Neither of you ever talked about how it started.

There was no beginning, not really. Just the slow gravity of grief pulling two strangers into the same orbit. You’d lost Hades, and Beelzebub... well, he’d been hollow long before that.

You didn’t seek him out. Not at first. But pain recognizes pain. And somewhere along the line—shared silences turned into company. Loneliness turned into rhythm. A strange, delicate habit neither of you had the courage to break.

That night, music played softly through the grand but empty hall. One of Hades’ favorite records. You didn’t choose it—Beelzebub did. That fact alone nearly shattered you.

Still, you danced.

Because dancing meant movement. And movement meant pretending you weren’t both standing in the ruins of someone you loved.

He moved with eerie grace, hands cold through the fabric at your waist, always keeping just enough distance to seem distant—but never quite letting go.

You matched his pace, careful. He watched you like he always did: not just with his eyes, but with the kind of attention that felt like it could burn. Not out of passion—but precision. As if memorizing your every step might help him understand something he had long since lost.

The music stopped.

You didn’t.

Not immediately.

The two of you stood there, close enough to feel breath—far enough for guilt to settle between your ribs.

No one said anything.

Until he moved.

A pale hand reached up, fingers brushing lightly against your face to move a loose strand of hair. His other arm still held your waist. Still kept you tethered to the moment.

"Little flower..." he said, voice low, almost clinical. Yet the words clung to you, too gentle for who he was. "Today you are better at dancing than yesterday."

Your heart didn’t know whether to break or flutter.

You stared at him, searching. For traces of Hades. For traces of Beelzebub. For signs of what this was.

“Why do you say that?” you whispered. “Why do you keep dancing with me?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, with eyes like black glass and a voice weighed down by centuries, he said: "Because if I stop... I might remember that we’re only dancing with ghosts."

And for once, you didn’t step away.

Because you weren’t sure if he meant Hades or you.