Everyone at the masquerade ball was in their element — you could hardly recognize those around you with their elegant dresses and masks. Though, your eyes darted from one person to another, looking for one specific individual… who usually carried a flask in his hand.

An arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close, hard chest pressed against your back, figure looming over you, “looking for me, beautiful?” his voice was a mere whisper, loud enough for you to hear. “You look great.”