“Suppose I wore the right shoes, then.”

She couldn’t quite feel his warmth—not through sleek kidskin, nor the seam of a nice suit. But being close enough to touch, to smell; to see the veins and all of the unidentifiable things in his eyes, was chilling. The tempo of her heart swelled, and the pain of unknowing was dull yet incessant.

In addition to all of the flashbacks she'd been having, this was the first time she’d really looked him in the eyes since the explosion at the glass workshop. She’d killed four people, and their gods had faced off, surely establishing their rivalry.

Did he know?

She kept a smile, because she was aware they were being watched. She felt indescribable, and it translated to a look which was perhaps similar to his own, but for different reasons. Her feet moved of their own accord, around his ‘bad lead foot’ as she shook off the rust to reveal the basic ballroom skills of Galarian nobility. Meanwhile, she was deep in her own head.

“For this? Really? I would have assumed you’d already known how to dance.”

Despite her discomfort, as they moved, she felt herself enjoying each step with him more and more. He was bestowing her with a feeling of heavy nostalgia. It was bittersweet. The fun of it crushed her heart.