Masquerade ball! Requested by: Anonymous

Feedback appreciated!

Scenario 1: The grand ballroom glittered beneath enormous crystal chandeliers, their warm golden light reflecting off polished marble floors and the elaborate masks worn by Megapolis's wealthiest and most influential guests. The masquerade ball was an extravagant affair, filled with elegant music, expensive champagne, and enough nobles and high society figures to make even the most insufferable aristocrat feel right at home. Naturally, the Demon Bull Family had received an invitation, and Red Son had been practically dragged into attending by his mother, who insisted that he needed to make a good impression on the city's upper class. As if his mere presence wasn't impressive enough!

Dressed in a tailored red suit embroidered with intricate gold patterns, Red Son stood near the edge of the ballroom, a glass of untouched champagne in one hand. A matching red and gold masquerade mask concealed the upper half of his face, though it did little to hide his sharp expression or the occasional flash of irritation in his eyes. He had already endured three conversations about business, two insufferable compliments about his father, and one particularly aggravating individual who had mistaken him for a servant. Honestly, the absolute audacity!

He was just considering whether setting fire to the refreshments table would be worth the lecture from his mother when an unexpected collision interrupted his thoughts. Red Son stumbled half a step, barely managing to keep his champagne from spilling across his suit, and immediately turned toward the person responsible. "Honestly! Do watch where you're going, you insolent pea..." His voice trailed off before he could finish the insult.

There was something about you that made him pause.

It wasn't your clothes, although the elegance of your attire certainly caught his attention. It wasn't your mask, either, which concealed enough of your face to make identifying you impossible. No, it was something else entirely. Something about the way you stood before him, the sound of your voice if you happened to speak, or perhaps the strange familiarity of your presence. Red Son couldn't quite put his finger on it, and the more he tried to figure it out, the more the thought irritated him. Had he met you before? At some tedious social gathering? During one of his experiments? Surely, if he had encountered someone as interesting as you, he would have remembered!

Before he could question you, the orchestra transitioned into a slower, more romantic melody. Around the ballroom, couples began making their way toward the dance floor, their silhouettes moving gracefully beneath the chandeliers. Red Son barely spared them a glance until he realized that you were standing directly in front of him, offering him an unexpected opportunity to salvage what had begun as an embarrassingly awkward encounter. He straightened his posture, lifted his chin, and extended one gloved hand toward you with all the theatrical grandeur of a prince inviting someone into his royal court.

"Well, since we've already had the pleasure of making each other's acquaintance in such a spectacularly undignified manner, I suppose I can allow you one dance." His lips curved into a confident smirk, though the faint warmth creeping into his cheeks betrayed him just a little. "Consider yourself extraordinarily fortunate. I don't make a habit of entertaining strangers, you know."

And yet, the moment you accepted his invitation, Red Son found himself regretting every second he had spent complaining about this ridiculous ball.

His hand settled carefully against yours as he guided you onto the dance floor, his other hand resting at your waist. He was an accomplished dancer, naturally. Red Son would never willingly participate in an activity without making certain he could excel at it, and the fluid precision of his movements proved as much. He led you through the first few steps with practiced ease, the red and gold embroidery of his suit catching the light whenever he turned. The music swelled around you, and for the first time that evening, he found himself genuinely enjoying the occasion.

More troubling still was the fact that he wanted the song to last longer.

Red Son glanced down at you, attempting to discern your features beneath your mask. The familiar feeling returned, stronger now that you were so close. It was almost as though some part of him recognized you, even if his mind stubbornly refused to supply a name or memory to explain why. His brows drew together thoughtfully, and he nearly missed a step before quickly correcting himself. Unacceptable. He was not going to embarrass himself over a complete stranger!

"Have we met before?" he finally asked, his voice quieter than it had been moments ago. He studied you for another second before scoffing softly, as though dismissing the question would somehow make it disappear. "No, never mind. I would certainly remember meeting someone like you."

The words escaped him before he could consider their implications. Red Son immediately felt heat rise to his face, and he cleared his throat, looking away as though the intricate ceiling had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the entire ballroom. "I mean, your appearance is rather distinctive! That's all. Don't flatter yourself."

Despite his insistence, his attention kept drifting back to you. He found himself listening more closely whenever you spoke, watching for every subtle movement, and anticipating each turn in the music simply because it meant he could continue dancing with you. The usual stream of critical observations and grandiose declarations in his mind had been replaced by something altogether more confusing. Curiosity, certainly. Admiration, perhaps. And an unfamiliar warmth that had absolutely no business settling in his chest.

As the song approached its conclusion, Red Son realized with growing horror that he didn't particularly want to let you go. He had spent the entire evening surrounded by people who bored him to tears, yet a single dance with an anonymous stranger had managed to make every other guest seem utterly uninteresting by comparison. What sort of ridiculous trick was this? Had someone tampered with his drink? Was this some elaborate scheme orchestrated by MK and his insufferable friends?

No. That was absurd. He was a genius, a fire demon, and the son of the mighty Demon Bull King. He was perfectly capable of recognizing when someone had caught his interest.

The problem was that he couldn't remember the last time anyone had caught it quite so thoroughly.

When the final notes of the melody faded, Red Son reluctantly loosened his hold on your hand, though he made no immediate move to step away. Instead, he tilted his head, his smirk returning with a newfound hint of nervous determination. "Well, I suppose that wasn't a complete disaster. You have surprisingly good taste in dance partners."

He paused, his gaze lingering on yours through the eyeholes of his mask.

"Tell me, mysterious stranger. Are you going to make me spend the rest of this evening guessing who you are, or might I be fortunate enough to claim another dance?"

For once in his life, Red Son found himself hoping desperately that the answer would be yes. And as he waited for your response, he couldn't shake the growing suspicion that whatever had drawn him toward you tonight was far more significant than a chance encounter at a masquerade ball.

He just had no idea how much trouble his heart was about to cause him.

Scenario 2: Same as first but without the dance section.

Scenario 3: Same as first but instead he's wearing a dress.

Scenario 4: Same as third but without the dance section.