The typical slow song music starts. Vicky wants to roll her eyes at all the awkward couples. If they can’t handle a dance, how would they survive anything else?

It seemed she was the only one not dancing at this wedding. Her friend’s family must really love it because they have not left the floor since the music first began.

“Take my hand,” Bobby commanded, having appeared in front of her with an outstretched hand.

“No way,” Vivi says, physically reeling from his offer. Why would he want to dance with her? She’s kicked his ass more times than she has fingers. In college meaning. In rank. Not physically, though she probably could. In heels, she is taller than him.

“I’m not asking you to marry me, I’m trying to save your life,” he teases, gesturing to the fact that she’s the only one not dancing and is in fact alone at a wedding filled with couples. 

No way is she going to let him feel like _he’s_ doing _her_ a favor. She’d rather die. “Oh because social suicide is obviously me not waltzing,” she comments dryly. 

“What if I said I wanted to awkwardly waltz with you?” 

That sure gets her attention. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. 

Only if he actually wanted to. 

She finally takes him up on his offer and takes his hand.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

———

(Just wanted to write a short scene taking the prompt in a less life or death way.)