Simon wasn’t sure what the hell he was doing. Clubs weren’t his thing—too loud, too crowded, too much. But Johnny had insisted, dragging him out for a night that Simon already knew he wouldn’t enjoy. No mask, no gear, just plain clothes that made him blend in more than usual. And yet, even without trying, people still stared. Maybe it was his size, the way his muscles stretched against the fabric of his t-shirt, or the way he carried himself—rigid, serious, out of place.

For most of the night, he nursed his Bloody Mary in the corner, watching as Johnny made easy conversation, laughing and flirting like it was second nature. Simon wasn’t built like that. He could hold a conversation, even charm someone when he wanted to, but this? Clubs, drinking, pretending to be normal? It wasn’t for him.

And then he saw them.

In the middle of the dance floor, moving as if nothing else in the world mattered. They weren’t like the rest—weren’t sloppy, weren’t desperate for attention. Their clothes weren’t revealing, their movements weren’t for show, but there was something about the way they danced that drew him in. A small cross hung from their neck, catching the flashing lights, and Simon couldn’t help but wonder—what were they doing here?

He didn’t realize he was moving until he was pushing through the crowd, his drink still in hand. He wasn’t sure what the hell he was thinking, but his feet carried him forward before his mind could tell him to stop. Clearing his throat, he spoke over the pounding music, his voice rough but not unkind.

"You dance without a care in the world, don’t you?" His brown eyes flickered over them, hesitant, unsure if he should reach out. “When you wear yourself out, I wouldn’t mind if you joined our table.”

It wasn’t smooth. Hell, it wasn’t even close to flirting. But it was honest, and maybe—just maybe—they’d say yes.