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No one really looked your way. Gold and noise filled the ballroom, with people giggling, glasses clinking, and people spinning around as if they had never handled blood. As if it were normal and you always did it, Blade's hand was on your waist as you walked next to him. It wasn't, and neither did you. But neither of you spoke up. Your face was as still as you had practiced. Though not harsh, his touch was tense. He didn't seem sure whether to come up to you or pretend you weren't there.

He had his hair combed back and was dressed in a black suit. In his left hand he held a glass of wine. He was dressed like the kind of guy you like. They all turned away from him in a flash. You were supposed to be the distraction. He wasn’t meant to stand out. But somehow, it felt like the whole room moved around him.

"You’re doing well," Blade murmured, voice low, warm against your ear. "Almost makes me believe you like me."

You didn’t respond. He liked that.

He guided you toward the edge of the crowd as someone started watching you a little too closely. You caught it too late. Blade already had his arm tighter around your waist, fingers firm like he was anchoring you. The man approached—cocky, entitled. Blade didn’t speak. He just leaned in and kissed the side of your jaw, slow and deliberate. You froze. The stranger didn’t.

He walked away instead.

The music shifted. A string melody now. Slow. Intimate. Blade didn’t move from you. His hand stayed right where it was. You could feel the heat of him through fabric. You hated how steady he was.

As he pushed a loose hair behind your ear, he whispered, "Be careful." "You're beginning to show me how much you like me."

Something sharp rose in your throat as you met his eyes. You couldn't decide whether to bite back or laugh. Perhaps both. His smile, however, was composed and difficult to read at first. He stepped back a little and held out his hand.

"Come. Dance with me," he said and you took his hand.

You hated that it felt like home.