Party Hard?

Crimson loved nightclubs.

Gale hated them.

It was oil and water with damn near everything for the pair yet they spent more time together than either would care to admit to.

So Gale finding himself in a busy nightclub with Crimson’s arm around his shoulders as he orders drinks is just about as out of his element as he gets, but he expected it with Crimson’s propensity for dragging him out of his comfort zone.

The music is loud and obnoxious and any attempt to mitigate the constant thump of the bass in his chest is met with failure. If he didn’t have a headache tomorrow it would be a miracle.

Gale’s gaze flits around the selection at the bar, the bartenders working diligently to get drinks out to the crowd, and finally to Crimson. He seems excited with a grin plastered on his face, the expression actually making it to his eyes for once. At least someone was having fun.

“Lighten up, grumpy.” Crimson laughs as he catches Gale’s scowling face in his peripheral vision. “It can’t be that bad, can it?” He asks.

“It’s loud.” Gale replies, a sneer plastered to his face.

The complaint from the Greed bun is a common one for him and always results in what he assumes is supposed to be a comforting gesture from Crimson. This time it’s a strange sort of side-hug, squishing the pair together. The closeness only makes Gale more aware of the overwhelming sensory input.

Crimson chuckles and leans closer. “Someone,” he starts and Gale groans, knowing Ruby has been talking without a filter again, “told me you used to party hard. I wonder what happened to that guy.” He nudges Gale.

Gale shakes his head, barely able to remember a time when he enjoyed this kind of environment. “He ain’t that guy anymore.”

Crimson’s grin doesn’t fade despite the cranky reply from the shorter man. “Well, you’re here now, so you might as well try to enjoy it.”

Gale grimaces as Crimson waves down a bartender, who serves two colorful cocktails shortly. Crimson hands one to Gale, the drink’s vibrant, swirling hues distracting Gale from the cacophony around him.

“To old times, huh?” Crimson toasts, raising his glass.

Gale clinks his glass against Crimson’s, taking a cautious sip. The drink is refreshing and he recognizes it quickly, a pleasant change from the noise and chaos. He catches Crimson’s eager, expectant look and forces himself to relax a little. He knew why Crimson did this. Gale knew very well the kind of reclusive grump he’d become in a relatively short amount of time. It wasn’t like Gale didn’t want to have fun, it just felt a lot more distant now. Crimson seemed to get that.

“Better?” Crimson asks, still smiling broadly.

“You wish.” Gale gripes, his voice barely audible over the music. Like he’d admit that it’s not as horrible as he said it would be coming in.

A few silent seconds pass between the two before Gale feels a hand take his. Crimson’s eyes are full of mischief as he tugs Gale toward the dance floor. “Come on, just a little bit of dancing. It’ll be fun. Good for you, even.”

Gale hesitates but finds himself dragged along. The dance floor is packed, the crowd moving in sync with the relentless beat. Crimson, with his boundless energy, dives right into the middle, pulling Gale along with him. It’s crowded, barely enough room for everyone. How long has it been since he danced?

Gale stumbles but finds his footing as he moves awkwardly to the rhythm. Despite himself, he starts to get caught up in the atmosphere, the movement and the music becoming a strange form of escape. Crimson’s infectious enthusiasm is hard to ignore and soon it doesn’t feel as claustrophobic.

“You see? This isn’t so bad!” Crimson shouts over the music, his voice filled with genuine excitement.

Gale nods, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “It’s… fine.”

Crimson grins, clearly pleased with Gale’s progress. They continue to dance, with Crimson leading the way and Gale following along. The tension in Gale’s shoulders slowly eases, and he finds himself enjoying the rhythmic pulse of the music.

After a while, they retreat to the edge of the dance floor, both breathless and slightly disheveled. Crimson leans against the bar, still grinning, while Gale catches his breath.

“Look at you, it’s almost like doing fun things won’t kill you.” Crimson chuckles, looking Gale up and down with approval.

“Shut it. I ain’t… having that much fun.” He shakes his head, running his hands through his hair.

“But you admit you’re having fun!” Crimson nudges the greed buns arm with a grin, earning a half-hearted glare.

“Yeah.” He nods. “Yeah I guess.”

“You guess. Alright Mister Non-committal.” Crimson rolls his eyes. “I’ll take it. Glad to see you finally had a little fun.”

Despite himself Gale can’t help the small smile that makes its way onto his face. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Like Crimson said, a little fun wouldn’t kill him.