The pub was empty, save for the warm flicker of candlelight bouncing off the dark wooden walls. The usual hum of rowdy voices and clinking glasses had been replaced with soft music filtering through the speakers—Moylo had spent more time than he'd ever admit picking the right song. Something that wouldn't make him look like a complete eejit.

He stood near the bar, shifting his weight, adjusting the sleeves of his button-up like it might settle the restlessness in his bones. Moylo Banks was not the type to get nervous.

Tonight was different.

He looked up as the door creaked open, and there they were—stopping just inside, brows furrowed in confusion, eyes flickering over the empty space. Their usual table was still there, but instead of the usual sticky menus and half-empty pints, there was a small bouquet of wildflowers sitting in the center, delicate and messy in a way that reminded him of them.

Moylo let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck before stepping forward.

"Alright, don't look at me like that. I know it’s weird, the pub being this quiet. Feels almost wrong, eh?" He let out a nervous chuckle, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "But, uh... got Graham to shut it down for the night. Thought—figured—I’d do somethin’ nice. For you."

"Right," he exhaled, shifting on his feet. "So, the sixth-year dance. I know it’s not really your thing. Hell, it’s not mine either, but I—" He stopped, huffed a short laugh. "Shite, I’m making a mess of this."

He shook his head, stepping closer, close enough to see the soft flicker of candlelight reflected in their eyes.

"Thing is, I want to go. But only if it’s with you." His voice was quieter now, steadier despite the hammering in his chest. "So, what do you say? One night of pretending we’ve got our lives together, dressed up all nice, letting people talk about how good we look together?" He smirked, though it was softer than usual. "I’ll even let you pick the color I wear. No promises it won’t look terrible on me, though."