Work Text:
Chandelier lights lit the freshly waxed ballroom floor into a luminous golden glow. The soft chortle of violins and piano notes enveloped the room in a joyous hum. Buzzing with excitement, those who had gathered talked amongst themselves with glee, donning various intricate masks; choruses of chuckling, downing glasses of Dannifin’s Joy and Ishgardian brandy, overly merry.
Dressed in their very best attire (courtesy: Tataru), hair made up for them (courtesy: Alisaie), and face freshly done and masked in black lace (courtesy: Y’shtola and Lyse), the Warrior of Light sat solemnly at a lonesome table, no doubt brooding at the awkwardness being left on their own at one of Ishgard’s most glamourous balls. The Warrior had never been one for frivolous things such as this, but attended nonetheless at the request of one of their dearest friends. Said “dearest friend” who needed to excuse himself for work. Duty calls... per usual.
So there they sat, apprehensively drumming their fingernails on the pearl white table top, unsure of whether to wait or return home glumly. Relentlessly fidgeting in their uncomfortable garb, lifting their mask only slightly to itch their nose. Who knew lace could scratch so... Sighing to themselves, they lowered their head into their hands, miserably sinking towards their lap.
“I did not take the Warrior of Light to be the reclusive type.”
The Warrior’s neck snapped towards the source in surprise.
He was tall, remarkably so, yet he gave the illusion of speech much like the natives to Ishgard, greeting them with the slow, graceful dip of the neck and stretching a slender forearm across his chest. Long, messed golden tresses were tied back into a grey ribbon. His mask was a bit more eerily stylized, like a mask from the theatre; in an almost macabre from, full-faced, only showing his eyes and lips.
“I…” A bit slack-jawed in shock, the Warrior cleared their throat to collect their thoughts. “I’m not really fond of events such as this. Forgive me.”
“Ah, but there is naught to forgive. One with such battle prowess need not care for the frivolous. Time spent on such luxury is time not sharpening skill. A waste of crucial seconds.”
“A waste?” The Warrior spat back, forgetting themself. “I’d say that is a rather drastic thought. On the contrary, rest and relaxation allows us to recuperate our strength. It makes us stronger, in the long run-”
He interrupted them with an amused chortle, eyes half-lidded. “Ignoring a compliment to pursue an argument, already?”
The Warrior’s face reddened in embarrassment, bashful that they had so smoothly resorted to arguing with a complete stranger, almost like clockwork. It had just come so... naturally.
Seven hells, I really am a mess tonight.
“Ah… m-my apologies. I truly do appreciate the sentiment. The effect dulls over time, when one hears such praise so often. Not to sound, ah...” Realizing they sounded far from humble, they fidgeted nervously in their seat.
“Even still? How... intriguing.” At the Warrior’s quizzical look, the blonde coughed. Extending a gloved hand to the warrior in invitation, he smiled warmly. “Seeing as you are alone on this eve… care to join me for another dance?”
Another? The Warrior’s throat tightened, constricting their vocal chords, choking them from the inside, nearly in tears. Suddenly, they longed to be back at the Forgotten Knight, in front of the warm fireplace, sheltered and safe from the cold harsh grey hidden beneath the man’s eyes. And just as suddenly as the feeling had washed over them, it vanished, and as they came to their senses they returned his smile and rose from their temporary residence at the lonely table, determined to end what had been a sour night on a good note.
“I would love to.” They took his hand with a lopsided, slightly mischievous grin. “I must warn you, however, that I am a terrible dancer.”
Seemingly surprised at the Warrior’s flirtatious response to his advance, the man froze for half a heartbeat, blinking languidly. Then let out a hearty laugh. “I may teach you to properly dance yet, then. It is not altogether difficult.”
“I look forward to it.”
________________________________
“When I asked you to dance, I didn’t expect to be dancing with a wounded horse.” He hissed out as the Warrior accidentally stepped on his boot for the thousandth time.
They snorted, feeling more than a bit miffed at the way his arms lingered at their midsection. “I never claimed to be a dancer. And it’s your fault for not wearing heavy boots, nor steel toes. I take it you are no knight?”
He scoffed at that, tossing his blonde tresses with the slight swing of his head. “The mere notion that I could be anything of the sort is laughable.”
“And I take it you are no charming prince with a noble steed.”
His eyes glittered. “Perhaps not.” The music changed, and their bodies adapted to a slower sway, in tune to the rhythm of the night.
“Then… are you instead the poor stable boy who must clean the steed’s droppings?”
“In no life would I be caught dead among such filth.”
The Warrior scoffed at his indolence. “With every sentence you utter, you sound like an even bigger prick.”
Closing what little gap there was left between them and lowering his voice to a gravely, hushed tone, he chuckled into their ear. “I assure you, then, I need not discuss any further,” the masked man raised one manicured eyebrow with a slight smirk as he backed away. “Unless, of course, you would like me to?”
Eyes widening in stupor, the Warrior backed away nervously from his advance. But his sapphire eyes gleamed mischievously in such an amusing way that they found it an arduous ordeal to back down. Instead of retreating from him, they wandered into his hold once more; into the jaws of a coeurl in their adolescent-like game of couerl-and-mouse.
“I think it better for us to exchange words, at the moment.” They avoided his curious gaze, staring instead at the intricate tiling of the Ishgardian floors.
“I see.” The orchestra blended into a more upbeat sway, and the ballroom pulsated with more excitement, the guests matching its pace with glee. The masked man and Warrior attempted to match.
“If you are going to attempt to brutalize my limbs once more, I have a better idea.”
“Just what are you- oof!” With one fell swoop, the blonde hoisted the Warrior with the front of his arms, curling his arms around their back in a secure hold. He continued to sway with ease in the position, and as disgruntled as the Warrior felt at being lifted like a petulant child, they couldn’t help but be mildly impressed with how he lifted them like it was nothing.
“Everyone can see us!” They hissed angrily.
“No one is paying any attention.” The masked man shrugged nonchalantly, seeming entirely unbothered by the few couples around them giving the Warrior curious glances.
“It doesn’t-it doesn’t matter! You can’t just pick people up like it’s no big… deal…” The Warrior trailed off as they suddenly realized how close his face was to them. The blonde’s breath was stifling against their face… so close in fact, they wondered if he could see their face, their identity, underneath the black lace of their own flimsy mask. The orchestra slowed to a crawl.
Silently, he bent his knee, dipping them down head-first. “And would you rather I let you go again?”
Somehow, the way he murmured the notion had the Warrior’s pulse hastening anxiously.
“No,” they whispered.
________________________________
The pearl-white balcony overlooking the courtyard brimmed with life, the stars outshined the lights of the chandelier inside. Fireflies danced among the gardens, fountains provided a soothing background noise as opposed to the bright hum of the orchestra’s melodies. “Wow… it’s an entirely different world than inside the ballroom.” The Warrior looked on in awe, leaning their arms against the cool balcony slate, finally feeling relaxed for the first time all night.
“Indeed.” The masked man joined the Warrior, pressing softly against their side and slinging an arm haphazardly around their shoulders. They leaned against him, gently combing his flaxen locks, twirling them around their fingers as the man’s eyes fell half-lidded. The two stayed there, their bodies like statues among the glow of the constellations above, for quite some time.
Eventually, the Warrior jerked away with a sudden sternness, seemingly sobering from the high they felt earlier. “Just… who are you? You must tell me who you truly are now, won’t you?”
“It matters not.” Almost solemn, the blonde man did not turn to look at them.
Furrowing their brows, they huffed. “You must be joking. Really? After all of this?” They shook his shoulder angrily. “Tell me!”
He closed his eyes, ignoring them entirely.
Staring incredulously, the Warrior felt their heart sink. “Oh. You… really didn’t feel anything?” Backing away from him, they resigned staring dumbly down at their shoes in embarrassment. “Ah. Sorry. I was under the impression that…” They clasped their hands together nervously. “My mistake.” They began to turn around, back into the yellow glow of the ballroom, when they were suddenly grabbed by the arm.
“Wait.” He pulled them back close to him, cradling them against his chest. “I have a proposition.”
Staring dumbfoundedly, the Warrior blinked. “A propo- a what?”
Taking a long finger to their chin, he leaned down and lifted their face to match his. “We close our eyes and remove what obstructs us. When we open them, we hold no adverse judgement of that underneath. Do you understand?”
Still a bit shocked at the sudden change, they nodded dumbly.
“Good.” He huffed, almost indignantly. “Close your eyes.”
The Warrior knew it was a horrid idea, to trust an unfamiliar man with such a thing. They knew, and yet- the entire evening had been one dreadful step after another, both metaphorically and physically- but they were no stranger to adventure; no enemy to the excitement of new roads traveled. And for this reason alone, they obeyed, closing their eyes with bated breath.
They felt their mask pulled from their face as the cool nighttime air rose to greet them, grumbling an “ouch” as the elastic pulled slightly on their hair. They heard the rubber snap from what was likely the man’s mask. And then, they felt two large, calloused hands grip their face.
Soft lips met theirs, and they greedily accepted the advance with a newfound zeal. Responding passionately, they allowed him entrance; matching his tug of their hair, his gropes, his harsh pressing of their bodies together in the same vein as the way they had danced all evening. His body movements rushed and desperate, as if he thought he would never have another moment in time to waltz with the Warrior. The blonde let out an almost primordial growl at their tango, causing the Warrior to open their eyes slightly in a knee-jerk reaction.
And promptly tore their body away from him.
“Zenos?!”