[ with some help from bobbi, fitz dresses in blacks except where the hi-jacks mandate dictates otherwise (a requirement for something cardinal, a shining signifier of the allegiance that earned him an invite in the first place, distilled in the form of the collar of his jacket, red light radiating from within). they don't arrive together, but she catches him elbowing his way through the dancefloor, a familiar touch and shot of fond empathy at his arm.
then she's asking, and he sort of glitches, head tipped back and brows arched. ]
no subject
then she's asking, and he sort of glitches, head tipped back and brows arched. ]
You want to — is that really — are you sure?
[ would dancing really be helpful... ]