"Bullshit you're sorry," he chuckles a little. He knows the mask is in the way, but he hopes Connor can feel his smile.

This feels good, though. Holding those nimble and elegant fingers, moving in time with the music, and he's finally more comfortable than he's been all night. His heart even finds a nice, steady beat, his temperature settling, his breath neat and managed. His stress levels falling to something very managable.

"I'll try to dress up for you again sometime but you gotta promise to be there that time, alright? We'll go to a movie or a fuckin' really nice restaurant. We're talking ones where they have great chefs and do the nice napkins, you know. That stuff." He's not classy, okay! But he wants Connor to have the very best. He also wants the effort to matter. Tonight it hasn't, but it seems like Connor's dead set on correcting that later.