you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody
Flora wrinkles her nod adoring at Dantalion before taking Astaroth 's hand without hesitation, her fingers curling around his with easy familiarity as he leads her onto the dance floor. She fits against him with the casualness of one who has been a good deal closer than she is now; whatever tensions had once existed between them—whatever misunderstandings, whatever bruised egos and lingering regrets—feel like distant echoes now, mere shadows of something long since left behind.
"Them?" she muses, tipping her chin up at him, her aqua eyes gleaming with amusement as they twirl across the cleared space. Aside from the captain, Flora can only assume that Asta means the other dancers, given how none of them hold a candle to the exquisite silhouette that she and the butcher cut. And honestly, Jack had never given her a reason to believe he might be the jealous type. If anything, he seemed more entertained than anything when other people paid her attention. Still, she can't help but wonder if, in this moment, he's watching.
If he is, she hopes he’s enjoying the view.
But Asta has her full attention now, and gods, though the butcher is always dressed impeccably, tonight he looks utterly dashing. Flora lets herself get lost in the rhythm of the dance, in the warmth of his hands, in the wicked little glint in his gaze that she hopes means she's enjoying all of this as much as she is.
"Them?" she muses, tipping her chin up at him, her aqua eyes gleaming with amusement as they twirl across the cleared space. Aside from the captain, Flora can only assume that Asta means the other dancers, given how none of them hold a candle to the exquisite silhouette that she and the butcher cut. And honestly, Jack had never given her a reason to believe he might be the jealous type. If anything, he seemed more entertained than anything when other people paid her attention. Still, she can't help but wonder if, in this moment, he's watching.
If he is, she hopes he’s enjoying the view.
But Asta has her full attention now, and gods, though the butcher is always dressed impeccably, tonight he looks utterly dashing. Flora lets herself get lost in the rhythm of the dance, in the warmth of his hands, in the wicked little glint in his gaze that she hopes means she's enjoying all of this as much as she is.
