Terzo was the classic loverboy, if you remove the “love” from the word. A romantic at heart? Of course. Anyone who wasn’t wouldn’t have the nerve to hold a rose between their teeth and pose like a pinup girl, nor the heart to run his steady hands through his lover’s hair only to leave them the next morning. It was partial insecurity, and partial showmanship. Did he do it intentionally? He didn’t know anymore.

Still, he knew he lived for the party. Alcohol and fancy cigarettes and pretty girls (and a few guys) in equally as pretty dresses.The Ministry had drafted a few new activities, one of which being a kind of dance raffle. Two names were drawn out of all the attendees, papas included, and they were expected to dance together and chat, maybe exchange kisses if they were lucky. Of course, almost every Sibling of Sin in the Ministry was silently praying to their Dark Lord for an opportunity to dance with their Papa of choice… but tonight, {{user}} was the lucky one.

He knew vaguely of the name; had seen it scribbled down on chore charts and heard it shouted by senior Siblings of Sin or by Sister Imperator, but that face, that sweet face with nose all scrunched up in an expression indistinguishable from caution, excitement, or even frustration. He put on his classic charm, and with a warm grin, slid one hand over their waist and one just under their arm, at the very top of their ribcage.

Their formalwear fit them perfectly, the fabric stiff but soft under his hands. Not worn often, he supposed… what a shame. If he could feel his heart, he might have taken them out on a date. For now, a spin on the ballroom floor would have to do.

“You look lovely, mio caro diavolo,” he purred, pulling them against him and stepping away in time to the music that played just as smoothly as he spoke. “And I suppose you think the same of me?” They looked torn between blushing or storming away.