“Come on,” Zara said, nodding toward the crowd. “Let’s get closer.”
They pushed forward through the crowd, and immediately the space became about proximity. Bodies pressed together,shoulders bumping, the collective warmth of dozens of people packed into a space meant for half as many. Ramona felt the familiar flutter of anxiety — too many people, too close, too much.
Zara’s hand settled on the small of her back. Firm. Steady. A point of grounding in the press of bodies.
It wasn’t unusual. People touched each other in crowds all the time — a hand on a shoulder to navigate, an elbow to make space. But Zara’s hand stayed. Didn’t move, didn’t shift. Just rested there, warm through the fabric of Ramona’s dress, palm flat against her spine.
Ramona exhaled, letting her shoulders relax for what felt like the first time in ages.
The band launched into their next song — something up-tempo and driving, with lyrics about storms and magic and women who burned bright. The crowd surged forward. Zara’s hand slid down to Ramona’s hip as if bracketing her with her own body, keeping her steady and close.
“You okay?” Zara leaned in, near enough that Ramona could feel the words more than hear them over the music.
“Yeah.” Ramona turned her head, finding Zara’s face inches away. “I’m good.” She smiled.
And she was. Standing in this crowd, with the music vibrating through her chest and Zara’s hand warm on her hip and the string lights casting everything in soft gold, she was actually, genuinely good.
The songs blurred together, one into the next, the crowd moving as a collective organism. Felix appeared beside them at one point, grabbed both their hands, and attempted to teach them some kind of dance that involved too much spinning and not enough coordination. Ramona laughed — really laughed, the type of laugh that came from somewhere deep — as she stumbled into Zara, who caught her with both hands andsteadied her with an ease that suggested she had significantly better balance than any human in the room.
“I thought you said you don’t dance,” Zara said, grinning.
“I don’t. This isn’t dancing.”
“It’s adorable, is what it is.”
Ramona rolled her eyes.
“Adorable,” Zara repeated, deliberately. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the crowd, her hair slightly disheveled from the movement. Her black shirt had shifted during the dancing, riding up even higher on one side.
Ramona absolutely did not look. She looked straight ahead. At the stage. At the band. At anything that was not Zara’s bare skin.
The music shifted into something slower. The crowd loosened, people swaying rather than jumping. Zara’s hand found Ramona’s hip again, and this time it was unmistakably not about navigating the crowd. To steady herself and for no other reason, Ramona wrapped her own arm around Zara’s middle, bare skin on bare skin.
They swayed together, not quite dancing, not quite still. Close enough that Ramona could feel the heat radiating off Zara’s body. Close enough that every small movement brought them closer.
“Thank you,” Ramona said quietly, not entirely sure why she was whispering when the music was loud enough to cover conversation.
“For what?”
“For this. For making me come out tonight.” Ramona looked up at her. “For not letting me hide.”
“You deserve to have fun,” Zara said simply. “Everyone does. Mortals are so bad at it. Especially you.”
The weight of that sentence settled between them, heavy and warm. Ramona held Zara’s gaze and didn’t look away.
The walkhome was cold and quiet. The kind of late-night silence that felt sacred — Fernwick settling into itself, streetlights casting pools of amber on the sidewalk, their breath making small clouds in the air.
Felix and Kashvi had peeled off earlier, Felix stumbling home with Kashvi’s arm around him, Gerald awake and cooing from his shoulder, both of them singing fragments of the last song badly and at full volume.
Ramona and Zara walked side by side, close enough that their arms brushed with every step. Neither of them moved apart.
“That was good,” Ramona said. “The band.”
“They were excellent. The enchanted instruments were a nice touch.”
“Was that your first concert?” Ramona asked.
“No, demons love music. We have plenty of it, and we’ve been known to sneak into a mortal festival or two. People on mind-altering drugs are easy prey for quota days, and why not enjoy yourself at the same time, you know?” Zara’s mouth quirked up in a grin.
