#lil baker!rose and lecturer!thirteen for you but mainly for me

[xawkward-ariesx]

Rose had met Doctor Jane Smith seven and a half months ago when she'd come into Rose's café that she ran with her friends to order a tea and a fried egg sandwich (after being mildly disappointed by the lack of custard creams on offer). At first she'd just been a regular in the little café, a familiar face she saw between baking batches of sweet goods for the bakery aspect she was responsible for. And Rose could admit she had a bit of a soft spot for the whirlwind of a woman who'd come in every Tuesday, Thursday and Friday at half 9 exactly to order the exact same breakfast every time, an insane story spilling from her lips as payment that never failed to entertain Rose as she prepared the order.

But then she'd started to see her every where. She was at the supermarket where Rose did her grocery shopping tucked behind the counter rambling to the man running the till. She was occasionally on the bus Rose caught, chatting to the elderly driver that she'd come to recognise mainly because his presence coincided with Jane's. She was at the police station that one time she'd gone with Mickey about his car being broken into.

Now Rose doesn't much believe in fate but she doesn't believe in coincidence either. So on one particular Thursday when Jane was babbling about the lecture she was giving the next day, Rose had seen her chance and asked if she could come. Jane had looked shocked, falling silent only for a moment - only ever for a moment - before a grin had stretched across her face and she was talking once more. Apparently, she'd been working up to asking Rose, but hadn't thought she'd be interested. Rose didn't know where she got that impression, she was very much interested in cute, passionate blondes that almost seemed to glow with life.

They'd started dating a month after that and it had been the most fun Rose had had in the first six months of dating.

Currently though, Jane was round for dinner. They took it in turns to organise date nights and this time it was Rose is turn. They'd not long finished a dinner of clam and spinach linguine, the dishes from their meal were drying on the rack, the pans left to soak for the more stubborn residue. Rose had turned some music on while they'd washed up, it was a long since engrained habit from living with her mum, and neither had tried to turn it off once the task was complete. She was sat atop of the counter sipping a glass of white wine, leftover from the pasta, as she watched her girlfriend with equal parts fondness and amusement.

Now Rose had taken dance classes when she was younger, nothing crazy, just an afterschool club that used to run on a Monday evening while her mum was working late. She'd had a real knack for it but had never enjoyed it as much as her gymnastics classes. That was just how things were growing up, she never resented her mum for it, particularly when most people got neither and she still got to keep one.

But Jane has none of the rhythm Rose was taught to sense. There's no real logic to her movements at all, its mainly enthusiastic flailing. There's no regard for beat as she seems to focus mainly on putting as much of herself into music as she can. Letting it live through her as she wiggles and twists far more than is necessary for such of the run of the mill pop song.

But... But it might actually be Rose's new favourite way to experience music she thinks, laughing along as she watches her girlfriend dance and shout along to music. Its so carefree and fun that she wants to experience it. So she doesn't hesitate for a moment when Jane makes her way over to the counter where Rose is perched before the next song starts, offering her a hand down. She drains her glass in one gulp before hopping down with the offered help.

They're both a little tipsy at this point, Rose from the wine and Jane from the apple cider Rose keeps in her fridge for her because 'wine tastes awful, Rose. Why would I subject myself to that?' So maybe that's the cause of their current silliness, a form of dancing that is less dance and more just seems to be trying to move as much of your body as possible while holding hands. Or maybe it's just the giddiness she always feels in Jane's presence, has done since that first day when she'd tried explaining to Clara - who makes the sandwiches - that her name was not influenced by Jane Austen but Austen was incidentally a nickname she was given at university after a very passionate drunken rant on the topic. Or perhaps its just the natural progression of an evening that has been so easy going that it had felt as second nature as breathing.

Either way the causes don't really matter as they duck and weave together, twisting and spinning limbs together as Jane kicks her legs out at odd intervals. It's the most fun she's had while dancing in years, it reminds her of the elation she felt at finally getting the chassé down pat. That was what being with Jane was like, reexperiencing little joys again for the first time.