Wren can feel Alex noticably relax into his arms, moving with him, and he smiles, pleased at it, at seeing the walls come down and Alex just being himself. He feels good, dancing close.

There's a purity to people, when their concern for reputation and society and what people think strips away, when they're a little afraid and a little fearless, that Wren can't help but find beautiful, no matter what it is that lies underneath. He can feel himself letting the rest of the room, his own concerns about getting too close, fall away. He's been intrigued by Alex since they bumped into each other over jewelry at the festival and surrendering to that might be frightening, but it feels a little inevitable. And likewise, the academic has a lot of that posture to him, and feeling him let his guard down is a little bit delicious.

"It's not a game unless two are playing," Wren says with a raised eyebrow and a smile. He glances down at the glowing handprint left on his chest, catching Alex's hand and pressing his own against it flat, palm to fingertip, the paint slick between their fingers, enjoying the feel of the cold paint and the warmth of his hand. He leans in to kiss him, lacing their fingers and pulling him closer.