“here’s my guess,” theseus began, sliding up to the man as if they were dear old friends and not two strangers at a ball. but what was a stranger, if not a future connection? “either you’re waiting for a specific someone to beg you to dance -- which, if that’s the case, you’re legally obligated to tell me so that i can make wild conjectures -- or... you’re waiting for anyone to ask you to dance -- which, if that’s the case, here i am.” he looked at the man expectantly. “i mean, i suppose there’s the boring answer, which is that you don’t like to dance. but i refuse to believe anyone here is so lackluster.”