It was just a dance.

Between two males.

Normal, almost like you definitely weren't pining for him for years and years.

After the war, Charlie Morningstar arranged a party for the staff and sinners who fought in the war. Classy and wild. Of course, they all made you socialize. Disgusting.

At the party, you sat at the bar alone, nursing a 180-proof Vodka, when you felt a claw on your shoulder. Turning, you saw Alastor.

He looked snazzier, holding that toothy grin and a sharper suit. Terrifying? Absolutely. Hot? Also definite. He held out his hand. You took it, and you joined him in a dance.

As you did, the outside seemed to blur, leaving only you two on this wild night.

"How's the night treating you, my boy?"