“OH, THIS is my jam!” Camilla squeals as the opening melody to some pop song pumps through the speakers, reaching across the table and waggling her fingers at Amy. “Come dance with me, love!”

“I’ve got you, birthday boy!” Jeremiah claims Mal, dramatically twirling out of his stool.

“Looks like that leaves me and you, Rowan!” Clover grins, taking a somehow still elegant sip of her cocktail despite the three she’s had already. “Lezz-a-gay!”

Her impression of Super Mario makes the whole group explode into giggles as the table empties and half fumbles their way to the dance floor. Pairing off, they each take on their own distinct style. Realistically, he knows they’re probably all good dancers, but they’re here to have a good time, pride be damned.

Clover is a riot. The song playing is some kind of pop-rap mashup, and she bangs out hit after hit of terrible dance moves, starting with the Egyptian and working her way to the sprinkler. Rowan laughs and mirrors her, occasionally throwing in his own freestyle that has the both of them grinning and out of breath.

Next to them, Amy and Camilla are taking things a bit more seriously, at least attempting some kind of conventional club dancing, all swaying hips and pumping arms. It makes Rowan smile when eventually they give up on being serious and start undulating and attempting to moonwalk.

Inevitably, Rowan’s gaze shifts to Mal and Jeremiah. He finds them doing something a little too close to grinding. They’re not even touching, for fuck’s sake, a respectable gap between them for Jesus, but it still makes a mean, sour swirl of jealousy rise in the back of Rowan’s throat that nearly kills the pleasant buzz he has going on.

“All right, quit hogging him!” Camilla calls out, dragging Mal away from Jeremiah to waltz with him, horribly mismatched to the current rock song playing.

From then on, Mal bounces between each of them, arms flailing wildly and legs stomping out of rhythm no matter what type of music is playing. He’s intoxicating to watch as the gorgeous smile blossoms on his face with each and every song, each and every dance move. From little sways of his hips to tiny shimmies of his shoulders, Rowan can’t take his eyes off of him.

When he finally gets to Rowan, his cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, and the tips of his neatly coiffed hair are damp with sweat, and he’s fucking beautiful. But like everyone else, he thrashes around wildly a meager two feet from Rowan, and even with his erratic and silly movements, Rowan can’t stop watching. It makes a grin break out on his own face as he dips down into a low squat, bouncing back up a little too close to Mal and shimmying in front of him.

He’s literally been inside the man countless times by now, but his heart still flutters at being in such close proximity to him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be over the butterflies that have taken up permanent residence inside his chest ever since he met Mal all those months ago.