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He is Barbatos, loyal servant to the crown prince of the Devildom, and a calculating demon with a nigh terrifying grasp over the hands of time. He can choose and do and does whatever it is that he wants to do, his presence over time giving him invaluable knowledge of the future. And yet - when it comes to you he’s never quite sure what to do.
It’s another one of Prince Diavolo’s famously lavish and extravagant balls, all gold and light and glittering. Barbatos taps his fingers against your waist and brings the two of you into another slow spin on the dance floor. It’s scarily intimate, the two of you now.
a)
He does not lean in. You do not lean in. He does not kiss you, and you separate from him with a bow; nothing changes between the two of you as you exchange your warm thank yous and exit the dance floor. It’s just a dance between friends.
He tells himself he does not regret it, asking you to dance, not kissing you, etcetera, but no matter how good of a liar he is he can’t lie to himself. Barbatos does not turn back time and goes back to working the ball, tray held steady on his arm and shoulder as he serves his lord and his circle of important guests. If his eyes drift towards you, beautiful, darling you, floating across the ballroom with one, or four of the brothers hanging off your shoulder, it’s just coincidence.
b)
Your hand is a comforting, anchoring weight on his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades as you sway back and forth on the dance floor. You look so soft and beautiful like this, he thinks, all calm grace and charm in his arms. There’s this pretty flush on your cheeks from the champagne and he sends a small thanks to the prince for his drink of choice. Barbatos can’t help himself, he really can’t, not when it comes to you, anyways, so he leans in and presses his lips against yours.
He feels your movements freeze and he draws the two of you to a stop, lips pressing a touch harder in unintended desperation. He wants you to respond- please respond. Barbatos pulls back and his heart sinks at the sight of your expression, dazed and confused. Your eyes are guarded and suddenly sober, and he thinks that is what scares him the most. You open your mouth. Close it. He feels his poker face slip over his features and he bows deeply, repentant and offering no room for further discussion. He thanks you for your time and exits the floor.
c)
He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this. He can feel how warm you are even through his gloves, his hands on your hips as the pair of you twirl in lazy circles around the hall. It feels natural, like he’s meant to be there, and when you lay your head on his chest he thinks he understands why people subscribe so heavily to the idea of true love; there really is nothing quite like it. Barbatos goes to press a kiss to the crown of your head in the same moment you choose to raise your head, resulting in him more or less kissing your nose.
You flush and laugh at the endearing mishap, hands coming up to rest on his cheeks. Your eyes glitter as you softly smile, and as you lean in again he can smell the expensive perfume dabbed behind your ears. Asmodeus’ no doubt. You press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and it’s - so much. A part of him asks what does it mean? What are you doing? But he doesn’t listen to that part of him, crushes it under his heel as he tightens his arms around you. He wants to stay like this, with you, forever.
d)
He does not ask you to dance. You do not ask him to dance. He does not lean in. You do not lean in. You cannot turn back time. He does not turn back time. You thank him for your drink and turn back to your circle of friends. He remains cold. He walks away.