off of the couch. “We have to get that blood moving in your muscles. I know you’ve got it in you. Don’t you feel the music, too? You put this on for a reason.”

It’s a laidback song with a quirky, moving beat, an indie band Zakary is sure Jonatho has never heard of—yet the way he dances makes it seem like the song was created just for him. “I feel it.”

“So let the music feel you now. C’mon.” Jonatho tugs on Zakary’s hands as he continues his adorable dancing. Zakary’s face is so red, it prickles. He can’t so quickly turn into a participant when he isn’t finished being a watcher of Jonatho’s entrancing movements.

But he tries. At first, Zakary only bobs his head to the rhythm. Then he starts to sway, ever so subtly. His muscles are stiff with uncertainty and he has no idea what he’s doing, but Jonatho doesn’t seem to care; he got him off the couch, and that seems to be accomplishment enough.

The song carries on, and Zakary starts to feel at ease, having settled into a comfortable swaying kind of movement. Jonatho is in his own world, but it feels somehow like part of Zakary’s world too, now. And while they dance, some curious thoughts enter Zakary’s freed mind.

He decides to voice one of them. “Your name is interesting.”

“My name?”

“Yeah. It’s like … almost Jonathon.”

He chuckles at that, eyes still closed. “It’s missing a letter at the end, I know. I get it all the time. Want to hear a story you won’t believe?” Jonatho pops open his eyes and turns to him, still dancing. “My mom was so exhausted after giving birth to me, she straight-up fainted while registering my birth. Allegedly. Either no one thought to correct the certificate, or my parents actually found it hilarious and strangely meaningful, but I went home to them as baby Jonatho, not the previously-intended baby Jonathon. I see that look on your face,” Jonatho adds with a teasing look. “You don’t believe me. It’s okay, no one does.”

Zakary laughs. “That’s amazing. I didn’t know that.”

“Not many do. Count yourself among the few.” Jonatho winks, then nods at him. “Your dancing is getting looser. Maybe the alcohol is helping you out a little.”

“A little,” agrees Zakary with a chuckle.

Jonatho sweeps forward suddenly and takes hold of Zakary’s hands. “Want to learn a super sweet move? I can show you, but it requires me touching you. That okay?”

More than okay, Zakary practically sings in his mind. “Y-Yeah.”

“Alright. This music will do. It’s perfect, actually. Okay, I’m going to show you how to move your—Hey, are you paying attention? This is super serious stuff here!—Okay. Put your feet here, like that. Then just—yeah, like that—just hold my hands and do a sorta twist thing here …”

Zakary won’t remember any of the moves. The instructions go in one ear, endure half a second of distracted processing, then fly out the other. All he does is stare into Jonatho’s bright, vibrant eyes and get happily lost in them. Sure, he puts his foot here, his foot there, doing this and that, but nothing sticks.

Until Jonatho’s hand slips around the small of Zakary’s back, waking him up from his trance as their bodies are pulled close together. “This is the fun part,” Jonatho tells him. “I’m going to dip you. Kind of. If I can. Umm … You’re a bit tall for this part,” he adds in a playful whisper.

“Sorry,” croaks Zakary.

“Okay, so I’m going to turn you around …” Jonatho turns him. “Then dip you like this, and …”

The “dip” goes all wrong. Both of them lose their balance, one foot gets caught behind another, then down they go, crashing onto the rug. Jonatho lands on top of Zakary, their faces almost crashing together. They both yell out, stunned, stare at each other, then burst into laughter.

“Fail!” announces Zakary through his laughter.

Jonatho stares too long into Zakary’s eyes as the laughter fades. “Depends on what you count as a fail.”

Zakary’s heart races. He can’t seem to catch his breath. With Jonatho on top of him, it feels like they are cuddling in a rather aggressive way to the music, splayed out on the soft rug. Their moment of comedy has fast become rather intimate—and he doesn’t mind it in the least.