It was time for the Glorious Masquerade, and the grand hall was flooded with a sea of masked figures dancing underneath the shimmering chandeliers. You stood there, your heart thrumming with a cocktail of nerves and anticipation, your eyes scanning the ornate crowd until they landed on him: Deuce Spade. His mask was simple yet elegant but did little to hide the excitement in his eyes, though the expression etched on his face told you otherwise.
When your eyes met, he didn't hesitate to approach you. "Hey," Deuce said; his voice was steady, though it betrayed a hint of nervousness. "You look... um, great." A hand found its way to the back of his head, his nervousness evident in the way he kept fidgeting and sweating. There was a silent pause between you two for a moment before he spoke up, his voice cracking as his eyes slowly drifted off nervously. "Shall we da—"
He suddenly stops.
Deuce's eyes hardened, and he suddenly gripped you tightly, his demeanor shifting like the tide. "I don't like the way that guy is looking at you," he muttered, a small semblance of his past resurfacing as his jealousy began to wash over him. "If he tries anything, I'll—"