'Nicolás!'

I yank my hand out of Joe's. Apparently, she didn't trust my taste for finding her a one-night stand and decided instead to pull me to the dancefloor. We don't make it past the bar.

'Michael?' I stumble into a hug. His fingers swipe my bare skin, so soft they're almost ghostly. 'I thought you couldn't come.'

I did invite him on our recent date but he said queer clubs ain't really "his thing" and that he and his mates already had plans to go to a "normal" club. Why am I disappointed he's here?

'Yeah, Neon Rush were bunk, so thought we'd give this place a try. My sister wants to do special effects makeup,' he explains when I wince at the illusion of his split throat. Arms still locked around my waist, Michael grins at me, eyes glinting from the depths of his skull. 'Brought some mates. Hope you don't mind.'

I mutter summat about how I don't own the club but his attention is caught elsewhere. 'Joe?' His touch withdraws. 'Fuck, I didn't realise you two knew each other. How are ya?'

I'm equally surprised that the two of them know each other. Somehow at no point did I register the fact that they used to be colleagues at The Lowry.

Joe smiles, genuinely pleased to see him. 'I work here now.'

Michael gives the club a scan, nodding in appreciation of the decor. 'Nice. Seamus is still an arse, if you were wondering.'

They continue to catch up and I notice the three men watching us, an awkward distance away. I introduce myself to them though they stare at me incredulously until one finally pipes up. 'So what're you s'posed to be?'

I glance down at myself like I've forgotten my own costume. 'I'm Bow. From She-Ra. It's an animated series.'

Michael's arm slings around me though he holds me at a distance to take in my costume, unabashedly allowing his focus to trail my bare arms and stomach. 'You look mint.'

'Is this a couple's costume?' asks another friend, looking between me and Joe.

'No! No, there's a bunch of us. It's a group costume,' I correct, unable to look at her. She can't be pleased at this accusation.

On cue, Caleb emerges from the employees-only corridor, lavender pigtails sweeping the filthy floor and sobered up enough to steer his chair on his own. Eilidh comes along behind him, hiding a yawn behind a scorpion claw.

It spreads to me so that when Caleb calls my name loud enough to make it over Let's Kill Tonight, I respond with a yawn. 'They're–' He freezes.

'Caleb, this is Michael.'

'Michael.' Caleb drags out the name. He moves his chair back a foot to better see him, eyes flicking up and down until he smiles earnestly. 'Nice to finally meet you, Michael. I'm Caleb.'

Caleb shoves a hand out that Michael can't shake because his mate has just handed him a shot and what's probably a rum and coke.

'Double fisting, I dig it.'

Michael stares at Caleb, then at me. I bite down my chuckle though I can't judge his shock. Caleb takes a while to get used to.

Rishi and Sarah emerge from the dancefloor, out of breath and with a lot more glitter on them than when I last saw either. 'It's Time Warp soon.'

'What's Time Warp?' Michael asks.

'From Rocky Horror Picture Show.' When this don't spur any kind of recognition, Rishi sneers. 'What kind of uncultured cretins are you bringing into our house, Nicolás?'

'He's joking,' Sarah disclaimers in case Michael can't tell. Which he probably can't considering Rishi says it in the same cold drone as everything else. Sarah's persona flows effortlessly into the kindness and somewhat forced peacefulness of Perfuma. 'It's a dance. Like YMCA. It's a tradition every Halloween here.'

'I'm sure Nicolás can teach you the steps,' Caleb adds. 'He loves the pelvic thrust.'

I laugh though my face is as red as a tomato. (Fun fact: Tomatoes are actually both vegetables and fruits, one is just a culinary term and the other a botanical one.) 'Fuck off.'

Discomfort etches into the taut lines of Michael's face. 'I don't really dance. I'm more of a pub person in general. I think we'll go find somewhere to sit.' He brushes my arm, tension finally dissolving into a smile. 'Find me after.'

Luckily, nobody has the time to take the piss before Time Warp starts to play and the conversation is wiped out of everyone's memory. Joe stares at me, startled. To her, the thunder of feet must feel like a fire drill. I take her hand and pull her with me so that we don't lose each other in the crowd.

The benefit of Caleb's wheelchair is that people dodge. We get right up to the front where Eilidh helps him balance on his prosthesis (which is mostly made difficult by him being absolutely fucking wankered) and lifts his chair onto the stage so it's out of the way.

Like Sarah said, Time Warp is a Halloween tradition at Spectrum. It's the one song that even people who don't dance dance to. Save for Michael, I guess. As the floor can't fit everyone, they dance wherever they happen to be—even in the toilet queue.

The overcrowding forces my body closer to Joe's than may be advisable, but she seems to have no trouble with the graze of skin each time the choreography turns us around. For the final step, everyone collapses to the floor, too euphoric to care how absolutely filthy it is by this point in the night.

I help Joe up and she collapses into me, laughing hysterically. Probably the alcohol finally peaking.

But when she cranes her neck, chest still pressed to mine, she don't seem particularly drunk. 'I'm so happy,' she yells over the Time Warp applause. 'My ex never danced.'

My response is a mumble, 'I'm happy too.'

As people disperse from the dancefloor, the next song emerges from the speakers: Blue Magic's Born on Halloween, a slow soul beat. I drop Joe's hand, assuming this isn't a song she wants to dance with me to, but she closes the distance as quickly as I make it. I think I might implode.

It's nowt compared to when Nina Simone comes on and Joe turns around, pressing her back to my chest and sways with the beat.

The probability that I die tonight: A bold eighty. Thank fuck I'm wearing jeans. I don't even own a pair of jeans; I had to borrow these from Parker for the costume. Well, thank you, Parker!

Against my better judgement, my hand curls around her waist, then slides down to her hip. The other tucks her pink hair behind her ear before it lands on her ribs, under her breast. Her skin is hot through the body suit. The strobe lights glide over us, each one a beckoning into a direction I don't wanna be going in. Reminder: Something something Joe something... She looks up at me and smiles. I might die this second. But I smile back.

She's drunk! She's drunk and she don't know what she's doing. I'm sober. I should stop.

Instead, I close my eyes, lose myself in the movement of our bodies.

Until a mummy crashes into us and I wake up. They apologise profusely, we both assure them not to worry about it, and they disappear into the crowd, leaving Joe and staring at each other, three feet apart. I become aware of the others and their not-so-subtle glances—or in Caleb's case, warning glares.

'I'm gonna go get some water.'

'Okay!' Joe slides over to dance with Eilidh, wrapping her arms around her neck. Reminder: This isn't about me. Reminder: She's drunk.

Though I'm not particularly thirsty, I weave a path off the dancefloor. The feel of her body lingers on the tips of my fingers just as the mental image of the leotard and leggings does in my mind. I'll go stand in the freezer for a few minutes.

Summat hits my heels and I stumble, spinning around only to find Caleb. As childish as the gesture of intentionally ramming his chair into me is, there's no trace of humour on his face.

'What the fuck are you doing? You can't dance like that with someone when your date is literally in the same room. That's fucked, Nicolás.'

Fuck.

Eyes screwing shut, I run a hand down my face. I wish the echo of pain in my achelles tendons were sharper. I hadn't even thought of that—I completely forgot Michael were here! I am so the asshole.

'You're right.'

'Of course, I'm right. When have I ever been wrong?' Even when a syllable or two is caught in the riptide of the bass, Caleb's venom has no difficulties in reaching my flesh. 'I thought we agreed you weren't gonna develop feelings for her.'

'I don't have feelings for her. I just got caught up in the moment.'

'It's not fair to Michael. You of all people know how shit it is to be strung along, you've only experienced it twenty-three times.' Is that a random number or is he actually keeping count? Probably the latter.

Caleb's censure has no interest in my remorse. Part of being best friends for twenty years is that you stop putting up with each other's shit. And this is definitely shit.

'I'm gonna go find him.' It comes out like a question and it's only after Caleb has shooed me away as verification that it's a good idea that I actually turn around. And I don't think about Joe.