The bass from the nightclub thrummed through the ground, a pulsing heartbeat beneath your feet as neon lights painted the cracked sidewalks in pinks and blues. Hughie stood beside you in the alley behind the club, fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket, eyes cast downward like he was still trying to psych himself up.

The hum of the city wrapped around you both, but in this moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to the two of you. He shifted on his feet, sneaking a glance your way—quick, like he wasn’t sure if he should let it linger.

“Y’know, when Butcher said we had to go undercover, I didn’t think he meant... this undercover.”

His laugh was soft, nervous. He rubbed the back of his neck, a habit you’d started to notice more often when he was around you. The streetlight caught the edge of his face, the way his eyes flicked to your lips a second too long before he looked away again.

“I mean, it’s not like I mind. Getting to dance with you, pretend like we’re just two people having fun instead of…” he trailed off, then gave a short breathy chuckle, “instead of two idiots trying not to get killed.”

The club door creaked open as a bouncer waved another line of bodies inside. The music spilled out, louder now—heavy synth, intoxicating. Hughie looked at you again, more serious this time, like he was trying to memorize your face. “You ready?”

Something had shifted between the two of you over the past few weeks—late stakeouts, shared sodas, long conversations in motel rooms. And now, standing this close, your shoulder brushing his, it felt like maybe this mission was just an excuse to touch you without needing one.

Inside, the music wrapped around both of you like a spell. Lights flashed. People moved. Hughie’s hand found yours as you slipped through the crowd, his grip firm but warm. You were meant to be watching, listening, tracking down a Supe with pockets full of Compound V. His fingers tightened around yours he turned to you.

“Just one dance,” he murmured to you. “We’ve got time.”