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Fly me to the Moon

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Simon Snow thought his name was silly. Simon was an OK name, but Snow as a last name? An absolute lack of creativity. Other orphans had more interesting names than 'Snow', if he remembered correctly, and for someone with obvious latino features such as himself, it sounded lame. Either way, it was useless to keep rambling about it periodically, it was his name and that was all.

He jumped in a hurry inside the bus that would give him a ride to his workplace: a textile factory in the outskirts of the neighborhood. He was quite lucky to have a decent job in the middle of a minor, but harsh crisis in NYC -- although he wasn't exactly in high spirits, being obliged to do a boring and repetitive job all day. His body and muscles ached for some movement, and the only time he could have it was at night, so he patiently waited and began his work -- wandering around in thoughts had made him arrive at the factory sooner than he had thought.

After another long day of awfully dull work, Simon made his way back to the center of Harlem, but he did not complete his ride back to home -- he jumped off when the bus passed by Lenox Av, where jazz poured through all the leaks, windows and vent holes from countless establishments. It was, quite literally, music to his ears, and it relaxed him in more ways than he could express.

He walked inside one of those music-filled buildings and went to the side of the entrance, where he could leave his coat, which was clearly in his dying days, along with his small hat and his bag, that contained a very little amount of things besides his lunch box.

His clothing was slightly dirty and sweaty, and his suspenders weren't of the highest quality, but none of that mattered when he stepped into the dance floor. He asked people to dance with him and danced alone and even got asked to dance -- it didn't matter if he was solo, leader or follow, for what’s worth, he was having fun and washing away the tiredness and boredom of the day from him.

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Baz didn't quite enjoy his name either -- he thought 'Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch' was too long and sounded way too foreign, but there was nothing he could do about it, especially since he had the weight of a legacy to carry over his shoulders. He kept looking at his father's name plate that read 'Chief Executive Officer' right after his last name, the force of the position sort of intimidating him. The plate was neatly placed on top of the perfectly organized table, and he sat carelessly on his father's fancy chair while waiting for his stepmother -- Daphne, one of the reasons for his absurdly long name -- to pick him up at his father's company. He was, theoretically, an employee in that big place, but in reality he just went through his father's documents and attended business meetings -- only to watch, of course. "A training for when your time to take over comes", his father always said.

Well, Baz wasn’t so sure if he actually wanted to take over the CEO position soon. It sure was nice and secure and he had interests and ideas for the improvement of the company, but he felt like something was missing, and he wanted to find it first before being eternally doomed to deal with business matters every hour of the week. His filled-with-doubt thoughts were then interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come in” – Baz said, straightening his posture on his father’s chair. It was one of Daphne’s servants, and he briefly said his mother was waiting for him in the car.

He really didn’t like for them refer to Daphne as his mother, but he never said a thing about it, in order not to hurt the lady. She was going to take him to a ball, one of the many meetings the rich liked to attend and to boast in –- boring, if you ask him. The people in there were not particularly interested in anything but money and power, so the conversation topics were awful, not to mention the girls -- encouraged by their families, in avid search for a powerful groom for their daughters – never ever stopped nagging him.

He entered the car, greeted his stepmother and went over his foolproof plan: just staying for a couple hours, making acquaintances with some of his father’s business friends, dancing waltz with some girls to make them happy and leaving early, just like he always did.

Fortunately, his plan worked once more – he managed to leave and call a cab without being reprimanded by Daphne. He had the habit of observing the streets while inside an automobile, and for that reason he noticed that the driver made a route he wasn’t used to -- which kind of rose suspicion in Baz -- but he gave him the benefit of the doubt, after all, a different way didn’t necessarily mean danger. They passed through Harlem and an avenue that picked his interest: it was filled with and dancing establishments, and very jumpy music could be heard, even from inside the car. He signaled the driver to stop, on a whim, and got off of the car, curiosity getting the best of him. He began to reason and tried to justify why he had stopped his trip home in an unknown place to him: First, he still had plenty of time until his family needed him to be home; Second, he could afford any other taxi or tax he would have to pay, and third… Didn’t he feel like he was missing something? Well, this could be the place to find it, and maybe meet more interesting people than the ones he had to forge smiles with everyday.

With three reasons being more than enough for him, he stepped into a dance club in Lenox av. and tried to work out how that place functioned. He felt odd among all the people of color and diversity gathered and having fun, so he took off his hat and coat -- putting them in a place by the side of the entrance where he figured those sort of clothing were left --, in an attempt to mingle with the people in there. He ordered a drink and found himself a place in which he could take in all that was happening there. He mostly stood by the side of the dancing floor, watching people swing dance. They all seemed so happy -- and not at all ashamed to show it!-- it was very different from the posh gala meetings he was accustomed to. They all shone bright while kicking and moving, whether it wast solo or partner-dancing, but one of them outshined all the others in the room: A young lad with slightly dark skin and bronze curls leaded a damsel in intricate moves and turns and jumps that made Baz hypnotized. The speed of their dancing was terrific, and he followed them with his eyes for three or four more songs, feeling overwhelmed.

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“You know, a fancy-looking fella has been staring at you for a while” - Penny looked at Simon suspiciously while speaking and doing some lock turns.

“Don’t look at me, I am not in debt with anyone anymore! You’re looking at a man who is perfectly up-to-date with all his bills” - He smiled and retorted to his friend while grabbing her shoulders to keep her spinning - “Why is it that it never crosses your mind that people might just wanna dance with me?” - He continued and searched for his possible-not-so-secret admirer. He locked eyes with a distinguishably good-looking guy, wearing some well-tailored clothing -- he had very white skin and dark hair pulled back, leaving a distinct widow’s peak. The guy’s dark eyes opened wide for a second when he realized Simon looked straight at him, but quickly looked away and maintained his composure.

“Yup, he is definitely interested” - Penny intervened in his friend’s gazing - “Will you ask him for a dance or you two ’re just going to stare at each other all night long?”.

“I don’t know… Should I?” - He asked her, never stopping to dance, but picking easier steps so they wouldn’t mess up while chatting.

“I don’t see why not” - She retorted - “But you should decide soon, this song’s about to end, and I think next one’s rhythm will be pretty slow”.

Simon grunted and decided not to think and just act. He wasn’t very good at thinking anyways -- that was Penny’s speciality -- so he knew that wearing out his thoughts would be useless. By the time the song ended, he walked towards the edge of the dance floor and approached the black-haired handsome.

“Wanna dance?” - He said, stretching out his hand.

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Baz had to really keep his cool when the guy he was caught staring to started to approach him, but keeping a cool facade was something he was used to. His thoughts began to ramble -- maybe the bronze-curled guy misunderstood his curious look for an act of courting towards his girl and he would try to settle things with him aggressively -- but when the lad came closer, he just displayed a small smile and asked him if he wanted to dance. He actually thought it was weird -- two guys dancing together -- but in that place he had seen that there was no such segregation.

He smiled to the kind guy that had his hand waiting for him to hold it -- and oh, his face and arms were covered in moles, so many details that seemed to fight for his attention -- and simply said, keeping his dashing behavior - “I don’t know how to dance this”.

The young man in front of him seemed to wander in his thoughts for a moment, but kept his hand extended - “Do you wanna learn? I can teach you if you’d like”