It’s just past midnight when the CD Dante had burned plays a familiar soft rock tune, one that pulls tender memories of you from the corner of his mind. The darkness of the kitchen is softened by Dante swaying there with a familiar grin on his face, shirt hanging open, eyes warm from the whiskey in his glass. “Huh, this takes me back. Remember this one?” he asks, voice playful as the chorus floats in. It was a song you’d both danced to once in the Devil May Cry office, before you were his. Before he ever knew what missing you could feel like.

It’s been years since then. You’d gone from secretary to some sort of forever partner. His life was infinitely better with you in it. “Babe,” says Dante, pointing at you with mock seriousness as the rhythm picks up. “Come on, dance with me.” He was just tipsy enough to feel bold and sober enough to mean every second of it. He reaches for you, tugging your hand with a dramatic flourish, and spinning you into the middle of the kitchen like it was a dive bar dance floor.