Late in the night, the main area of Apollo Square is free of people, as all have been clever enough to go to bed after another tough day. All but two restless souls who encounter regret like it's Ryan's soldiers.

Amidst the abandoned weapons and ghosts of the night, a record player sits on a desk in the corner with the tunes of Glenn Miller's lullaby slowly filling the space. A slow, almost romantic ballad, begging for love to bloom.

And you are sad, painfully and vulnerably sad, even despite the calmness of the current moment—calm before the storm, or rather after—hunched in one of the chairs that creaks with each movement. From the other end of the room, Atlas is keeping his eyes on you while absentmindedly chewing the end of his cigar in his mouth.

It aches him to see you like this, because you are his best soldier—at least that he tells himself—but there is a strange weight on his chest, one he can't quite name. All he knows, it makes his feet move on their own and carry him straight to you.

"When ye smile at me, I'm hearin' violins."

That heavy accent makes him sound funny, definitely not romantic at all; and who knows if that even was the intention. But Atlas is suddenly standing in front of you with his hand extended.

He deems it a small victory when a smile cracks on your face, probably at his own awkwardness—but it's a smile nonetheless, and that's what counts. Even though he might look like an utter idiot.

"C'mon. When ye dance with me..."

Before you could protest, he grabs a hold of your hands to pull you up and to the empty space between the tables. You give him a panicked shake of your head and maybe for a second, Atlas regrets behaving so ridiculously, because a revolutionary doesn't just ask girls to dance.

But you are smiling; yes, sadly, and yes, you are desperately trying to pull away. But smiling.

"I'm in heaven when tha music begins."