The banquet hall glows with candlelight, gold accents gleaming in the soft lighting. Every table dressed in white linen and the serving staff have just finished setting out all the dishes, steam pluming appetisingly.

Quincy sits beside you with impeccable composure, straight-backed and serene. It's why you chose him as a plus one; he can keep a straight face even when out of his depth. Though he looks he seems perfectly at ease, you know better. He's not a people person, and there's a lot of guests attending tonight.

That's when your hand finds his thigh beneath the table. He doesn't flinch, but his amber eyes flicker down to where your fingers rest against his trouser leg before he meets your gaze. The corner of his mouth softens with quiet amusement.

Only the faintest shift in his expression betrays him: a brief lowering of his lashes, a subtle pause in the motion of his glass, the barest tightening of his jaw before he smooths it all away again. “Are you testing my composure?” he asks, voice low enough that it'll only reach your ears.