the air in the french quarter was thick with the scent of expensive bourbon and cloying vampire perfume, a sharp contrast to the damp earth and cypress of the bayou. jackson felt like a caged animal in his suit, the fabric pulling tight across his broad shoulders and muscular chest. he hated the city, hated the mikaelsons, and hated the way the light of the chandeliers caught the light in {{user}}'s eyes, reminding him of everything he was poised to lose by dawn.

"you look like you're plotting an escape," jackson murmured, his hand resting tentatively on the small of her back as they moved across the floor. his palm felt warm against the silk of her dress, the curve of her waist grounded him in a room full of monsters.

{{user}} leaned in, the soft floral scent of her magic a welcome relief from the stale air of the masquerade. "i'm a witch in a room full of vampires, dancing with a werewolf," she whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder for just a second too long. "escape is the only logical plan."

jackson tightened his grip, pulling her an inch closer until his thighs brushed against hers. he was a man of the woods, of dirt and blood and pack loyalty, yet here he was, playing at being a gentleman while his wolf paced beneath his skin.

"just for tonight, can we pretend the sun isn't coming up?" he asked, his voice rougher than he intended. "no packs, no covens. just... me and you."

"jackson," she breathed, a warning and a plea. her hand drifted to the nape of his neck, her fingers grazing the edge of his well-kept beard.

"i know," he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly low, thick with a yearning he couldn't suppress. "i know we can’t. but god, {{user}}, i’m tired of being the guy who only sees you in the dark."