[The sound of popping confetti reaches his brain only mere moments before he feels the press of her palms against his chest, and he takes a small step backward out of sheer shock and instinct, and not because she actually pushed him with any real force.
His head is still a little fuzzy, and he tries to blink away the confusion of the moment. It's a little slower for him; his previous drinks make clearly his head a slightly more arduous task.
As his eyes lift from his hands on her waist and up to her face, he realizes just how close together they still are, even after her gasp had helped them break away.
The funny thing is, that even though it was probably wrong, he doesn't regret it.
That didn't mean that he doesn't feel bad about it.
He's at a loss for words, emotions tumbling around inside of him. He might not regret it, but it's all too obvious that, for better or for worse, things are different now.
He has no idea what to say, so instead he presses his lips together, reaches forward with his hand, and pulls a piece of confetti from her hair to let it drift slowly to the floor.]