[It's certainly unusual, this fuzziness she feels in the back of her mind, but she supposes it's an effect of the party, the wine she's seen him sneak from the bar, and the fact that they haven't had many reasons to feel safe and happy in Aefenglom. She doesn't get much time to contemplate it anyway, as she finds herself nearly tripping as he pulls her close, wearing a face like a cat that's just knocked something vaguely important off a counter.
She yelps a little, hand landing heavily upon his shoulder to catch herself, and then just... narrows her eyes, put out in a way that has absolutely no bite behind it.]
You have me simply bursting with confidence and security.
[Even so, the hand at her waist sends a tiny shiver up her spine, little electric flutters that she chalks up to still getting used to this whole physical contact thing. She glances down at her very sparkly shoes, and watches to make sure she doesn't trip either of them up as Giorno begins.]
[Zelda is funny in that way, how she will occasionally jab him with absolutely stingless venom. It puzzles him, sometimes, but . . . in this moment, he thinks he's actually beginning to make sense of it. She's playing. Isn't she? Because he would do the same thing. Does do the same thing, once he becomes comfortable enough to be anything but stoic and cold with someone — although in this case, he seems to be the one to tease, and Zelda is the one to pretend to be offended.]
[Have they really known each other long enough to have a way about them, a pattern? Objectively they have. Subjectively it feels as though they just met, or as though he's known her for decades. Which is how he feels about everyone he cares about, he supposes.]
[There's no conclusive evidence that he's registered her reaction to his touch. A moment of hyperfocus, perhaps, his eyes looking somewhere else for a little while as he makes note of this new thing coming through the Bond. And within the Bond itself, there's only . . . a hum, curious and acknowledging, but nothing more than that. When he goes to meet her eyes again, she's looking at her shoes.]
. . . I do aim to.
[Make her feel secure, and all that. He drums his fingers along her waist, to make her jump or to remind himself that she is really permitting him to be here. His lead is gentle, though, a careful tempo, never too quick for her to keep up.]
[Ironically, her mind is empty of such considerations, for once. Later, perhaps, when she is staring at the ceiling and trying to will her mind to succumb to sleep, she'll wonder why her nerves were so much lesser while dancing with Giorno over the other guests that have asked for her untrained hand. Or maybe she'll content herself with more excuses, lacking the courage to peer into the unknown depths that follow those thoughts.
For now, though, she's laser focused upon her feet, and not tripping over them. Her steps are half a beat off, which she notices, and the muscles of her back flex and twitch against his fidgeting fingers, which she doesn't.]
Oh? [Her eyes flick up then.] Because you also believe I do not take enough time to "relax," or for another reason?
[She's had enough people prod her about the former, at least.]
[He’s always been desperately attuned to body language, but something about vampirism makes it worse — or better, depending on one’s perspective. Something about the Bond, too. Or maybe it’s just Zelda. Either way, he feels hyperaware of her every response to his movements. Part of him painfully wishes to understand why. The rest of him patiently requests that part to shut up.]
[Her question makes him huff out a laugh, anyway. That’s what matters, he thinks, and drums a pattern closer to the beat.]
Because I’m happy to see you.
[Hm. Is that entirely honest? A turn to the swell of the orchestra, and he revises.]
I don’t know if you take enough time to relax. I just know I don’t get to do this sort of thing with you much. Just— [A one-shouldered shrug.] Fun. I’m glad to have the opportunity.
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no subject
She yelps a little, hand landing heavily upon his shoulder to catch herself, and then just... narrows her eyes, put out in a way that has absolutely no bite behind it.]
You have me simply bursting with confidence and security.
[Even so, the hand at her waist sends a tiny shiver up her spine, little electric flutters that she chalks up to still getting used to this whole physical contact thing. She glances down at her very sparkly shoes, and watches to make sure she doesn't trip either of them up as Giorno begins.]
no subject
[Have they really known each other long enough to have a way about them, a pattern? Objectively they have. Subjectively it feels as though they just met, or as though he's known her for decades. Which is how he feels about everyone he cares about, he supposes.]
[There's no conclusive evidence that he's registered her reaction to his touch. A moment of hyperfocus, perhaps, his eyes looking somewhere else for a little while as he makes note of this new thing coming through the Bond. And within the Bond itself, there's only . . . a hum, curious and acknowledging, but nothing more than that. When he goes to meet her eyes again, she's looking at her shoes.]
. . . I do aim to.
[Make her feel secure, and all that. He drums his fingers along her waist, to make her jump or to remind himself that she is really permitting him to be here. His lead is gentle, though, a careful tempo, never too quick for her to keep up.]
I'm glad you came, you know.
no subject
For now, though, she's laser focused upon her feet, and not tripping over them. Her steps are half a beat off, which she notices, and the muscles of her back flex and twitch against his fidgeting fingers, which she doesn't.]
Oh? [Her eyes flick up then.] Because you also believe I do not take enough time to "relax," or for another reason?
[She's had enough people prod her about the former, at least.]
no subject
[Her question makes him huff out a laugh, anyway. That’s what matters, he thinks, and drums a pattern closer to the beat.]
Because I’m happy to see you.
[Hm. Is that entirely honest? A turn to the swell of the orchestra, and he revises.]
I don’t know if you take enough time to relax. I just know I don’t get to do this sort of thing with you much. Just— [A one-shouldered shrug.] Fun. I’m glad to have the opportunity.