For a boy who's lived as a merfolk his whole life, Floyd is surprisingly good on his feet.

His movements flow effortlessly, combining grace with a hint of unpredictability that keeps you on your toes. He executes sudden dips, spins, and twirls, accompanied by his scratchy laughter and the gentle sound of raindrops falling around you. The suit Jade lent him clings wetly to his skin, the jacket, mysteriously, nowhere to be found.

This. This is much better than any dinner in a stuffy restaurant. Who cares if Azul is going to be mad at him for not listening to his advice and returning to the Lounge soaked to the bone? You're in his arms, fighting off a smile and perfectly content despite the outcome of the date. If Floyd were more eloquent, he’d comment something about how you've never looked prettier, but he's no poet, so he only pulls you closer, your foreheads pressed together.

“I really want to kiss you right now, Shrimpy,” he murmurs and, in true Floyd fashion, does exactly just that.