[It's easy to take the lead, guiding Linhardt to the dance floor and moving his free hand to rest on Linhardt's waist. The steps and rhythm are ingrained in his head and it's natural to adjust to the song and begin; his movements are a bit mechanical and stiff in nature, but his expression is softer than it usually is. Hubert's gaze keeps darting away and he has to force himself to look back at Linhardt.
There likely should be words here, but he's not entirely sure what the appropriate ones would be. Perhaps more pressingly, he's not entirely sure he could manage to get any intelligible words out right now, because it feels like something has a stranglehold on his throat. It isn't a bad feeling, which is the most baffling part of all of this. This is... nice. It's nice, despite the fact that he hates dances like this. It's nice, despite the fact that this is all an act.
It's nice, and for some reason, he doesn't want it to end.]
no subject
There likely should be words here, but he's not entirely sure what the appropriate ones would be. Perhaps more pressingly, he's not entirely sure he could manage to get any intelligible words out right now, because it feels like something has a stranglehold on his throat. It isn't a bad feeling, which is the most baffling part of all of this. This is... nice. It's nice, despite the fact that he hates dances like this. It's nice, despite the fact that this is all an act.
It's nice, and for some reason, he doesn't want it to end.]