"Our… dance?" Florian mumbled, blinking rapidly as the word sank in.
Right. Their dance.
For the past few days before the ball, Heinz had been insistent on it. Insistent in that unyielding way of his.
Florian had tried to refuse, claiming he didn't know how to dance, but Heinz had dismissed it as though it were nothing.
No practice, no explanation, no chance to even prepare himself. Heinz had simply told him it would be fine—and Florian, as always, had been cornered into agreeing.
Now it was here.
Heinz's thumb brushed gently against his cheek, the warmth startling in contrast to his piercing gaze. With his other hand, he extended an open palm toward him. "Shall we?"
Florian froze, his chest tightening as the weight of the room pressed in. He could feel the stares, the whispers—every single pair of eyes was fixed on them, but especially on him.
He didn't want this. Not the way it looked.
Not the way it felt.
