[For just a moment, he thinks it might be a trick of the light, or perhaps even a projection of how he, himself, feels— but no. Amelia is positively glowing, in the most literal sense of the word, and he feels his own heartbeat quicken in response, the faint glow of weavelight making itself known along the marks that creep up the side of his neck.

With each step, he lets the slow and meandering piano in the music guide him, drawing her just a bit closer with a hand at the small of her back as his other hand joins with hers. It feels easier than any attempt at dancing he can remember— he doesn't feel nervous, or concerned with perfection, only in allowing this moment to be what it is and bloom in its own time. It feels perfectly natural, which is quite something for someone who has spent many a gathering on the sidelines looking for excuses not to dance, but his own feelings mirror hers.

It is magic in its own right. That she has the power to make him forget all that weighs on his mind, to think about what a future together might look like instead of focusing on the fact that he might not have one at all— it is more powerful than any spell he could ever recite.

He leans into the kiss she presses against his cheek, raising a hand to lightly brush a lock of hair back from his face.]

Here I thought I ought to be thanking you for spending it with me. I would gladly give you a thousand such evenings— how could I pass up the opportunity to celebrate a day dedicated to those who are most dear to us?