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Chapter Text

Paris, 1899.

The Montmartre Quarter is an artist’s district—the polite way of saying it is home to Bohemians and vagabonds. The religious decry it and its residents with fervor, and the upper-class patrons who frequent its establishments furiously deny being spotted there. Thieves and gamblers are not uncommon, and the nights are full of wild debauchery.

To Norton Ruíz-Campbell, it’s perfect.

He’s been in Paris for seven days, and is already in love with the city and all its vices. A good song can’t be written without passion, after all. The adjustment to the different time had startled him for the first few days, but he’s mostly recovered by now and is ready to enjoy all the sights and experiences Montmartre has to offer.

He fits in here, he thinks, among those who simply don’t care about how they’re regarded by proper society. He knows that feeling quite well.

Norton was not afforded the privilege of a proper upbringing; he was mostly taught by his mother, who was of Mexican descent, before she passed away. His father spent most of his days drinking, or working when he remembered that he had a child to feed. He did not go to university, though even if the money weren’t a problem it was unlikely he would have been accepted due to his heritage.

Without higher education, Norton took to music. He remembers the lovely boleros his mother sang to him as a child, and the old guitar his father sometimes played when his mind was not fogged by substances. Figuring out notes was not hard, as he’s always had an analytical mind—even though his logic is often obscured by his emotions—and had the fortune to get his hands on librettos and music scores on occasion.

Unfortunately, composing made no money in his rural town. So Norton waited, saving every penny he possibly could from the unpleasant clerking jobs he endured in order to support himself.

Now at twenty-two, Norton has gladly abandoned his American life for the chance to explore the glamour of France. This journey to Paris is a golden opportunity to find work that he will actually care about. He knows he’ll have no luck in the upper-class districts, and he prefers the artistry and nightlife of Montmartre anyway. Its reputation is lurid, and everyone knows that those red lights glow at night, but Norton isn’t bothered. The nightclubs are always in search of new talent, and though Norton isn’t a dancer, he is a songwriter, and a rather good one in his own humble opinion. His singing isn’t too bad, either. Cliche, isn’t it? An American in Paris, seeking out a meaning in life.

Norton passes through the streets, more cheerful than he’s been in years. He’s been composing at a feverish pace, as the district is a wellspring of new and exciting ideas. There are always buskers playing for a coin or two, performing with everything from guitars to barrel organs. Norton’s recent music is fresh, invigorating even, and he’s delighted with it.

He goes wherever his whims take him, and though he knows he’ll soon have to start searching for steady employment, Norton is content to spend a few days indulging himself. It’s a little after dusk, and the flickering lamp posts cast an eerie glow over the street. He continues on his way, until a black building with only a wooden sign gives him pause.

It’s a bar, from the looks of it. The outside tables are deserted, but there is plenty of noise spilling from the open windows that could honestly stand a good cleaning. To be fair, upkeep is not high on the lists of concerns for many businesses around here.

Might as well see what it’s like. C’est la vie, as the French say.

Norton enters the bar, the door swinging shut behind him with a loud creak. Not the most reputable establishment, but then, nothing in the Quarter really is. The chatter is loud, and a small band plays a bawdy song from the rickety stage at the back. Most of the patrons are at the poker tables, but a few men and women sit at the bar, laughing and ordering drinks from the harried-looking bartender.

The interior is a bit nicer than the outside, and though the yellowed wallpaper is peeling and the framed pictures of what are presumably the owners’ family are crooked, the establishment seems well-loved. It’s strangely endearing, to see how a simple place like this can bring happiness to people.

Norton takes a seat on one of the barstools closer to the band, wondering if any of the cords will spark some inspiration. He flags the bartender down, and the tired man approaches him with a smile that is frayed around the edges. It must be this busy every night, then.

Norton opens his mouth to order but before he can do so, he hears a loud call from all the way across the bar.

“You! With the scar!”

He winces. Of course that’s what he’s identified by. It’s not a scar, actually, just an unfortunate birthmark across the right side of his face, but it looks enough like one that he doesn’t really care to correct people. He looks at whoever wants his attention, and is surprised to see two women sitting together, one of them waving him over.

“You,” the woman with longer and lighter hair says loudly. Norton points at himself confusedly, and she gestures with more emphasis. “Yes, you, tall, dark, and handsome, come here.”

Norton does so, walking over and sitting on the stool the woman pulls out for him. She and her companion smile, one bright and bold, the other pretty but cautious. He’s not sure what they want with him, but he smiles back cordially.

“Demi Bourbon,” the woman who spoke says, holding out her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, stranger.” When Norton shakes it, he’s surprised at the firmness of her grip. Now that he’s closer, he can see that she has an odd white streak on the left side of her loose hair. She’s in simple clothing, a white shirt and a red skirt that would be scandalous if not for her high boots. From the casual way she acts, Norton can guess she’s no stranger to bars.

“Norton Campbell,” he replies. “The pleasure is all mine.” He turns to the woman beside her to greet her as well.

“Chloe Nair,” the woman says, and though she sounds polite she does not offer her own hand. She’s dressed too nicely for Montmartre, and Norton wonders if she’s one of those Champs-Élysées women sneaking down for a night of risky adventure. But she looks more comfortable than one would expect of a lady who is unused to her surroundings, and the way she leans toward Demi gives away their familiarity. How curious.

“Why did you want to speak to me? I surely don’t look that interesting,” Norton jokes. He genuinely can’t think of a reason why two young ladies—who don’t seem to be women of the night—would bother with him.

Demi shakes her head. “Oh, you definitely do. You look like you have a romantic soul, and that’s just what Chloe and I are out looking for.”

Norton goes bright red.

Demi must realize how her phrasing sounded, because she throws her head back and laughs until there are tears in her eyes. “Not like that. Lord, your face! No, no. We’re playwrights, you see.” She waves a hand, still giggling. “Wait, we need a round first. Thank you for that laugh!”

When the bartender makes his way over, Demi orders them all a pint, and an entire bottle for herself.

“I don’t recognize that one,” Norton says, nodding at the green bottle in Demi’s hand.

“Absinthe,” Demi says happily. “The drink of the gods, my friend.”

“That’s mead, love,” Chloe corrects gently. “Mead is the drink of the gods.”

“Chloe, sweetheart, let me have this tonight,” Demi says. She smiles at Norton widely. “Anyhow, as I said, we’re writing a play together. So, not properly playwrights yet, but once we get the script on stage we’ll be on our way.” She uncorks the bottle with ease and takes a swig that Norton believes could kill a grown man.

“What’s your play called?” Norton asks, propping his chin up on his hands and wisely choosing to ignore the inhuman tolerance of Miss Demi Bourbon.

“It’s called,” Demi begins, then interrupts herself to take another draught. “It’s—no, Chloe, you tell him.” She motions for Chloe to continue as she focuses on her absinthe.

“It’s called Spectacular Spectacular,” Chloe says, her tone and attitude a bit more reserved than Demi’s, but still tinged with excitement.

“Don’t you love it?” Demi leans in, waiting for Norton’s reaction.

It’s certainly different. “It’s certainly an attention-grabber,” Norton says.

“I knew you’d love it,” Demi says. “It’ll be a hit. There’s comedy, drama, star-crossed lovers, everything a theatre could want.” Then she sighs, spinning the bottle cork around on the bar’s wooden surface. “But we’ve hit a snag.”

“And that is?”

“We want there to be songs throughout, but neither of us are great songwriters,” Chloe says. “We’ve got the story, but the songs are lackluster. It needs more passion, more romance.”

Norton is fully invested now. A play with songs? The strange inventions of Parisians never cease to amaze him.

Demi drinks deeply once more. “So, you wouldn’t happen to know anyone who writes music, would you? Or do you write it yourself? That would be fortuitous.”

Norton taps his chin. “Songwriter, huh? Mind taking a look at this, then? Might give you a few ideas.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out the piece he’s been working on. It’s a love song, a ballad really, and he’s rather proud of it. He slides it across the bar to Demi, who takes it eagerly.

Norton waits a bit nervously as she reads the lyrics and notes, Chloe peering over her shoulder to get a look as well.

Demi laughs suddenly, boisterous and loud. “Chloe, you’re seeing the same thing I am, right?” Chloe nods.

Norton drums his fingers on the bar. “Is that good or bad?”

“You’re joking, right?” Demi sets the papers down. “It’s beautiful. I think you’re just what we need.”

Norton hesitates. “I’m, ah, really new to the city, actually. I’m not sure you’d want me to come along with you. And I’m not a theatre person either. I mean, I could be, I suppose, but I’ve never written a song for it before and—”

Demi stops his rambling with a dismissive wave. “You got talent, Campbell. But talent gets you nowhere. What you need,” she says, gesturing at him with the now-empty bottle, “are connections.”

“Well, I’m all out of those,” Norton retorts, gathering up the sheet music from the table.

“What Demi’s saying is that you’re not going to get any if you don’t take a chance,” Chloe says, sipping at her drink delicately, the complete opposite of how Demi had chugged hers. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of a serious composer coming from Montmartre.”

“Look,” Demi says. “Chloe and I have been trying for months now. We’ve got the ideas, but you can bring them to life, Campbell. Come with us down to the Moulin Rouge. The owner has been trying to turn the place into a proper theatre for years. Show them the music, sing a little song, and we’re in.” She slams the bottle down, and the bartender gives a long-suffering sigh as he passes by them and picks it up, tossing it away somewhere under the bar.

“You really think it’ll work?” Norton looks down at the pages in his lap. It’s true that he considers this some of his best work, but everyone knows of the Moulin Rouge. It’s a racy, flashy nightclub that attracts the rich and poor alike. The courtesans are high class, all of them talented dancers and singers in addition to their… more illicit job requirements. Among the dens of sin, it is the most prestigious one could be. But even though the fear of rejection is strong, he knows it could be his best bet. And Chloe is right, really. He needs to broaden his view if he wants to truly live like the people here.

Demi and Chloe both nod.

“And if it doesn’t,” Demi says with a grin, “there’s always alcohol. We can drink until we die of shame and sorrow.”

“Demi!” Chloe’s cheeks go pink.

“Sorry, sweetie.” Demi kisses her cheek. “But really, Campbell, look at yourself. A true Bohemian I do see before me! We’re the children of the revolution, you know.”

“That we are,” Norton agrees. Demi’s confidence eases his nerves. “Alright. I’m in.” What does he have to lose?

Demi nearly squeals as she lunges forward to hug him. Norton goes red once again at her complete disregard for propriety, even in this setting.

“Another round, bartender!” She shouts, and Norton just knows he will regret this in the morning. But her enthusiasm has infected him as well, and he eagerly takes the glass when it’s offered.

Demi stops them before they drink. “We have to toast! To our partnership, and anything else we believe in. Norton, you go first.”

“To freedom,” Norton declares.

Demi grins. “To beauty and truth!”

Chloe gives them her own subdued smile. “To love.”

They raise their glasses together, and toast.

“To the Moulin Rouge!”

Chapter Text

On Saturday night, the Moulin Rouge is packed with people. Demi and Chloe lead Norton to a table about an equal distance from the wall and the main floor, where laughing, tipsy people dance with their partners. Norton dodges them best he can, but still bumps into quite a few of them and mumbles apologies as he hurries along.

“We don’t come often,” Demi has to shout over the music and chatter, “but it’s always a good time when we do.”

Norton can imagine. The glitz and glamour is already making his head spin. The interior is almost entirely crimson, each wall draped in huge, see-through lace curtains. The lights are a dim orange-yellow, and each has a sort of cover that casts the light in scattered beams and shapes throughout the room. For the entire place really is that, simply a large room that has become the hottest nightclub in the Quarter. It’s a brilliant idea, really. The patrons can sit and enjoy the sight of the dancers, or join in themselves. There are no barriers between the high and low, because everyone loves debauchery.

When they sit, they’re immediately approached by a server in a black and red outfit that is, like everything else here, absolutely covered in glitter. Demi orders them all a round of whiskey. “I’d prefer absinthe, but I want you both to be coherent tonight.”

“We can’t all have your tolerance, dear,” Chloe says. She’s dressed in a purple satin dress that confirms Norton’s suspicion that she is of upper-class origin. Her hair is pinned back with ribbons of the same color, and a delicate silver necklace rests on her neck. Interestingly, Demi has the exact same necklace.

Demi, of course, is dressed in red; Norton is quickly learning that this is her signature color. Her own dress is enough to make Norton want to avert his eyes out of decency and consideration for her honor as a woman. It’s both admirable and shocking, her complete dismissal of what others think of her.

Norton is still taking in the atmosphere as Demi and Chloe talk amongst themselves. It’s gorgeous, every bit of it, and Norton is struck with the strange thought that it would be nice to have someone to share it with, the way Demi and Chloe have each other.

He’s startled by it, because while he considers himself a romantic, it has only ever been in reference to his songs. He’s not been in a serious relationship with anyone before; he’s had a few flings, and liked them well enough, but the word love never entered the picture.

Well, then. Paris’s moniker “City of Love” might actually ring true.

Suddenly there is a dip in the music as the band pauses, and the audience quiets down almost instantaneously. Everyone except for Norton must know what’s going on, he thinks.

A drumroll, then the return of the music as the band begins playing with even more fervor. A cheer rises from all corners of the establishment as figures appear from behind the opaque curtains on the only wall cleared of tables. The lights rise, and performers in gaudy outfits begin leaping, spinning, dancing around on the main floor. Men and women alike are wearing corsets adorned with glittering rhinestones, each in a different vibrant color. The women have skirts that expose their calves, and the men are in breeches that have a distinctly feminine style.

“The Diamond Dogs,” Demi sighs dreamily. “Aren’t they a sight?” Indeed, they are. Norton can’t take his eyes off of them. Each one moves with such ease, flirtation in every step and flare of skirts.

“The pride of the Moulin Rouge,” Chloe says. “For more reasons than just dancing.” She sips from her glass innocently.

Demi laughs. “Now who’s being brazen?”

Norton nods, still starstruck by the performance. Courtesans, of course. Sordid as it sounds, their services are what keep clubs like this afloat. Norton is not one to judge how one makes their living, but he’s still unused to such sights. He’s seeing enough flashes of garters that he’s sure it would make a congregation faint.

Above it all, a tall, ginger, bearded man is on a raised platform near where the performers had emerged, waving a conductor’s baton as if he’s directing every movement of the dancers.

“That’s Bernard,” Demi says, leaning in closer to Norton. “The owner.”

“Is he the one I’m supposed to talk to?” Norton is surprised by her sudden furtiveness.

“Oh, no.” Demi laughs quickly. “Not him. He’d throw us out before you opened your mouth. You’ve got to take this straight to the heart. And the heart of the Moulin Rouge is Naib Subedar.”

“Who?” Norton’s not familiar with the name.

Chloe looks at him as if scandalized. “You don’t know?”

“I’ve only been in the city for a week,” Norton defends.

“Naib is the sparkling diamond of the Diamonds,” Demi explains. “He’d kill you if you called him that outside of a show, though. We’re—well, we’re not exactly friends, but we know of each other. He’s a real spitfire, and the only one who gets a solo performance. Talent in every fiber, truly. So listen, I managed to get a favor through a friend. You’re to go meet him after his big number. He’ll be in the Elephant.”

“What’s the Elephant?” Norton asks.

A dancer in sparkling red skirts swoops past their table, blowing them a kiss. Demi reaches out as if to catch it, laughing. “When you get there,” she continues, either ignoring or forgetting his question, “you just need to show him the music. He’ll fall in love with it, insist that Bernard let you produce our show, and then we’re on our way!”

Norton worries at his lip. He doesn’t consider himself the most charismatic person; in fact, he’d been known as quite moody back home. He’s not sure he’s equipped for this job. A man who spends his days entertaining the rich and famous surely won’t be impressed by his attempts at impressing him.

“Oh, look who’s here,” Chloe says, voice dripping with disdain.

“Hm?” Norton finally tears his eyes away from the Diamond Dogs to look at her, surprised by the sudden change in attitude.

“That man, the tall one in the fancy suit,” she says, nodding to a table only a few feet away from theirs. Three men are sitting around it, including the one she describes. Dark haired and dark eyed, he holds himself with the sort of confidence that can only come with money. Unlike his companions, who are thoroughly invested in the movements and flirtations of the dancers, he almost looks bored.

“Who is he?”

“The Duke of Monroth.” Chloe’s lip curls. “I find him unpleasant.”

“He’s a pompous prick, is what she means,” Demi interjects. “He’s probably here to meet Naib. Bernard likes to do business like that. You know, a bit of pleasure before brokering a deal.”

“I see,” Norton says, wrinkling his brow. Inexplicably, he too feels an instant dislike for the man.

“Ah, well, we shouldn’t occupy ourselves with someone like that on a night like this. Let’s dance, Chloe,” Demi says, throwing back her shot and standing. She extends a hand to Chloe, who pretends to be thinking it over but gives her own hand so quickly she doesn’t fool Norton at all. They join the other couples and the Diamond Dogs, who have found willing patrons of their own, and Norton can hear them laughing as they hold each other and step in time to the music.

Norton stays at the table, stirring his drink anxiously. He glances around, not sure if he should try to find a dance partner or just sit and wait. While scanning the room, he notices something odd going on at the Duke’s table. The aristocrat seems to have started arguing with his companions, a sneer souring his handsome features. Norton strains to hear them, but can’t make out any words.

The Duke suddenly stands, downing the rest of his drink and stalking off from the table. The other two men exchange glances, then get up and follow him.

So, he has a temper. Norton narrows his eyes. No wonder Chloe had been so wary of him.

Norton sees a woman lift her leg onto a table, skirt rising to above her hips as her patrons cheer, and decides that he’s probably better off not getting involved. Cheeks burning, he stares at the black tablecloth intensely.

A trumpet blares a sudden jazzy note, making him jump. He looks up to see a spotlight on Bernard, who has posed dramatically with his arms thrown wide.

Everyone, including the Diamond Dogs, retreats from the main floor, whispering excitedly. Demi and Chloe come back to the table. “It’s time for Naib’s performance,” Demi says breathlessly as she sits. “Watch closely, now.”

Norton sits up straighter, partly because he knows that good posture always helps a first impression, and partly because he wants a good view of this “Sparkling Diamond.” The lights dim until they are in total darkness except for Bernard’s spotlight.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Bernard announces in a booming voice. “It is my absolute pleasure to present to you our Sparkling Diamond, Naib Subedar.” His spotlight goes out as whoops and whistles ring out from the crowd.

Then the light appears again, focusing on a man clad in a silvery glittering corset and trousers that—well, they can’t really be called trousers if they only go halfway down the thighs, can they? His dark skin contrasts beautifully with it all. His brown hair is loose with what looks like strands of tinsel braided into it. He looks every bit the diamond they describe him as.

From the first step he takes, Norton is undone.

Naib’s arms rise above his head as he spins, then come back down as he reaches out to his audience. It’s enrapturing. There’s a sudden unexplainable pain in Norton’s chest. His breath has been stolen from his lungs.

Naib begins to sing, and Norton feels that his world has shifted somehow, that a fundamental change has occurred within him. He can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but stare at the man who is weaving a spell around him. He’s enchanted, utterly enthralled.

Unseen by Norton, Demi and Chloe exchange a knowing glance.

The song is an old one; a love ballad that incorporates piano, saxophone, and clarinet. Naib’s voice is of an unearthly quality, rich and sweet and fiery all at the same time. He passes by the awestruck patrons, nearly touching them but pulling back at the last second, twirling away from them teasingly.

A word takes root in Norton’s heart, a word that does not register consciously in his mind, but has appeared nonetheless. It is a word born of Naib’s dance and song, of his very being, and the miracle that he and Norton exist in the same world at the same time.

It lasts a lifetime, and it lasts only a moment. It is only when the lights come back on and Naib takes a deep bow that he remembers that he must take air into his lungs, and the sharp inhale he takes makes Demi and Chloe look at each other again meaningfully.

The Diamond Dogs spin their way back to the center of the room, smiling and curtseying in appreciation of the approving shouts.

“That was Naib Subedar,” Demi says. She smiles, because the word Norton has not yet recognized within himself is easy for her to see. She knows it well. “Think you can talk to him?”

“I…” Norton’s mouth won’t move properly. He clears his throat. “I don’t know.”

“You’d better figure it out fast,” Chloe says. “I’d say you have about five seconds to do so.”

Norton nearly chokes on his drink when he realizes that Naib is approaching their table, a coy smile on his lips and a swing to his hips. He scrambles to prepare an opening sentence that won’t make him look like a fool.

Naib places a hand on the table, his many bracelets shimmering. He turns that smile to Norton, whose planned words have flown out the window. “Did you enjoy watching me?”

“Um,” Norton stammers, “You, uh. You. You dance very well. And sing.”

Chloe puts her head in her hands.

“I should hope so,” Naib says, an amused lilt to his tone. “Why do you sound so frightened? A guy like you shouldn’t be so shy.” Naib leans down to look into Norton’s face directly.

“I, ah, well…” Norton says intelligently.

Naib laughs. “Come dance with me,” he says, taking Norton’s hands in his own.

“Go!” Both Demi and Chloe urge him in a frantic whisper. Norton allows himself to be pulled up out of his chair, and Naib’s smile makes his stomach twist with the thrill and nervousness. He is led into the midst of the dancers. Naib’s hand is colder and rougher than expected, but fits perfectly in Norton’s.

Naib wraps his arms around Norton’s neck, then waits expectantly. “You can’t just stand there like that. Come on, you know how to dance with someone, don’t you?”

“Right, yes, okay.” For a writer, Norton is having quite a hard time using words.

Even the simple act of placing his hands on Naib’s waist makes Norton go red up to the tips of his ears. Even though he’s technically leading, it is Naib who is in control of how they step and turn.

“I’m Norton,” Norton says, just to focus on something other than how nice Naib’s waist is. “Norton Campbell.” He refrains from adding the Hispanic surname. He knows how it’s usually received.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Norton,” Naib says, and Norton could stare into those eyes for eternity. It is only when they spin and he catches sight of Demi and Chloe that he remembers he has a job to do.

“I’m supposed to meet you later,” Norton says hesitantly. “In the Elephant?”

“Oh, yes, that. I’m sure you saw the giant Elephant sculpture outside when you arrived. It’s actually my dressing room,” Naib says. “Bernard has arranged a light supper for us.”

“He has?” Norton asks, caught off guard. Demi had insisted that the owner would not be amenable to them seeking out work. Perhaps she’d struck some sort of deal, and was keeping it secret to surprise Norton. She does seem to enjoy catching him off guard.

“Of course. Just give me an hour. I do need to change into something more comfortable,” Naib says. “Then you may have me all night.”

“Oh,” Norton says faintly. “Great.”

The song changes, and Naib unwinds his arms from Norton. “I’ll go before it gets too late. Don’t be too impatient with me, okay?” Norton realizes that they’ve danced over to the curtain where the Diamond Dogs had originally entered from. It’s impossible for him to pay attention to his surroundings when Naib is so close to him.

“I’ll see you later,” Naib says, standing on his tiptoes to kiss Norton’s cheek. He turns on his heel, and Norton stares after him. He presses a hand to his cheek gently.

“Oh!” Naib turns back. “Would you like me to call you ‘Your Grace’?” He laughs at his own joke.

Norton freezes.

Well, shit. This whole time, Naib has thought him to be the Duke, not some lower-class composer who’d stumbled his way into the Rouge. Hadn’t Demi told him that the Duke was most likely here on arrangement to meet Naib?

Naib is waiting for a response, so Norton kicks himself internally and tells himself to just spit out the truth, to get it over with and appreciate the little time he did have to spend with the handsome man before him.

“If you want to,” he says instead.

“Wonderful,” Naib says with a grin. He slips away, back through the curtain, and Norton wants to die a little bit.

He has barely turned around to walk back to the table when he is ambushed by his new work partners. Demi takes him by the shoulders forcefully.

“He asked you to see him later, right?” Demi asks frantically, shaking him. “Right?”

“Yes,” Norton says, still unable to believe it himself, and reeling from the revelation that Naib is severely mistaken about his identity. “Yes, he did.”

Demi actually squeals, and even Chloe can’t contain her gasp of joy. Norton is excited, too, but he can’t stop thinking about how he’d lied so easily to Naib. Or omitted the truth, rather. It sounds better that way.

He’ll have to fix that, eventually. But if he does, will Naib’s view of him change? If he knew that Norton will never be able to pay for an actual night with him, if he knew that he was only a composer, could Norton stand the disappointment that Naib will surely have?

No, it doesn’t matter. It can’t matter. All he needs to do is secure the production of Spectacular Spectacular. He does feel bad about deceiving Naib, but the truth can come later.

Norton nods to himself, confidence returning slowly.

Everything will work out just fine.

Chapter Text

Naib applies new eyeliner with a steady hand and wonders how a man like Norton Campbell might be in bed.

When dealing with less important clients, he usually has some of his fellow Diamond Dogs upstairs in the Elephant with him, letting them help him get dressed and do his makeup while listening with amusement as Mike and Margaretha make scandalous bets on how the customer’s “performance” will go. Tonight, however, there can be no such fun. It’s right down to business, so he has to guess for himself.

Well, he’ll find out soon enough anyway. Bernard should be sending the Duke up in an hour.

Naib catches himself smiling like a fool, and immediately forces his face back to a neutral expression. Letting a patron influence emotions is never good. He’s strangely sentimental about this one, but it is probably just from the subversion of his previous expectations. Earlier tonight, he’d not been too optimistic about this encounter, as Bernard’s description of the man was not exactly glowing.

“He’ll be sitting at that table,” Bernard had said, pointing it out as he and Naib walked through the main floor an hour or so before the Moulin Rouge opened its doors for the night. Naib was still in his long, fur-lined coat, which he always wore before a show like a good luck ritual. Bernard was wearing his black pants and tuxedo shirt, but had not yet put on his bright red suit jacket. “Don’t forget.”

“Is he an easy man to please?” Naib asked.

“He’s an easy man to anger,” Bernard replied. Naib looked at him, startled. “You behave, Subedar. I hear he’s handsome and can be quite the charmer, but only when he wants to be. We get this deal, and we’re off to the races.”

“I’m sure I can handle it,” Naib said, sighing and pulling the coat tighter around himself. “I’ve dealt with difficult people before.”

Bernard shook his head. “Just remember what I told you before. If he likes you, he invests.”

Naib nodded, and returned to the Elephant to get ready.

When Naib’s performance began, he made sure to keep his eyes on that side of the room. The table Bernard specified had been unoccupied, but there was an attractive man with two ladies at a nearby one, and Naib supposed that the Duke had simply chosen a different seat. So he’d gone up to him as instructed, and had a surprisingly nice time with Norton Campbell, Duke of Monroth.

And now Naib is still thinking about it, an odd occurrence given that he dances with so many men and women every night. Perhaps it’s just that the Duke is an unexpectedly delightful man. He doesn’t act as one would expect of the aristocracy. His suit was humble, not adorned with the brass buttons and cravats that were typical of upper-class men. He’d actually stuttered when faced with Naib’s charms, and there had been no sort of grabbing or roughness. He wasn’t the greatest dancer, but did his best to keep up with Naib’s movements. Naib doesn’t understand how Bernard had gotten the impression of some suave faux gentleman with a temper.

Naib closes the eyeliner, satisfied. He’s traded the glittering white outfit for black lace, hoping with a bit of sadistic glee that he will be able to fluster Norton even more that he already has. Besides, a man who isn’t thinking straight is more likely to agree to a business deal. It has always worked before. Naib can raise his price as much as he wants as long as he’s sly about it.

He knows Norton will like him; everyone always does. Still, he understands Bernard’s anxiousness. The Duke is their ticket to greatness.

For as long as Naib has worked here, he has known that Bernard’s dream has been to convert the Moulin Rouge into a proper theatre, the kind that puts on both comedic and serious plays and isn’t known for debauchery. With the Duke’s investment, Bernard’s vision will become a reality. He’ll have the money to build the stage, the seats, the rigging. Naib will be the headlining performance as always, but this time he’ll be a real actor, in a real theatre.

Naib has no problem with the work he does now; his fellow courtesans are wonderful men and women, and he’s in amazing circumstances compared to how he began. But he has always imagined what it might be like to be in front of an audience that isn’t so rowdy, on a stage instead of a dance floor. They’ll cheer for his skill, not for his body.

Naib finishes inspecting his makeup. Now, all that’s left are a few finishing touches like putting his hair up and—

Naib coughs. Just once, but it’s enough to make his entire body tense, because these days it is never just one cough. He can feel the painful itch in his lungs building up.

Oh no, Naib thinks desperately. Not now. He tries to hold it in, but more coughing escapes him, and he rushes to grab tissues from his dressing table, then hurries to get the wastebasket from out of the little closet where it stays hidden. He barely makes it in time before he begins to wheeze and cough more forcefully, almost violently. He bends forward with the painful pressure of it. Naib presses a tissue to his mouth as a wet, choking sound leaves his throat. His shoulders are shaking, his chest heaving.

When he takes the tissue away from his mouth, it is stained red with blood.

“Fuck,” Naib mutters to himself. He wipes his chin and shoves the tissue to the bottom of the trash, under empty powder compacts and tissues that are dirty with makeup rather than blood.

It keeps getting worse. He’d started coughing blood a week ago, though he felt awful long before that. At this point, he knows it’s something that won’t go away on its own. Bernard sends for the doctor every week, though they keep it very secretive, only meeting in the Elephant or in the early hours of the morning when the others have all gone home.

Naib clears his throat experimentally, then nods to himself when nothing else happens. He returns to the dressing table, peering into the mirror to make sure he hasn’t smudged his makeup.

Naib knows he can’t go on much longer like this; the other Diamond Dogs have growing concerns about his condition. He’s been able to convince them it’s only a head cold, albeit a cold that has been going on for months. But with each day, their suspicions that this goes beyond a simple malaise grow. Yesterday he’d had a fainting spell, and though he’d managed to convince Margaretha, who had seen him collapse as he walked back to his dressing room, that it was the fault of those damnable corsets, he knows that if it happens again she won’t fall for the same thing twice.

Naib rummages through the top left drawer until he finds the inhalant medicine he’s been prescribed. He unscrews the cap and breathes it in, nose scrunching in disgust. Whatever has been put in this little metal tube, it smells disgusting. The doctor had told him that though the medicine would help, the best way to facilitate healing would be to rest. Unfortunately, that’s the one thing Naib can’t afford to do.

The Moulin Rouge may be the most popular nightclub in the Montmartre Quarter, but maintaining that reputation is expensive. In order to pay the dancers, the servers, and keep the place nice, they need a full house every night. And though Naib never intended it, he is the main reason that many people come. Few can afford a night with him, but the crowd cheers and the drinks flow when he steps out from behind the curtains. If he were to miss even a single performance, it would be a blow to their finances, perhaps an irreparable one.

It’s nearly impossible to imagine, the Moulin Rouge being shut down. Yet it is a very real threat. For the Diamond Dogs, it would spell doom. Returning to the streets would be a nightmare, and other clubs certainly don’t pay enough to make a living. Sometimes Naib can see Mike’s face go distant, his mind far away in dark places. Naib will never, ever let that happen to him, or any of them again.

This is why Naib does his best to hide the bloody tissues and the worst of the coughing fits. They can never find out. No one can. This deal with the Duke is the only thing that can keep the Moulin Rouge alive, even bring it to a new level of grandeur, and Naib won’t let the people he cares about fall into squalor because of his own weakness. So he carries on as usual, knowing that with each performance he pushes his body closer to its limit.

Naib hides the medicine away again. He twists his hair up and clips it in place with a silver hairpin. There. He looks as put together as he always does before a night of work. In his experience, clients seem to enjoy taking him apart themselves.

He rearranges the display of champagne and the mini charcuterie board filled with grapes and brie on the small table to the left side of the room, thoughts returning to Norton. Will he be gentle? Rough? He doesn’t seem the brusque type, but one can never be completely sure.

There is a tentative knock on the door. Naib spins on his heel, glancing at the oaken mantel clock on the end table near the bed. He hadn’t realized that an hour had already passed. He wishes he had a moment to lie down, collect himself, and wait for the dizziness to go away.

He shakes himself off. No complaining. He has a job to do.

Naib takes a deep breath—it has been harder to do that, recently—and crosses the room to open the door. Norton Campbell is on the other side, still dressed in his suit from earlier and looking extremely nervous.

It takes quite a bit of effort to not laugh at the way Norton’s jaw falls slightly when he sees Naib. He seems to be trying to not look Naib up and down, and failing spectacularly. Naib gives him a smile meant to be equal parts comforting and sultry.

“It’s wonderful to see you again,” Naib says, taking Norton by the hand. “Come in. You want to spend time with me, right? You’ll make me sad if you didn’t mean it.” Acting pouty makes him feel a bit silly, but people usually find it appealing.

Norton follows obediently into the middle of the room. Naib lets go of his hand in order to pick up the champagne bottle from the table, waving it invitingly. “A drink, perhaps?”

“Ah, no,” Norton says. “No thank you.”

Naib is glad that he’s facing away from him, because he can’t help the frown that crosses his features. “Alright then.” Everyone before has had at least one glass. He sets the bottle down and turns back around, leaning against the table and crossing his legs, giving Norton a very obvious view of the lacy black garters he’d put on.

“So,” Norton says, looking anywhere but Naib, “I thought we could go over some lyrics, maybe see if the duet works when actually sung. Workshop it, you know?”

Naib doesn't know what this odd Duke is babbling on about now, and quite frankly he doesn’t really care. He returns to Norton’s side and runs a hand over his—very nice—broad shoulders. Norton makes an unbecoming strangled sound.

“We can certainly work on a ‘duet’,” Naib murmurs. “If that’s what you’d prefer to call it.”

“Yes,” Norton says quickly. “Yes, that would be great.”

Now they’re getting somewhere. Naib might have to take the lead here, but that’s fine. Norton is very much his type, and seems eager to please with a little instruction.

“If you’re that eager,” Naib says, lying down on the bed and reclining against the wine-red pillows, keeping eye contact with Norton the whole time, “then we’ll get right to it.”

Norton clears his throat. “Just a minute.” He turns away hurriedly and begins to… whisper to himself?

Naib tilts his head. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine!” Norton says, a bit hysterically.

Perplexed but determined, Naib sighs loudly and wantonly, rearranging himself on the bed and purposefully making the sheets rustle as much as he can. He stretches his arms above his head as an excuse to give a little moan. When he glances over, Norton’s back is still to him as he continues to mutter.

Naib throws his hands up in frustration. Here he is, splayed out on a lavish bed, and the man who had specifically asked for him isn’t even paying attention.

Finally, Norton turns back to him, approaching, and now they might be able to make some progress. But he only stands there, not fidgeting with his hands.

“You should know,” he begins, “that I’m not the person you—“

Naib is done being patient. He grabs Norton by the lapels and pulls him down onto the bed. Norton, not expecting it, falls onto Naib with his full weight, drawing surprised wheezes from them both. Naib is the first to catch his breath, wrapping his arms around Norton’s back and leaning in. “Let’s make love, now, please.”

“No!” Norton pulls away. “I mean, I’d like to, but—ah, what I mean is that—that’s not why I…”

“No?!” Naib is astonished. Norton paid good money and doesn’t want to ravish him?

“It’s not that I don’t want to! I’d love to, actually! I just don’t want you—”

“Don’t want me?” Naib’s surprise is giving way to insult. “You don’t want me?"

“That’s not what I meant!” Norton suddenly takes Naib’s face in his hands and looks him in the eye. Naib blinks, startled by his boldness. “I mean I don’t want you to feel obligated. You don’t have to, uh, make love to me. Or have me make love to you.” His entire face has gone the color of a tomato.

Naib can’t do anything but sit there. This is too strange. A client has never asked what he wanted before, why would they? It’s their money, after all.

“Then what did you come here for?” Naib asks.

Norton, who seems to have just now realized how close their faces are, pulls back quickly. He stands up from the bed, turning back to Naib. “Will you let me show you?”

Naib nods. Norton offers him a smile, not the nervous one of earlier, but a real one, slightly crooked and very charming.

“Alright,” Norton says. “All you have to do is listen.”

This is strange. This is confusing. But it is also exciting, and it has been so long since Naib has had anything to truly be excited about.

“The floor is yours,” Naib says, and waits.

Chapter Text

Truly, Norton originally had a plan for tonight.

First, he would explain that he was not, in fact, the Duke of Monroth. Then, before a rightfully angry Naib could kick him out, he would sing and pitch Demi and Chloe’s show to him. If all went well, they would be able to produce the show, and though Naib would surely no longer want anything to do with Norton, at least Demi and Chloe would be happy, and Norton will have landed his first job in Paris.

He’d deliberated in front of the door for several minutes, before knocking. It was better to get it over and done with. Then he’d been let in, and the plan went out the window.

Norton had not considered himself an easily embarrassed man before arriving in Paris, but it seems that everyone here is on a quest to prove him wrong. Whatever he’d been expecting to find when he arrived at the Elephant, it certainly wasn’t Naib dressed in a lacy black corset and literally pulling him into bed.

He’s not sure why Naib is so intent on getting his clothes off, but it’s incredibly distracting from the task at hand. Somewhere along the way there’s been a severe miscommunication, and Norton isn’t sure how to remedy it. It’s not that he’s uninterested; in fact, it had taken tremendous effort to not give in. But Norton is a man of his word, and he can’t get sidetracked when he’d promised Demi and Chloe that he would do his best to pitch their show to Naib.

So he pushes Naib away gently, trying to make his intentions clear. “All you have to do is listen,” he says.

Naib urges him to explain, and Norton finds that he can’t do this when Naib is staring at him. He turns away from him once more, trying to not hesitate for too long and set the fiery courtesan off again.

He knows that if he wants to keep Naib’s attention, he has to sing. His voice is untrained, but he can carry a tune. He can certainly perform the one he has prepared, a simple but heartfelt love song. He considers it his best, and that’s what Naib expects—and deserves. He hopes that this will be enough.

He can’t pretend that this is only for the show, because Norton’s heart thrums at the very sight of Naib. Even if he weren’t wearing such revealing attire, Norton is sure he’d be just as flustered. Impressing him is vital for the production of Spectacular Spectacular, but he wants Naib to be amazed by more than just the song. He wants Naib to like him, too.

Naib is waiting, and Norton can’t let this opportunity slip away. Staring out into the starry night sky visible from the balcony, he takes a deep breath, and begins to sing.

“My gift is my song…” Norton doesn’t dare look back yet, but the sharp, surprised inhale behind him sounds promising. His voice wavers a bit on the first note, but it sounds nice otherwise. He sings the next line, then another. As he continues, he can feel his voice steadying, his confidence growing.

The moon, big and bright through the balcony’s view, inspires him. He adds riffs and notes that are not in the sheet music, taking chances he never has before. Miraculously, it works, bringing new life into the song. He sings with all his heart, hoping and praying that Naib will find it beautiful.

He finally turns around to see Naib standing up from the bed, quiet for the first time since Norton’s met him. Even dressed as he is, there’s an almost innocent wonder in his expression. His hands are clasped to his chest, his eyes wide.

Now that they’re facing one another, Norton finds that the song takes new meaning when he has someone to sing it to. Naib takes a step toward him and Norton nearly forgets the next words, but remembers himself just in time.

“It may be quite simple, but now that it’s done…”

Caught up in the swell of the song, Norton takes Naib’s hands in his own, drawing him in for an impromptu waltz. He knows these steps much better than the fast-paced movements of the dances of the Diamond Dogs, most of which he hadn’t recognized. A waltz is easy, but still romantic.

This time he doesn’t hesitate to press his hand to Naib’s waist, all the nervousness of earlier washed away. Naib blinks at him in surprise, then smiles bright enough to rival the stars.

They begin to dance, slowly at first, then faster to match the tempo of Norton’s song. It is still much gentler than the pulsing music they’d danced to before, when Norton could barely catch his breath, overwhelmed by the heat and the sound, and Naib had had to take control even though Norton was in the leading position. This time, Naib seems content to follow. Here they are on equal ground, hidden away from prying eyes, and there’s an unspoken honesty between them.

“Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen...”

Norton spins Naib around, drawing a laugh from the other. They come back together, pressed chest to chest. Norton looks down into Naib’s face, which has softened around the edges. He doesn’t have the sultry smirk that Norton now knows is simply for show. He looks happy. He looks free.

Norton wonders how long it’s been since Naib has danced like this. The thought makes his heart ache.

Naib begins to hum along to the tune, and Norton can’t help but press his lips to the top of his head for a brief, thrilling moment. He knows he’ll never dance with Naib again after tonight, so he has to cherish every moment.

“And you can tell everybody, this is your song…”

Their waltz takes them out onto the balcony, where Naib looks even more radiant in the light of the stars and moon.

Norton imagines them dancing out among the light, misty clouds that hover low by the tops of the buildings. Naib would be in the most gorgeous royal blue refinery, Norton in a much nicer suit than the one he has now. It is an impossible dream, but a lovely one.

If only Norton was the Duke that Naib believed him to be, perhaps they would one day dance like this in a real ballroom, Norton’s song being played by a proper band, wrapped up in only each other.

That is a reality that Norton would be glad to live in.

“How wonderful life is, now you’re in the world.”

As he finishes the song, he dips Naib, one hand firmly pressed to the small of Naib’s back, the other gently brushing a strand of hair behind Naib’s ear. Their eyes meet, dark brown staring deeply into sapphire blue. All is silent except for their quiet, astonished breath.

“Norton Campbell,” Naib murmurs. “I think I could fall in love with you.”

Norton breathes out shakily. Love. That’s the word that had bloomed in his chest the moment he’d laid eyes on Naib. It’s irrational, improbable, that he could fall so deeply at first sight, but when is love ever rational? He leans in, eyes fluttering closed, as Naib’s hands come up to cup his face. Their lips brush ever so slightly.

There is a series of sharp knocks at the door.

“Subedar, the Duke has been waiting!”

Oh, shit. Norton feels his whole body go cold with horror.

“The Duke?” Naib’s eyes go wide. He looks at Norton, then back to the door, then back at Norton. “Then… then who are you?” He’s still in Norton’s arms, but lets go of his face to grab him by his shirt.

“I’m Norton,” Norton says, guilt crawling up his spine. He should have let Naib know right away, not after he’d sung and danced and tricked Naib into confessing.

Naib’s grip on the front of his shirt tightens. “Please tell me you’re Norton, the Duke,” he whispers fervently.

“Um, no,” Norton says. “I’m a composer.”

Naib’s face shifts from confused to furious. “Oh, what the hell,” Naib hisses, shaking him. “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”

“You didn’t exactly give me time to explain,” Norton defends, wincing when the knocking at the door becomes more persistent. “You just started, you know, talking and touching and I got distracted, okay? Demi said—”

“Demi?” Naib asks. “Demi? You’re one of her writer friends, aren’t you?”

Oh, wonderful, now he’s gotten his friend involved in this madness. “I suppose so?” The confidence Norton had gained during his performance is withering away rapidly.

Naib squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m going to have words with that woman. I’ve told her to stop sending her little—”

“Open up, Subedar!”

“Just a minute, Bernard!” Naib calls. He lets go of Norton, eyes darting around the room. “I have to get you out of here,” he whispers, stepping away from Norton and turning around in a harried circle. “Do you think you could fit under the table?”

Norton eyes the small snack table with a white tablecloth that only goes halfway down the oaken legs. Even if he tries his hardest, it’s unlikely he can squeeze his whole 6’2 self under it. “I… don’t think so.”

“Damn,” Naib mutters. “Okay. Okay. The bed’s too low. The closet… no, too small.” He paces while Norton stands there helplessly, still reeling from the sudden turn of events. He’s ruined it all. Perhaps if he thinks about it hard enough, he can melt into the floor, sparing himself the shame and avoiding a confrontation with the real Duke of Monroth.

“Subedar!”

“Give me a minute!” Naib shrieks. Norton jumps at his tone.

Naib pulls at his hair, the length of his pacing path growing shorter until he’s simply spinning in place in distress. Norton starts to reach out to comfort him, then decides against it. There’s a rather high chance he’ll be yelled at or shoved away.

“The balcony,” Naib says, jerking his head up as if he’s had a brilliant realization. “Come on!” He tugs at Norton’s arm, trying to drag him over to the balcony.

“What?” Norton digs his heels into the carpet, refusing to go. From the balcony, it’s at least a thirty-foot drop onto hard, merciless concrete. There’s no way he can reach the ground safely.

“You have to get out of here.” Naib pulls on his arm more forcefully.

“I’m not climbing down from there,” Norton protests, trying to retrieve his arm from Naib’s vice grip. “Do you want me to fall and die?”

“You have to,” Naib says, pointing a finger accusingly. “This is your fault, you know.”

“I’m not doing it!”

“Oh, my god, will you just—”

The door swings open. Naib and Norton freeze. They slowly turn to look into the faces of the two arrivals. Bernard and the Duke stand in the doorway, staring incredulously.

Bernard’s jaw works up and down uselessly. The Duke blinks at the scene as his own shocked expression gives way to a terribly angry one.

“Foul play?” He hisses, glancing from Bernard to the incriminating scene.

Norton can’t think of anything to say, but Naib leaps into action. He lets go of Norton’s arm as if it has burned him, stepping away so that they’re at least a foot apart.

“We were rehearsing!” Naib says frantically. “I was inspired, you see, while I was getting ready for you, Your Grace.”

Naib’s voice slips back into that practiced seductive pitch with ease. Gone is the raw emotion of only moments ago. Norton is thoroughly impressed by how good of an actor he is, but it’s almost haunting to see how quickly the man he’d gotten a precious glimpse of disappears. “Yes, inspired by, ah, the music, my dear Duke, so I called an emergency rehearsal!” He pats Norton’s shoulder. “Of course I had to bring in our new writer. He’s a genius, an absolute genius. Norton, greet our guest, won’t you?”

“Hello,” Norton says hesitantly. “Your Grace,” he adds when he sees the Duke’s eyes narrow.

The Duke scoffs. “You expect me to believe that you were alone, barely clothed, with this vagabond as part of a rehearsal? If you think I am that foolish, then—”

And that is when Demi Bourbon and Chloe Nair climb down into the room from somewhere above the balcony.

Chloe lands on her feet, but Demi is not so lucky, tumbling to the ground with a surprised squawk.

How did you get up there? Norton wants to scream.

Demi pops back up quickly, then claps loudly as she crosses the room with Chloe close behind. “That was wonderful, probably the best you’ve done!”

“The intrusion was jarring, of course,” Chloe says with a sharp glance at the Duke, “but Demi is right, you’ve nearly perfected the passion of the scene.”

“You work here, Chloe?” The Duke asks evenly.

Chloe narrows her eyes, and Norton can feel the temperature of the room drop a few degrees. “Indeed I do, Jack.”

The Duke—or Jack, rather—tilts his chin up imperiously. “Hm. Unbecoming of a young lady of your status.”

“Oh, I was unaware that you had become a champion of virtue.” Chloe’s posture makes Norton wonder if he might bear witness to a brawl between the bourgeois.

Bernard shatters the tension by laughing boisterously, startling them all. “Yes! I apologize, my dear Duke, our sparkling diamond did tell me that he would be holding rehearsal before your arrival. It simply slipped my mind!”

“Really,” Jack says, suspicion still dripping from his words. “Such an important thing to forget, no?”

“Yet it is true,” Naib says, and Norton’s stomach twists as he watches him walk to the Duke’s side, murmuring to him soothingly. “Of course we would never lie to you.”

Jack visibly relaxes. Naib places his hand in the crook of Jack’s elbow, leaning into his side. “It would mean so much to us if you would invest in the show. I’d be incredibly thankful.” His eyes flicker to Norton, who isn’t sure if he’s imagining the apology within them.

“You would be the hero of the Moulin Rouge!” Bernard declares.

“It’s a brilliant play, just brilliant,” Demi says, sweeping past them to pour herself a glass of champagne, ignorant of decorum as always. “You’ll love it.” She and Chloe stand beside Norton, almost protective in their stances. Norton isn’t sure how he feels about this.

Bernard claps his hands twice. “I believe we should leave them to rehearsal, my dear Duke! Later tonight perhaps you may return to the Elephant to speak with our star alone.” Norton does not miss the sharp look he sends Naib’s way. “I have a lovely bottle of cognac that we can enjoy while we finalize the deal.”

Naib lets go of Jack, rejoining Norton now that Demi and Chloe are here too. It’s a group instead of the two of them, making it much less suspicious. “Yes, I’ll be here when you finish,” he says. “I look forward to seeing you again, but as Bernard said—”

“What is the story?” Jack interrupts.

Bernard clears his throat. “I beg your pardon?”

Jack frowns. “The story. If I’m to invest, I would like to know the story of the show.”

Ah. That’s what they’d forgotten. Norton, Demi, Chloe, and Naib all look between each other worriedly.

“The story!” Bernard says. “Yes, it’s only natural that you want to know the story. The story of the play. The story that is completely written. That story. Well, then,” he says, turning to the panicking group, “would you four like to explain it?”

Norton’s mind comes to a screeching halt. The Duke has turned to them expectantly, and as he exchanges looks with the dismayed three beside him, a silent agreement passes between them.

If this Duke wants a story, they’ll give him the most spectacular story he’s ever seen.

They turn back to Jack simultaneously, smiles plastered across their faces.

“Of course,” Norton says. “We’d be glad to.”

Alright. Here goes nothing.

Chapter Text

Norton likes to think that he is good at getting himself out of trouble, but he’s never been in a situation quite this dire. Beside him, Demi and Chloe seem to be thinking the same thing, and Naib… well, Norton can’t tell what’s going on in his head, but he can guess it’s somewhere between panic and wanting to skin Norton alive.

Bernard and Jack are both waiting, the former making frantic hurry it up eyes at them behind the Duke’s back, the latter looking more and more unimpressed with every passing moment. Each vital second is suspicion raised, and Norton can’t seem to find his words.

He is beginning to suspect he should have just taken his chances with the balcony.

It’s Demi who speaks first, saving them all from disaster. “The show is called Spectacular Spectacular,” she says. “And it’s set in, um…” She glances at Norton helplessly. Due to his input, Spectacular Spectacular has been undergoing massive rewrites, and they’ve not yet stitched it back into a coherent storyline. Suddenly remembering the glass in her hand, she takes a long sip of her champagne and gestures to Norton.

Traitor! he yells silently.

Now everyone is staring at him, and Norton scrambles to come up with someplace, anyplace, before the silence drags on too long.

“It’s set in America!” Norton declares. Someone sighs, quiet but pained, behind him, and to preserve his dignity he pretends it was his imagination.

The Duke raises an eyebrow. “America?”

“Yes, America,” Norton confirms. “In Boston, home of revolutionaries.” It’s the first city he thinks of, but at least it’s an interesting one. Besides, it’s unlikely anyone in the room has been to America, judging by the confused looks his announcement had gotten, so no one can dispute him on the setting details.

“It’s very modern,” Chloe interjects. “Not that you would know anything about—” Demi clears her throat loudly, covering Chloe’s next words.

“And there’s a courtesan,” Norton says. “The most beautiful courtesan in all the world.” He locks eyes with Naib for a brief moment, then forces himself to tear his gaze away.

“Played by our dearest star, of course,” Bernard exclaims, gesturing grandly to Naib, and Norton mentally thanks him for giving them precious time to come up with the rest of the storyline.

“But there is an evil, disgustingly rich man who lays claim to him. The courtesan, of course, accepts the money and plans to spend the night with him, but he mistakes a humble, penniless street performer for the rich man.” Norton is saying words the moment his brain comes up with them, and though he’s aware this story is veering dangerously close to real life, he can’t seem to stop.

“Why on Earth would the courtesan mistake a street rat for a wealthy man?” Jack asks disdainfully.

Alright, the Duke is not as gullible as he seems. The three playwrights exchange meaningful looks before Norton speaks again. “Well, you see, he had found a… a fine suit abandoned in the old theatre where he usually slept, and wore it in hopes of improving his profits, so he looked just like the Du—ah, the rich man. He didn’t mean to trick the courtesan, really.” Norton glances back to Naib, whose face is conflicted. “But the courtesan isn’t just attractive, he’s incredibly kind and interesting, and the street performer falls instantly in love.” At this, Naib turns away, ears red.

Ah. Perhaps Norton is laying it on a bit thick.

He hesitates for only a second, but it’s long enough for Demi to take over. “The courtesan can’t help but love him too,” she says. “He knows that if the rich man finds out, the penniless street performer will be killed, so they have to hide their love.”

Oh, Norton owes this woman so many drinks. Not only has she let him dramatically alter the original plot, she is improvising flawlessly.

“But the penniless street performer is young and foolish, and gives it away,” Naib says, breaking his silence. Norton looks at him, startled, and finds that those blue eyes are burning into him. “And the rich man threatens to ruin his life.”

“But what is life without love?” Norton challenges. “The performer does not back down from idle threats.”

“Perhaps they’re not idle,” Naib says, eyes narrowing. “Perhaps the writer is actually in danger.”

“Writer?” Bernard asks tensely.

“Performer,” Naib corrects quickly.

“The performer doesn’t leave him,” Norton emphasizes. “He would never.”

Naib’s jaw clenches and he looks down at the floor.

“It’s perfectly tragic,” Chloe says. “People love star-crossed lovers.”

“Do they now,” Jack states rather than asks, amusement in his tone.

His eyes might be playing tricks on him, but Norton swears that for the briefest of moments, Chloe actually bares her teeth at the Duke.

“Of course they do.” Demi comes to Chloe’s defense quickly.

“So, my dear Duke, what is your opinion?” Bernard asks. He tugs at his top hat, giving away his nervousness.

Jack appears to think it over. “What happens in the end?” he asks, and Norton wants to pull his own hair out. The stress of tonight will surely result in a nasty headache tomorrow.

Once again, it seems that the others are leaving it up to him. He flounders between tragic and happy for a second, but another glance at Naib makes up his mind.

“In the end, the businessman is exposed for his corrupt ways and is run out of town, leaving the courtesan and the performer free to be together.” Norton grins, hoping his desperation will be taken as enthusiasm. “The end!”

It’s cheesy, and it’s classic, and it will get the audiences cheering. But none of that will matter if the Duke doesn’t like it.

They all stare at Jack, tense and waiting. He looks bored, but Norton has decided that is his normal passive expression. They wait for what seems an eternity. Demi passes her glass to Chloe. Naib’s fingers curl into the lace of his corset. Norton resists the urge to tap his foot.

“Generally, I like it,” says Jack.

The sound of five people exhaling with relief would be humorous, if not for the fact that the relief is due to narrowly avoiding financial and emotional devastation.

Bernard claps a hand on the Duke’s shoulder happily before remembering who exactly it is he’s touching and removes it with a harried apology. Naib has no such qualms, embracing Jack with a smile too wide to be real.

“Shall we finish negotiations in my office?” Bernard asks.

“We shall,” Jack agrees. “Though I do hope it won’t take too much time.” His eyes blatantly scan Naib’s form, and Norton feels a bit ill.

Naib walks them to the door, then leans up to press a kiss to Jack’s cheek. He murmurs something that Norton can’t catch, and doesn’t really want to.

When they finally, finally leave, Naib closes the door a bit too loudly behind them. He turns back to Norton and company, then throws his hands in the air.

“I—” Norton begins.

“No,” Naib says sharply. “No, you are not speaking right now. Give me a moment.” He crosses the room and presses his head against the bedpost. He breathes in deeply, but shakily.

When he looks up again, there’s so much exhaustion in his face that the guilt Norton had felt earlier about lying comes back in full force. “I don’t think you realize,” he says slowly, “how badly that could have gone.”

“We handled it well, all things considered,” Chloe says.

Demi nods. “He bought it rather easily.”

Easy is not how Norton would describe it, but then again he is not as versed in the art of the deal as Demi and Chloe seem to be.

Naib does not seem comforted by their responses, if the way he pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut is any indication. ‘Well, you’ve got your show, and Bernard’s got his money. I hope you’re happy.”

“Isn’t this good for you, too?” Norton asks. Yes, tonight has been harrowing, but it seems that the Moulin Rouge’s success should be Naib’s success as well.

“Of course it is,” Naib says, “but I—” He stops to cough into his arm. Clearing his throat loudly, he waves his hand at them. “Look, if Bernard can’t draw out their bargaining for long enough, the Duke is going to come back and you can’t be here when that happens.” He coughs again.

“Are you alright?” Norton asks.

“I’m fine,” Naib snaps. Norton’s surprise and hurt must register on his face, because Naib sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired. You need to go.”

“I suppose we’ll be seeing a lot more of you, once rehearsals start,” Demi says cheerfully. “Won’t that be fun?”

Naib smiles thinly. “How delightful. Now get out of my dressing room.”

Demi rolls her eyes at his terseness. She picks up the champagne bottle. “Can I take this?”

Naib glares.

She sighs and puts it back down. She takes Chloe by the hand and they leave the room together, Norton trailing behind them.

He can’t help lingering for a second at the door. He looks back and locks eyes with Naib once more. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. The words, which had flowed so easily earlier, won’t come to him.

“Go,” Naib says, more gently.

With an ache in his heart, Norton does, hurrying to catch up with his friends.

Descending the stairs, Norton notices that both Chloe and Demi are staring at him intensely. He wonders just how mad they are at him. He wishes they’d get it over with, shout at him or tell him he’s out of the partnership or something, but isn’t until they’re out of the Elephant and walking back toward the less flashy part of town that Chloe speaks.

“Are there courtesans in America?” She asks Norton.

Norton gives her a pained look. “Not officially? There are people like courtesans, but they’re usually called by… less pleasant names.”

A blank stare from Chloe.

“I was panicking, alright?” Norton says. “Does it really matter? It’s a play, I doubt the audience will care.” He kicks at a stray pebble, broken off from the poorly maintained street.

“You’re not very subtle, you know,” Demi says, throwing her arm around Norton’s shoulders. The casualty of the movement is somewhat negated by the fact that Norton is almost a foot taller than her, so she has to stand on her toes to do it.

“Subtle about what?”

“Sweetie,” Demi says. “The plot. It’s about you and Mr. Sparkling Diamond up there.”

“It is not!” Norton defends.

Demi laughs. “We’re not mad at you, Campbell. It’s just funny. Almost as funny as the fact that the Duke didn’t notice. I haven’t the faintest idea how you got away with that. You couldn’t have been more obvious if you tried.”

Norton buries his face in his hands, not caring that he’s now walking blindly. “I didn’t mean to, truly. It just happened. I kept seeing him, and I couldn’t help it.”

Chloe shakes her head. “I knew you were a romantic, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“Heartless woman,” Norton complains. “Must you antagonize me right now?”

Demi removes her arm from his shoulder, stretching. “I can’t speak for you two, but I need a drink.”

Norton isn’t even surprised at this point. This is the same woman who downed an entire bottle of absinthe by herself, while Norton had been knocked flat on his back by his own first shot. Nevertheless, he and Chloe agree, so they cross the street so that they’re heading in the direction of their usual bar.

As they walk, Norton keeps stealing glances at Chloe, who seems to have soured since encountering Jack. Clearly, they have a disagreeable history. It might be rude of him to ask, but Norton can’t help himself.

“So,” he starts carefully, “you and the Duke appear to know each other.”

Chloe frowns, nose wrinkling. “It’s a long story and I’d rather not speak about it tonight. But Naib was right. He’s a dangerous man, and you’d do well to stay away from him.”

Norton furrows his brow. “Even though he’s funding our production?”

“Yes,” Chloe says seriously. “He’s capricious as the wind. The best thing you can do is try to lay low. He doesn’t bother with anything he finds uninteresting. Keep his attention on the play, and not on you.”

“I’ll be careful,” Norton assures her, though he’s not too confident he can keep that promise.

Once they reach the bar, Norton stops outside the door. Demi and Chloe look back at him in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” Demi asks.

“I’m more tired than I thought,” Norton says. “I think I’ll just go home. But here,” he says, fishing into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. “Your drinks are on me.” He hands Demi several crumpled bills.

“Are you sure?” Chloe asks. “You seemed energetic just a moment ago.”

For once, Norton wishes she weren’t so intuitive. “I’m sure,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Rest well, then,” Chloe responds, and with a nod she and Demi enter the bar, leaving Norton outside with his thoughts.

He does not, in fact, head back to his tiny apartment. Instead he deliberates with himself for a good while. Naib’s words are repeating over and over in his mind.

I could fall in love with you.

It most likely meant nothing. Norton tries to tell himself this, but he can’t make himself believe it. Because if it weren’t real, why would Naib do his best to protect Norton from the Duke’s ire? Why would he go along so easily with their lies?

He shouldn’t go back. There is a good chance that the Duke will still be there, and while they’d managed to get away with it once, Norton can’t imagine explaining why he’d returned alone. Perhaps Chloe was right, his emotions are clouding his judgement.

And yet.

“This is a bad idea,” Norton says out loud. It’s a terrible one, actually, but this entire night has been so ridiculous that he might as well keep adding to it.

Finally, he makes up his mind and starts walking, back in the direction of the Moulin Rouge.

Chapter Text

Naib sits on the roof of the Elephant, head tilted back to look at the stars above.

The Duke had not come back after negotiations, surprisingly enough. Bernard had probably broken out his strongest spirits and sent him stumbling home after settling the deal. Naib will have to thank him for it later, because he doesn’t know if he could have handled it tonight. The evening has been stressful enough. After another moment out here, he’ll head back down and collapse into the extravagant bed, hopefully getting some decent sleep and a break from the madness that will surely return in full force tomorrow.

Living where he works isn’t bad; it can be frustrating, of course, but it isn’t bad. The Elephant’s unique structure means that he has plenty of privacy, and he can usually hear when people are coming up the stairs. Unless, he thinks ruefully, he’s being distracted by charming composers with soulful eyes. For such an elaborate design the interior is quite small, but he works with what he has. From the balcony one can reach the roof with a bit of careful maneuvering, which makes for a nice place to relax or even sleep on clear, warm nights.

He has taken the pins out of his hair and washed the glitter from it, pulling it back loosely with a thin black ribbon to keep it away from his face. He’s scrubbed away the makeup, though he thinks that at this point the kohl stains at the corners of his eyes will be permanent. The tightly-laced corset of earlier has been traded for a shirt and pants, still black but much more comfortable.

And easier to breathe in.

Regardless, Naib had come up to the roof in an effort to clear his mind, and it is quickly proving to be of no use. His thoughts keep returning to Norton Campbell. The composer is as peculiar as he is handsome, shy one minute and confident the next, somehow both romantic and reserved. Naib can’t help liking him.

In fact, he likes him a lot more than he probably should. Naib groans, closing his eyes. He can’t believe that he’d said he could love him. He can’t believe that he meant it.

A pretty song and a waltz; is that really all it takes for him to lose his senses? Naib had thought himself more sensible than that. Plenty of rich and attractive clients have showered him with flattering words and expensive gifts, and it has never affected him. For some inexplicable reason, Norton is different.

Perhaps it’s because even though he’d deceived him—albeit unintentionally—there’s an honest quality about Norton that he can’t hide. His expressions and words are muted compared to the boisterous denizens of Montmartre, but give away his emotions if one is paying attention. Even posing as the Duke had been a lie of omission rather than direct falsehood, and it was a miracle that Jack had not seen through his obvious ad-libbing during their pitch. No, Norton is not the type of person who can put on an act.

Just another reason to stay away from him, then. Somehow, that makes Naib feel worse. He doesn’t want to stay away, but this is not about what he wants. It is about his duty to the Moulin Rouge and all the people who call it home. He has enough people that he must protect. He can’t afford to add any more.

“Stop thinking about him,” he mutters aloud. This, of course, only serves to make Naib think about him more. He thinks of what it might be like to dance with Norton once more, undisturbed by the world. He wonders if he would sing again, create a melody just for them.

He can feel a cough coming on, but manages to hold it back. Tonight, at least, the medicine seems to be doing its job. Now, if only it could stop whatever is affecting him permanently, that would be fantastic.

Naib wonders if, in the upper echelons of Champs-Élysées, someone has already invented a cure for this illness to distribute among the lords and ladies afflicted by it. If it exists, Naib knows that it will make no difference to him, because the very idea of the higher class sharing their precious discovery with the Bohemians of Montmartre is laughable.

One day soon, though, they won’t turn up their noses at him. The Duke will fund the Moulin Rouge’s transformation, and Naib will be so much more than what they see him as now.

All he has to do is appease Jack. This of course means that he can no longer let himself be distracted by the what-ifs involving a certain composer. His selfish desire spells nothing but trouble, yet it is a flame that keeps growing.

Naib nearly leaps out of his skin when he hears a loud clatter from the other side of the roof. His head whips around, and he is greeted by the sight of a very guilty looking Norton Campbell in mid-climb.

Speak of the devil. He should have known. “What are you doing here?” Naib hisses, standing up quickly. “Are you insane? Do you have a death wish? If the Duke were to catch you—”

“But he’s not here now,” Norton interrupts. “Is he?” He lifts himself fully onto the roof, brushing off his suit. “I wanted to thank you for helping us earlier.”

“Oh,” Naib says. “Well, you’re welcome. It will be a wonderful show.” He fiddles with a strand of hair that has escaped from the ribbon. “Um. It’s late, so we should probably both rest. I’ll see you at rehearsal.” It is obvious that Norton has much more to say, but is for some reason refraining, and Naib won’t ask.

“Wait!” Norton calls before he can turn away. “Please, wait.”

Naib sighs, but doesn’t leave. “You’re very lucky that he’s not around to catch you, you know.” Norton’s presence, inexcusable this time, would certainly ruin the caper they’d managed to pull earlier.

Norton clears his throat. “Was he here earlier? I mean, after everything happened, but before I…”

“Did he come see me?” Naib decides to take over before Norton becomes flustered again. “Not tonight. But he will, soon enough.”

“Oh.” The pure misery on Norton’s face makes Naib’s heart sink, because he knows that a man like this won’t live long in the Montmartre Quarter. Norton may be tall and physically strong, but with that bleeding heart he’s more vulnerable than anyone, especially if he makes a habit of getting attached to people like Naib.

“It’s just work,” Naib says, and regrets it immediately, because he shouldn’t be giving Norton hope, no matter how badly he wants to.

Norton doesn’t respond, but nods. He seems to have realized the brazenness of his question, because a rosy blush of embarrassment has worked its way up to his ears.

“What did you want?” Naib asks, both out of genuine curiosity and to fill the tense silence. “You must have climbed up for a reason.”

“Right,” Norton says, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “That.”

Naib tilts his head, watching Norton as he appears to have a silent conversation with himself before looking back up at Naib.

“You said,” Norton begins hesitantly. “When you thought I was the Duke of Monroth, you said you could fall in love with me. And I wondered if it was just—”

And there it is. Naib’s heart is heavy in his chest. “If I was only saying that because I thought you were paying me?”

Norton nods.

“Of course,” Naib says, flippant as he can manage.

Norton wilts even more, but continues. “It felt real,” he says, very much resembling a kicked puppy.

Naib’s efforts to contain his own emotions are failing. “Norton,” he begins, trying to be firm, “I’m a courtesan. I’m paid to say those things. If people want to be told they are loved, then I’ll do it.”

“And that’s all?” Norton asks.

“That’s all.” He must not waver. He must not let Norton believe it was anything but an act. But it is so very difficult, because Naib can’t even convince himself.

Norton looks down at his hands. “You’re right,” he says, voice wavering. “I suppose it was ridiculous to come here. I don’t know why I thought you could fall in love with someone like me.” He smiles, but it holds no humor.

This is going horrendously. Naib chews at his lip, unused to having to turn people down romantically. “It’s not that I wouldn’t—that I…” He tries again. “I can’t fall in love with anyone.”

Norton looks up, eyes widening. “That’s terrible,” he says, clearly appalled.

“No,” Naib retorts, “being on the street is terrible. Love doesn’t matter when you don’t know if you’re going to eat that night.”

“But love is like… like oxygen! Love is a many-splendored thing!” All sheepishness forgotten, Norton steps toward Naib. “You can’t really believe that love is worth so little.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Naib replies sharply. Somehow his cynicism has managed to inspire Norton rather than discourage him, that determined light returning to his face.

“Am I?” Norton is now close enough that Naib can see the depth of his dark brown eyes.

“Norton,” Naib says, taking him by the shoulders. “Listen to me. This is how I survive. I can’t give that up for a silly infatuation.”

“I don’t think of you like that,” Norton says, sounding quite hurt. “I don’t want to just spend a night with you.”

“Of course you do,” Naib replies, pulling away. “That’s how it works.” All his life, that is how it has gone.

“Naib.” Norton takes Naib’s hands in his own. “I—”

“People are all the same,” Naib says, taking his hands back. “No one is going to truly love a courtesan.” Even if Norton’s feelings for him are genuine, he’ll grow jealous as Naib continues to take clients. Jealousy makes people unpredictable. Dangerous. It is better to end it here, rather than have it become an issue later.

“That’s not true,” Norton argues, and Naib doesn’t understand why he’s so set on convincing Naib of impossible things.

“You’ve never lived like me,” Naib says. “You can’t understand it.” Though I wish so dearly that you could.

“Then help me understand.” Norton’s face is earnest. “And then I can help you understand that I mean this.”

“Crazy fool,” Naib mutters with both fondness and frustration. “Your play has gotten to your head.”

“The story might not be real, but it could be,” Norton says. “The message is that love can overcome anything. That’s real.”

Naib smiles ruefully. “For you, maybe. But not me.” He begins to make his way down from the roof, stepping carefully from the decorative “eye” of the Elephant onto the balcony. Norton follows at a much slower pace, he doesn’t have the experience of climbing that Naib does.

“Are you scared of something?” Norton asks once he’s landed safely on the balcony with Naib. “Scared that I’ll leave, or be cruel, or…”

“I’m not scared,” Naib says, nearly offended by the very notion. “I’m being pragmatic. I think you’re a wonderful man, Norton, but I can’t love.” He turns away, because if he doesn’t he knows his face will give away the fact that he hates saying this. “Even if I could, I know it wouldn’t last.”

He can’t see Norton from this angle, but he can certainly imagine the confused expression that accompanies his words. “What do you mean by that?”

Naib doesn’t turn around. “One day you’ll leave.”

“I won’t,” Norton says. “I promise.”

Stop talking, Naib pleads silently. Stop making me believe you.

“It won’t work,” Naib says.

“We could still try,” Norton insists. “We’ll never know if we don’t try.”

Naib should say no. He has to, if he wants to keep his world in balance, to keep it stable and safe. But he can’t, not with Norton’s eyes searching his. He wants to say yes so badly it aches, and if he tries to deny it he knows that Norton will see right through the lie.

He must have paused for too long, because Norton’s determined expression begins to falter. “If you really want me to go,” Norton says, “then say it, and I will. Alright? I don’t want to pressure you. So if I’m being too forward, or you truly mean what you say, then tell me to leave.”

The moment Norton says those words, Naib knows that he has lost. The thought of telling Norton to go away, of letting him leave and losing him for good, actually sickens him. He doesn’t want to feign indifference anymore. He wants to ignore his duty and for once in his life allow himself to be selfish.

Norton is waiting, and Naib never knew that admitting his feelings aloud would be so difficult. He knows he doesn’t have a way with words like the other, so instead of talking he hesitantly reaches out to hold Norton’s hand.

Naib can feel his face going red from the way Norton’s eyes light up with surprise and happiness. He forces himself to not look away, to stay in the moment and be honest with both himself and Norton.

“I’m very difficult to love,” he says. “So I can’t promise you anything. But we can try.”

Norton looks stunned, as if he weren’t actually expecting Naib to admit his feelings. “We can?”

Naib nods. “We can.”

“Oh,” Norton says softly, and there it is again, that smile like the sun emerging from behind the clouds. “You… you’re not just saying what I want to hear, right? I didn’t mean to push you or—”

Naib kisses him. He wraps his arms around Norton’s shoulders to pull him down, because it’s a bit ridiculous how he has to stand on his toes to reach. Norton acquiesces immediately, hands coming to rest on Naib’s waist.

Norton’s body is as warm as his smile. Naib melts into his touch and is overwhelmed by how right this feels, how good it is to let go of the fear and just be in this moment with him. The kiss is gentle but nearly desperate, because both of them know the risk that comes with love. But when they are so close to each other, it is impossible to care.

Naib breaks away for a breath and is quickly pulled back into the kiss, Norton letting go of his waist to cup his face in his hands. His heart flutters at Norton’s unabashed eagerness. It makes Naib feel cherished, adored, loved. It makes him feel safe.

They kiss again and again, heedless of the world outside of the two of them. All the doubt and fear is washed away under the silvery light of the moon, and Naib decides that he never wants to leave Norton’s embrace.

Eventually he has to breathe once more, but stays close enough that he can feel every little exhilarated breath that escapes from Norton’s reddened lips.

“You,” he murmurs, running a hand through Norton’s hair affectionately, “are going to be very bad for business.”

Norton laughs softly, and kisses him again.

Chapter Text

The last planks of the new stage are laid by the workers, and Naib applauds with the rest of the Diamond Dogs and the orchestra.

For two days now they have watched the construction, rehearsing and dancing and gossiping to the tune of hammers and saws. Norton, along with Demi and Chloe, have been in attendance as well, consulting the construction crew on their vision for future props and backdrops.

Beside Naib, Jack is smiling, seemingly pleased. Good. His happiness means that there is a reliable supply of money. His hand rests innocently—at least so far—on Naib’s thigh, and Naib must resist the urge to push it away. He turns to the side, carefully pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and stifling a cough with it. He hides it away as soon as the ache in his lungs has passed, eyes darting around the room to be sure no one has taken notice.

Worse and worse, every day. Regrettably, he’ll have to ask Bernard to send for the doctor more often.

The crew steps away from their finished work, abandoning their tools and playfully chatting as they head off to lunch. Bernard steps up to center stage, beaming. Naib knows that he is not a particularly cheerful person outside of his nightly persona, but this time he is clearly thrilled. He has even put on his red coat, the one that signifies the show has begun.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Bernard says, voice booming through the room. “As of this moment, we are no longer the Moulin Rouge, a nightclub. Today we have become the Moulin Rouge, a theatre!”

A cheer goes up from the performers. Though the construction is now moving swiftly, it has been slow to start. Nearly a month was passed settling details and agreements before any real work began. There is still much to be done—painting, rigging the lights, setting up the seating—but with the completion of the stage, the transformation of the Moulin Rouge is no longer a distant dream. All of them have become a part of a real show, as real actors. No more will they deal with lascivious crowds, which are generous with money but uncouth and unashamed to try and grab at skirts and stockings. On occasion, the thrill can be enjoyable, but Naib knows each of the Diamond Dogs intimately and is aware that the majority desire something greater in life than being a can-can dancer until their beauty fades.

Jack begins speaking to him, but Naib’s attention is decidedly elsewhere. Norton is to the side of the stage speaking with Demi and Chloe. With his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top button of his shirt collar unbuttoned, he’s a terrible—wonderful—distraction. He is no less handsome dressed in common clothes instead of a suit, and Naib tunes out whatever the Duke is saying to him in favor of staring at the muscles of Norton’s forearms, tan skin striking in contrast to the white of his sleeves.

Norton notices Naib’s shameless gaze and looks over, tapping two fingers against the side of his thigh, seemingly absentmindedly. Naib knows better, though. It is one of the little silent signals they’ve developed over the past few weeks, when they are unable to talk around prying eyes and gossipy mouths. Norton is asking, will you see me tonight?

Naib pretends to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. Yes.

Norton grins and returns to his conversation. He laughs at something Demi says, and Naib is entranced by the defined lines of his neck as he tilts his head back, the flash of pearly white teeth as he responds to her.

“...don’t you think?”

“Hm?” Naib blinks, realizing that he is being prompted to answer the Duke. He looks over to Jack, who is waiting for a response to a question that Naib had not heard. Naib tries his best to recall what Jack has just said. “Oh, yes. I do.” He hopes that is the right answer.

“Then you will come to supper tonight?” Jack asks. “I’ll have the chefs prepare something wonderful for you.”

Damn it all. This is precisely why he needs to stop getting distracted. Naib scolds himself silently.

“That would be lovely,” Naib says, trying to backtrack without panicking. “But I just… I have so much to do. Preparation wise, I mean. For the play.”

The Duke frowns. “Surely you could spare one night?”

“No!” Naib says, then catches himself, hoping he hasn’t caused offense. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I would love to dine with you, but please understand how much my work means to me.” Hopefully Jack will fall for it, as he has fallen for everything else.

Despite his words, Jack still looks unconvinced, so Naib resorts to more desperate measures. He looks up through his lashes, leaning closer. “After opening night, I’m all yours, you know.”

He hopes Norton has not heard that. It’s part of the job, it’s necessary to survive, but Naib knows it hurts him, and he hates every minute of it. It’s such a strange feeling. He has never had such trepidation about his work before.

Love is funny like that.

“Very well,” says Jack, still displeased but more relaxed. He draws Naib close to him, arm heavy as a shackle across Naib’s shoulders. This deception is contributing more to Naib’s acting skills than any amount of rehearsal, though Naib can’t bring himself to be thankful for the practice. Each lie piles higher and higher into a mountain, and Naib fears that if it collapses no one will be spared from the destruction.

“Off you go, dears!” Bernard finishes his speech, clapping twice. Even that simple gesture echoes throughout the building, and Naib wonders if the man was born with the ability to always make his presence known.

Though everyone has been running lines together and learning the first steps of the dances, official rehearsals won’t begin for a week, giving the crew time to finish the most important set pieces so that they can start blocking. All cast members have been instructed to practice at home or in the backrooms of the theatre, and Naib is very grateful for the excuse it gives him to slip away from the Duke. His claim of being passionate about rehearsing is not technically untrue, as he does care very much about the production, but he can’t pretend that Norton is not the deciding factor.

He stands, stretching his arms above his head, knowing that both Jack and Norton have their eyes on him. One is very welcome, the other… must be tolerated, for everyone’s sake. The Duke is handsome, at least, and hasn’t yet displayed the temper Bernard had warned Naib of, but neither his looks nor money matter much now. Naib’s heart is already taken, and having to act like it isn’t is wearing on his nerves.

Jack stands as well, adjusting his hat. He leans down, and Naib silently apologizes to Norton as he leans up to kiss him briefly. Don’t look, he prays, please don’t look.

“Until tomorrow, my dear,” says Jack once they part.

“Until then,” Naib says with as much fondness as he can muster. He steps away from the seats, moving closer to Norton and the women. Norton catches his eye, murmuring a farewell to Demi and Chloe before gathering up his notes and shoving them into his bag. He swings it over his shoulder and heads in the direction of the main doors leading out of the Moulin Rouge, which are coincidentally right behind where Naib is standing.

Norton’s arm brushes his as he walks past. He glances back with a small smile, and Naib checks that Jack is not watching before he returns it.

After waiting enough time to alleviate suspicion, Naib begins to make his way to the exit as well.

He has barely taken a step when a hand clamps onto his shoulder. He whirls around to see Bernard, whose expression is sour.

“The contract,” Bernard hisses, tilting his head toward Jack, who is now engrossed in conversation with one of the pretty young stagehands.

Naib frowns. Yes, the Duke’s all-powerful contract that now controls everything and everyone within these walls. As if he could forget.

The conversion of the Moulin Rouge into a theatre is not an inexpensive one. In light of such a fact, the Duke has required Bernard to sign a contract with him. One that comes with no small price. First, it dictates that the funds provided will only be used for their intended purpose. Secondly, that Jack will have a certain amount of artistic involvement in the production.

And lastly, that Naib will take no other clients. His affections will be reserved for Jack, and Jack alone. He may perform, but no longer may he allow eager patrons into his bed.

To ensure compliance, the Duke has also demanded that the deed to the building be handed over to him. If either of these rules are broken, he will have the full power to shut down the Moulin Rouge.

Naib, of course, had not been consulted on the point involving him. He knows why, but it doesn’t make him feel any better about the situation. It means that any slip, any falter in his and Norton’s facade will spell ruin for everyone around them. He’d only found out when he’d walked in the day after everything—the pitch, the confession, the deal—had occurred, and was immediately confronted by Bernard.

He’s told Norton, who has agreed to keep their secret, but something leaves Naib uneasy. Norton is still living in the romantic haze of Paris, and their relationship has done nothing to ground him in reality. He can’t help thinking that Norton may not realize the severity of the consequences that would come with being discovered.

He shakes off Bernard’s hand. “I know what I’m doing.”

“No, Subedar,” Bernard sighs. “I don’t think you do.”

Naib ignores him and walks away briskly, pushing through the double doors and exiting. Bernard, the stingy old man, has never been in love. How could he know anything of it?

This is what he tells himself, because the other option is to let the doubt fester.

Outside the air is cold, but not uncomfortably so. Naib turns the corner of the building to see Norton leaning against the wall, waiting. He visibly brightens when he sees Naib, and that is a sight that will never fail to make Naib’s heart flutter with fondness.

When he’s close enough, Norton reaches for Naib’s hand and presses a kiss to it. Naib blushes, still caught off guard by his dear composer’s romantic gestures. “I thought you might keep me waiting,” Norton says.

“Oh, please.” Naib waves dismissively. “Bernard was being Bernard.”

“Understandable,” Norton says, wrinkling his nose. “That man is obsessed with control.”

“He’s not quite as bad as he used to be, if you can believe it,” Naib says. “When the profits are good, so is his attitude.”

“I wouldn’t enjoy knowing what he’s like when they are not.”

Neither would I, Naib thinks grimly.

He notices that Norton has rolled down his sleeves and is shivering, and he grins. “Too cold for you, American?”

“Shush,” Norton says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t tease. Come warm me up.”

Well, Naib certainly won’t say no to that.

They duck into the dim alleyway to the left of the Moulin Rouge, and have barely gotten out of the light before Norton has Naib pressed against the wall, peppering his neck with kisses. Naib laughs, trying to push him off so he can kiss him properly. Norton responds by lacing their fingers together, but does eventually give in to Naib’s playful complaining and meets his lips with his own.

Naib can’t help melting into his touch. Every moment they’re apart is agony, and the knowledge that they may never be open about their affection is salt in the wound.

It does not take long for the kiss to devolve into something less innocent. Norton’s tongue has slipped into Naib’s mouth, gently—then not so gently—mapping out every corner almost reverently. Naib’s hands are gripping the back of Norton’s shirt, little moans escaping him every time they must part for breath. The heat between them is growing; a dangerous and addictive flame.

Naib breaks the kiss to speak. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he pants. “Standing there, showing off your stupidly attractive arms. Why on Earth are you so fit? It’s ridiculous.”

“I didn’t know you liked my arms so much,” Norton says teasingly. “Should I wear long gloves like a madame, so I don’t distract you?”

Naib snorts, then kisses him again. He finds himself pushed more firmly against the wall, Norton’s hands curling around his wrists to pin them above his head. He is surprised by Norton’s sudden forwardness, but not displeased. Perhaps his own attitude is having more of an effect on his lover than he thought.

Norton’s thigh presses between Naib’s legs, making his breath catch in his throat. He grinds down without meaning to, drawing a gasp from Norton. Those strong hands move from Naib’s wrists to his hips, gripping firmly.

For a moment, Naib lets himself imagine how it would feel to run his hands over Norton’s shoulders and back, unrestricted by clothing, and to have Norton do the same to him. He wants to kiss Norton everywhere, hear him make sounds of pleasure and lose control.

Then he remembers where they are, and pushes those thoughts away.

With great reluctance, Naib nudges Norton’s leg away, hugging him instead. “Save it for tonight,” Naib murmurs.

They’ve not slept together yet, though there have been plenty of opportunities to be alone. They have actually been rehearsing as expected of them, though neither Demi or Chloe believe them. Unsurprising, given Naib’s line of work. And indeed, Naib is unused to this, but he can’t say he dislikes it. Norton wants him as a person, not just a body. Over the years he has learned that when someone shows kindness to him, they desire something in return, and Norton’s respectfulness of his autonomy is hard to reconcile. It is a slow process, to unlearn what one has always known, but he is not alone, and that makes all the difference.

Finally, though, it seems that both of them are done waiting. Norton groans in mock disappointment, burying his face in the crook of Naib’s neck. Naib runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not picky about where we make love, but I can’t imagine this alley would be comfortable for either of us.”

“I know,” Norton says, breath warm against Naib’s skin. “You’re awfully difficult to resist, though.”

“Flatterer.” Naib huffs.

“I only speak the truth.” Norton brushes his lips against Naib’s neck lightly.

They hold each other until the chill of the air becomes an unpleasant cold, and even their body heat is not enough to ward it off. Naib pushes himself up off the wall, kissing Norton one last time. Poking his head out of the alley and glancing around, he deems it safe and steps out with Norton close behind.

“I’m going out to lunch with Demi and Chloe,” Norton tells him. “Discussing the script, making final edits, things of that sort. But I’ll be home right after that, so I can see you—”

“Tonight,” Naib finishes.

Norton nods, smiling. “Tonight.” He gives Naib’s hand another comforting squeeze before he turns to go.

Naib watches Norton hurry off as the first flurries of snow begin to fall, smiling to himself and thinking that even if life is not perfect, Norton can make it seem so.

Chapter Text

Norton paces his apartment floor, trying his best to calm down before Naib arrives. He shouldn’t be this nervous. They’ve planned tonight, they’re prepared, and Norton couldn’t be happier. He doesn’t doubt that Naib will show up, no. The concern is about himself, if he will manage to be… good enough for Naib.

If he will be what he deserves.

He’s still pacing when the knock at the door makes him jump. He hurries to answer it, opening the door to see Naib, breathtaking as always. His hair is down rather than pulled back as usual, and his face is free of makeup, just as stunning without it. Norton will never tire of looking at him.

“Hello,” Norton manages, silently relieved that his voice isn’t giving away his inner turmoil.

“Hello,” Naib echoes, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He’s dressed in a dark green overcoat that is a bit too warm for the weather, clearly only being worn to hide whatever else he happens to be wearing. Norton’s jaw tenses for a moment.

It’s not as if Naib hasn’t been here before, but there’s an electric feel in the air that has shifted the balance. Norton finds himself at a loss for words the way he had when he’d first laid eyes upon Naib. “Come in,” he ekes out.

Naib steps into the room, and the moment the door is closed behind him he has tossed the overcoat away. Underneath it, a black robe that’s dangerously close to sheer is his only attire. Norton nearly chokes.

Naib laughs at his reaction. “You’ve seen me in less than this.”

“Barely,” Norton argues. “And to be fair, that was while you were on the job.”

“Ah, so that makes it different,” Naib says.

“It does,” Norton confirms, “because then I didn’t know I could have you.”

Naib blinks, cheeks darkening. “You have to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Catching me off guard.” Naib shakes his head.

“It’s a gift.” Norton grins. The familiar banter helps him relax, and he sits back down on his bed—only a few feet away from the door, because this flat is criminally small—gesturing for Naib to join him.

Naib sits beside him, and Norton finds himself fumbling for words again. “Do you want dinner first, or…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I can’t really afford anything fancy, but I have some leftover stew if that’s alright—”

Naib cuts him off with a kiss, surprisingly chaste considering his outfit. He pulls away far too quickly, and Norton blinks in pleasant surprise.

“No dinner, then?” Norton asks.

Naib laughs. “No dinner. I just want you, Norton.”

God, Naib will be the death of him. “I want you, too,” Norton says. “So, how do you want to, um.” He doesn’t know how to proceed without making this incredibly awkward. “What would you be most comfortable with?”

“I’d like to be the one to take care of you,” Naib says. “If you want that.”

Norton’s heart stutters. “Yes. I do.”

“Good.” Naib smiles and slips the robe off of his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

Norton has seen Naib in lace and glitter designed to entrance, but no pretty clothing can compare with the beauty that is Naib’s bare skin, already flushed from anticipation. He can only stare until Naib reaches over to him to start unbuttoning his shirt, and he snaps back to reality. Norton attempts to help with the buttons, though he’s too distracted to do much good.

This is moving more quickly than he’d anticipated, but Norton doesn’t mind; they’ve waited long enough. Nearly a month of hiding in dark corners and putting on an act for the others has drained them both, and Norton knows they both need this.

As Norton loses the rest of his clothing they move to lay properly on the bed, ending up with Naib on top of Norton, hands braced against the sheets on either side of Norton’s head and kissing him senseless.

The kiss is heated, fiery in a way they had been approaching but weren’t free to reach before now. Naib’s tongue presses into Norton’s mouth, drawing a small, desperate sound from him. This part is not new, but somehow it feels like the first time they kissed, impossible to describe.

Naib breaks away, lips reddened. “Did you buy the—”

“In the drawer,” Norton says, impatient to kiss him again.

Naib leans over to open the drawer of the bedside table, rifling around. He pulls out the small bottle of oil and uncaps it, readjusting so he can still kiss Norton while preparing him. And kiss him he does, until Norton is panting for air.

Coating his fingers in the oil, Naib’s right hand drifts down Norton’s stomach and across the top of his left thigh. Norton shudders, both from the thrill and the nervousness that sneaks in despite his best efforts.

“Nervous?” Naib asks, threading the fingers of his free hand through Norton’s dark hair.

Norton averts his eyes. “No.”

The hand on his thigh stills. “Norton.”

Norton sighs, leaning into Naib’s touch. “A little bit.”

“Tell me why,” Naib says, continuing to pet his hair gently.

Norton hesitates, but ultimately decides that he might as well since Naib will keep insisting. “I just want to be good enough for you,” he admits. “I mean, I know that you’ve been with quite a few people. Not that I mind, of course. I just assume there’s been some that are quite experienced, and I am… not.”

“So you think I would be disappointed?” Naib asks.

Norton nods reluctantly. He can’t deny the insecurity that comes with knowing that Naib has had so many partners. Partners only in the business sense—however dubious a business it was—of course, but partners all the same. His own fumbling encounters from when he lived in America hardly match up.

“Oh, honey,” Naib murmurs, kissing Norton’s shoulder. “That would be impossible. I could never be disappointed. Besides, it’s different with you.”

Norton tilts his head. “Different?”

“It’s different,” Naib elaborates, pressing another kiss to the junction of Norton’s neck and shoulder, “because it means something with you.”

Norton’s breath hitches as Naib’s hand trails lower, dipping between his legs. Naib’s fingers are warm, but it’s still a strange feeling and Norton can’t help the way he tenses up. Naib kisses him, gently this time. “Relax,” he murmurs.

After a moment, he does. Naib’s finger begins to work him open and Norton moans loudly before clasping a hand over his mouth, embarrassed. Naib’s unoccupied hand comes up to remove it. “None of that,” he insists. “I like hearing you.”

It’s difficult to keep himself from muffling his sounds, but Norton manages to keep his hands busy by letting one curl into the sheets and sliding the other one over Naib’s shoulders. A shiver runs up his spine when Naib’s finger curls upward within him. He rolls his hips forward unconsciously. Naib grins at him.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Norton says, flustered.

“I’m not,” Naib replies. “You’re just cute.” He adds another finger and Norton hisses through his teeth.

When Naib spreads his fingers, something happens. It’s like a bolt of lightning, a rush of pleasure so fast and heavy it’s almost painful. He cries out loudly.

“There we go,” Naib says, and Norton can practically hear the smirk in those words. He rubs his fingers across that spot again, and Norton decides that Naib can be as cocky as he wants as long as he keeps doing that.

Naib adds the third finger and Norton nearly screams, but the sound is stifled by Naib kissing him again, open-mouthed and with such raw want it makes Norton’s heart ache. He kisses like a man starved. He kisses like he’s dying.

Then the fingers are gone and Norton knows that this is it. They no longer have to wait, and at least in here they do not have to hide.

“Ready?” Naib murmurs. Norton nods, sure that if he tries to speak he’ll only be able to give a desperate whimper. His eyes roll back into his head as Naib begins to push in. He lets go of the sheets in order to wrap his arms around Naib, holding on to those strong shoulders as if his life depends on it.

Vaguely Norton realizes that his legs are trembling, but at this point he can’t bother to be too self-conscious about it. Not when Naib is inside of him, treating him as if he’s the best thing in the world. He squeezes his eyes shut, but opens them again when Naib pokes at his face.

“It’s sort of awkward if I’m the only one looking,” Naib says. Norton can’t snark back, because he’s too busy losing his mind from the sensations around him, in him.

Naib bottoms out and Norton is nearly undone, but he rakes his nails across Naib’s shoulders and manages to steady himself just enough. He knows Naib is waiting for him to adjust, but Norton can’t deny that a bit of pain never deterred him, and he rolls his hips up to signal Naib that he can handle it.

A strangled moan leaves his throat with Naib’s first thrust. He tosses his head back, leaving his neck open for Naib to bite gently. “Fuck,” Norton moans, letting his own hips buck upward as Naib sets a pace that satisfies both of them.

It’s never been like this, and Norton understands what Naib meant by different with you. This transcends physicality, holds more meaning than the heady rush of a new partner. This is being with someone, heart and soul.

“I love you.” Naib’s whisper is strained, passionate, honest.

“I love you too,” Norton gasps. “I love you. I love you, I—” Naib bucks into him more roughly and Norton’s words devolve into a high-pitched whine. After that neither of them can speak, the only sounds that of skin on skin and breathless gasps and moans.

When Naib begins to hit that spot inside him with every thrust, Norton can’t hold back any longer. “I’m going to—” Norton is cut off by a startled moan as he comes, unable to even finish his warning. He swears his vision whites out for a moment, overwhelmed with pleasure. Above him he can hear Naib give a shuddering moan to match his, and then there is heat and ecstasy and love, above all there is love.

Norton pulls Naib close as he can, kisses him hard as he can, knowing only that Naib is here with him, brilliant and beautiful and full of life. Naib collapses on top of Norton, both of them utterly spent.

For moments they can do nothing but lie there, until Naib rolls off of him, panting. It takes a minute for Norton to come back down to Earth, and when he does he turns on his side to look at Naib’s flushed face and mussed hair. Face to face like this, legs tangled in the sheets, Norton is struck by the fact that this is real.

“You’re beautiful,” Norton says, and he will never be able to say it enough. “Beautiful and handsome.”

Naib grins. “Flatterer. You’re the handsome one.” He reaches out to trail his fingers across the right side of Norton’s face. “I am in awe of you.”

Norton knows he’s blushing furiously. “That… well. I imagine I’d look better without this.” He gestures to the birthmark that takes up a significant area on and around his right eye, the part that Naib is touching now, somehow without reluctance.

“No,” Naib says simply, and it’s the conviction in his tone that makes it possible for him to shut down any doubts Norton has with a single word. “I do wonder how you got it, though. I thought it was a scar, but it doesn’t feel like one.”

Norton laughs softly. “Most people think it is. I was born with it. No interesting story.”

“Everything about you interests me.” Naib shifts to lay more comfortably, arms pillowed under his head.

“I feel the same about you,” Norton says, leaning over to kiss Naib again. He will never get tired of doing so. “I’m so glad I met you. The world is so much brighter now that I know you’re in it.”

At that, Naib’s face falls. In an instant the distress is gone, at least visibly. But Norton saw it clearly, and now concern rises up in his chest.

“What’s wrong?” Norton knows Naib will try to brush it off, so he continues, “and don’t say nothing. I told you what was bothering me earlier.”

Naib chews at his lip. Norton waits, anxious to know but unwilling to risk upsetting Naib further by rushing him.

“I love you as you are,” Naib says finally, “don’t doubt that. But sometimes I wish... “ He sighs. “If either of us weren’t who we are, we’d be able to love freely. Without having to hide, or feel like we’re running out of time.”

“But we’re not running out of time,” Norton says, “are we?”

Naib’s smile has gone wistful. “No. I suppose we’re not. Just an irrational worry. Ignore me.”

He seems genuine, but Norton still feels the need to reassure him. “We’re going to be okay, you know,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind Naib’s ear. “I know how you feel. Truly, I do. And I also know that we will be alright.”

Naib doesn’t respond at first, only stares into Norton’s face with an unreadable emotion. Then he closes his eyes, taking a breath. “Yes,” he says, opening them again, “we will be.”

And that is enough.

Chapter Text

“That’s all for today,” Bernard’s voice booms through the theatre. “Go home, keep up the good work, and don’t be late tomorrow!” The cast and crew shout their acknowledgment.

Naib sighs in relief as he finally sits down. He’s been learning blocking and choreography since seven in the morning, and it is nearly six in the evening now. In the seat beside him, the Duke begins to talk about how he could improve… everything, as he is wont to do. It irks Naib that this aristocrat thinks he has the right to alter Norton, Demi, and Chloe’s hard work. Well, technically it is his right, but that doesn’t make it any less bothersome.

Onstage near the wings half-hidden by the curtains, Norton is looking over at him. His gaze flickers to the left, and Naib has to suppress his grin. He flicks his ponytail over his shoulder, a silent agreement.

Norton does not have to hide his own smile, and nonchalantly heads backstage. In a few moments, Naib will be able to join him and—

Oh, Jack has asked him something. “Of course, love,” Naib answers distractedly. He’s learned it’s best to just agree with whatever the Duke says.

“Then I will see you for dinner tonight,” Jack says, looking triumphant. “Eight o’clock.”

How wonderful, Naib thinks sardonically. “Yes, I look forward to it.” He clears his throat. “Well, I should rest before that, so if you will allow me I’d like a bit of time alone.”

“Whatever you like, darling,” Jack says, tilting Naib’s chin up for a kiss. It’s almost sweet, but Naib can’t feel anything but revulsion.

“Goodbye.” Naib stands quickly.

The Duke winks. “Only for now.”

“...Right.” Naib hurries off backstage.

Near the very back of the Moulin Rouge there is a dressing room, originally meant to be an office but converted once the Diamond Dogs ensemble grew larger. At this point, it’s nearly muscle memory to navigate there.

He’s barely inside when Norton pulls him into a kiss. Naib smiles into it, gently pushing Norton off him. “I’ve got to close the door, sweetheart.” He does so, then returns to Norton’s embrace.

This particular dressing room is the best place for these rendezvous; it’s rarely used and there are two entrances, one that leads back into the wings of the theatre and one that ends up at the backstage exit doors. If someone enters, Norton can slip out of the building and make his way back around to the front, nowhere near Naib and therefore completely innocent. Naib can’t deny that it had been almost fun to come up with that little plan.

Norton’s hands are on the small of his back, holding him close, kissing him deeply. Naib runs his hands through Norton’s scruffy black hair, drawing happy little sounds from the other. Naib can feel the tension of earlier melting away, and even his sore muscles seem to ache less when he’s caught up in Norton’s warmth.

“I,” Norton begins, punctuating each word with another kiss, “need to ask you—”

Naib clasps a hand over Norton’s mouth when he hears people walking by the dressing room, chattering brightly. He listens carefully as they pass, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding once their voices have faded away.

“I think we’re alright,” he says, removing his hand.

Norton rolls his eyes, though there’s no real annoyance in the gesture. “Worrywart.”

“One of us has to be.” Naib leans into Norton’s chest. “What were you going to ask?”

Norton plays with the end of Naib’s ponytail. “I wanted to know if you’ll come see me tonight. I’ll make dinner. Something nice.”

Naib grimaces. “I can’t. Jack arranged for us to meet tonight,” he scoffs. “Again.”

“But I want to see you,” Norton says simply. There’s no selfishness in his tone, just the honest naive desire to be near his lover, and that is what makes Naib cave.

The Duke can wait, whether he likes it or not.

“I hope you’ll prepare something more appetizing than leftover stew,” Naib jokes.

Norton’s entire face lights up. “That’s a yes, then? Tonight, seven o’clock?”

“It works fine for me,” Naib confirms. That’s a bit less than an hour, giving him time to change and take a minute for himself. That part hadn’t been a lie, because he feels a pressure in his lungs and will need his medicine before going anywhere else.

“Promise?” Norton always seeks extra reassurance, as if he still can’t believe that Naib willingly spends time with him. Naib tells him again and again that there is no one in the world he would rather make time for.

“I promise.” Naib kisses his cheek for good measure.

“I should go get dinner started then,” Norton says. “And I will see you soon.”

“A whole fifty minutes without me,” Naib sighs in faux wistfulness. “Whatever shall you do?”

Norton gives him a crooked grin. “It is my burden to bear.”

Naib snorts and waves him off. Norton kisses him one last time before exiting through the backstage door, leaving it slightly ajar. For some reason, he never closes them all the way, something else about him Naib can’t quite comprehend but finds endearing all the same.

Barely a moment passes before Norton’s head pokes back into the room. “Do you really promise?”

Naib laughs. “Yes, I promise! Now go, before you’re seen.”

Norton grins and disappears from the doorway, footsteps fading as he hurries off.

Naib turns to look into the room’s vanity mirror and tucks a few stray strands of hair back into place. He presses his hands—which have always run colder than the rest of him—to his cheeks to try and temper the dark blush there.

Once he deems himself suitable he steps out of the dressing room, ready to return to the Elephant in order to change and freshen up before heading over to Norton’s apartment.

He jumps when he nearly runs into Bernard, who has just rounded the corner and is terribly red in the face.

“Are you mad?” Bernard asks harshly. “Really, I want to know, have you lost your mind?”

Naib shoves down the stab of panic that runs through him at Bernard’s anger. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m referring to. Or do you think you’re being sneaky, running around with that damn composer nearly in sight of everyone?” Everyone else must have already left the building, because Bernard isn’t bothering to keep his voice down.

Naib’s heart drops to his feet, but he feigns indifference best as he can. “Norton Campbell? Oh please, Bernard, as if I would ever—”

“I saw you together!” Bernard shouts, and Naib flinches. Still, he has his wits about him enough to defend himself.

“You saw nothing,” he says firmly.

Bernard sneers. “Perhaps not while you were in the act, but I saw him leave this room in disarray, and here you are looking just as… debauched. It doesn’t take a genius to put it together, Subedar.”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Naib tries to convince him, but even he can feel how flimsy a lie it is. “It’s just a fling, nothing more.”

“Then stop seeing him,” Bernard orders.

“Absolutely not,” Naib snaps without thinking. He regrets it immediately as Bernard’s face fills with frustration—and worse, fear.

“Do you know,” Bernard says slowly, as if explaining something to a child, “what would happen if the Duke found out?”

“He won’t find out.” Naib’s tone is assured, but even now the doubt is creeping in.

Bernard shakes his head. “You were never the type to take this sort of risk.”

“Things change.” It is a struggle to keep his voice level.

“I don’t care. End it,” Bernard demands. “Tomorrow.”

Naib must have unconsciously shown surprise at the word tomorrow, because Bernard sighs.

“You’re planning to see him tonight.”

Naib’s silence is all the confirmation he gives.

“Well, you’ll have to forget about that,” Bernard says. “The Duke wants you to accompany him for dinner tonight, so that is what you’ll do.”

“Then the Duke should learn that he can’t always have what he wants,” Naib retorts.

Bernard scoffs. “He holds the deeds to the Moulin Rouge, so yes, Subedar, he certainly can have whatever he pleases!”

“I don’t have time for this,” Naib mutters, trying to pass by. Bernard steps in front of him, blocking his way out.

“You must go see the Duke tonight,” he hisses. “You must.”

“I can’t,” Naib insists. He has promised Norton that he’ll be there.

“If you do not,” Bernard says quietly, “you doom us all.”

Naib’s retaliation dies in his throat.

Bernard continues, shaking his head. “You aren’t a selfish man. I know that. This… infatuation, or whatever you’d like to call it, is it really worth losing the Moulin Rouge? Worth putting Mike and Margaretha back onto the streets?”

Naib inhales sharply. “Don’t use them against me. Don’t you dare.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” Bernard snaps. “I’m trying to help you, Subedar! I’m trying to help all of us. The Duke is a fickle man, and if he grows tired of you constantly avoiding his affection he very well may decide enough is enough. He could destroy us in an instant, and I doubt he would have any qualms about it.”

Naib shoves past him.

“You know what you need to do,” Bernard calls after him. Naib ignores him, but the words have already burrowed beneath his skin. It’s true, he’s been reckless. The rational thing to do would be to go to the Duke, to spend the night with him and soothe his doubts about Naib’s fidelity. It would be so simple, just like before. And yet the very thought turns his stomach. To let someone other than Norton touch him, hold him, is impossible.

If he doesn’t, though, there’s no telling how the Duke will react. It’s clearer than ever that he is prone to jealousy, and a jealous man is an unpredictable one. If he decides to revoke his funding or destroy the Moulin Rouge entirely, Naib will never be able to forgive himself.

But how can he betray Norton? How can he not?

He pushes through the exit doors. Outside the air has grown colder, and Naib shudders as the wind whips against his exposed skin. Only a few weeks ago one could go out with only a light jacket, but now everyone expects there to be snow flurries within a few days.

Naib storms across the Moulin Rouge’s courtyard, unlocks the artfully hidden door of the Elephant with shaky hands, and heads up the stairs, mind broiling with the awfulness of difficult choices.

He slams the door of the main room behind him like a child, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth. They’ve been too reckless. If Bernard could discover their secret, anyone could. He’ll have to tell Norton that they can’t be with each other when at the Moulin Rouge anymore, no more sneaking off to empty rooms or curtained corners. It’s regrettable, but he simply doesn’t know what else to do.

Or perhaps they shouldn’t see each other at all. Dragging this out can only end in disaster, and Naib knew that from the start. Even if they are able to deceive the Duke, there is no way to hide from illness.

A cough rattles up from his lungs, and Naib rushes for the tissues in the drawer. By now he’s come to expect that a bit of blood is a near guarantee whenever these fits occur.

Naib huffs, tossing the tissue into the wastebasket with more force than necessary. He digs around in the drawer for his medicine; a medicine that barely has any effect anymore. He upcaps the tube, inhales deeply, and fears that one day soon he will no longer be able to keep this particular secret from anyone, and especially not Norton.

It makes a terrible amount of sense to leave him. If Naib sees the Duke tonight, then the seeds of suspicion will be sown in Norton’s heart. After that, he can easily...

No. He can’t do it. He can’t break his promise to Norton, and that more than anything tells Naib that this has become something dangerous. This is precisely why he’d tried to reject Norton at first; he knew damn well romance would only lead to trouble, and his fears have come true. Love may be selfless to those it affects, but to the rest of the world it is a selfish thing, carving out a space where there may be none, pushing others aside.

Through the balcony he can see the sky is darkening, and though he knows that this may lead to his ruin, Naib cannot go to Jack. He won’t. Norton is waiting for him, and that is what matters.

With one last inhale of the unpleasant fumes, he caps the metal tube and shoves it back in the drawer. It would be wiser to bring it with him, but Norton might find it and then where would they be?

He changes from the lace and glitter to infinitely more comfortable cotton pants and a shirt, trading the heels for soft moccasins. He shrugs on an overcoat, mindful of the weather. His all-black attire is simple, but he likes it that way. His entire livelihood revolves around drawing attention to himself; it’s refreshing to sometimes not be noticed at all.

He takes more time than usual on his way back down the stairs, because he doesn’t care to put any more strain on his lungs than necessary. It’s bad enough that the cold seems to be making his affliction worse.

Once he’s left the confines of the Moulin Rouge’s courtyard Naib sets out for Norton’s apartment, more uncertain of the future than ever before.

Chapter Text

Norton lies beside Naib, or more accurately, pressed against him affectionately, their fingers laced together.

They’re both still dressed, neither quite in the mood for anything more than simply being close to each other. Earlier Norton had played the piano for Naib, who’d sung along softly. A more romantic song than the racy ones of his performances that serve to goad the drunken crowds, without the glitz and glamour but somehow more beautiful. Now they are content with the quiet sounds of breathing and the gentle rustle of clothing against sheets whenever one of them moves slightly.

Or at least, Norton thought they were both content.

“Norton,” Naib says hesitantly, breaking through the peace. “Can we talk?”

“Of course,” Norton replies, a bit surprised by the seriousness of his tone. Still, it is probably nothing dire. Sometimes, Norton has come to realize, Naib can present himself as intimidating without entirely meaning to. It’s understandable; having to play nice for anyone with a bit of cash no matter their own attitude must wear on the nerves. “Is something wrong?”

Naib doesn’t answer, only pulls back enough so that they’re facing each other properly. His hair is down, framing his sharp face. He’s handsome as always, almost otherworldly. It doesn’t take a genius to comprehend why so many people desire him, but Norton knows he is the only one who has the privilege to love him, and be loved in return.

Which is why he is entirely unprepared for the next words that leave Naib’s mouth.

“We have to end it,” Naib whispers.

For a moment, it doesn’t register.

Then Norton bolts upright. “What?” He must have misheard. Must have. “What did you say?”

Naib raises himself up on his elbows. He looks directly at Norton, eyes piercing. “I said we have to end it. This. Seeing each other.” His expression is unreadable.

“Why?” Norton breathes. It’s all he can say.

This makes no sense. Not after everything. They love each other, and if something had happened to spark this Naib would surely tell him. But Naib’s first instinct has always been to push people away, and Norton can’t help the fear rising up in his chest. Just a few weeks ago they’d bared their souls to each other, confessed things that had never before been spoken aloud. What changed? What could possibly have caused this?

The answer is a bitter one.

“The Duke suspects us,” Naib murmurs. “I have to prove to him that I have eyes for no one else.” Finally, his gaze flickers away from Norton, the only reassurance that he might not truly mean what he says. “I’ll have to kiss him, be held by him, and the jealousy will drive you mad.”

“I won’t be jealous,” Norton insists desperately. “I won’t.” A flash of anger runs through him. Of course, this has to do with the Duke of Monroth. It seems that every time their happiness peaks, it is him who brings it crashing down again.

You will be jealous, though, comes the insidious thought, betraying his words. You already are. Norton shoves it away forcefully.

Naib shakes his head. “He’ll want more than that, eventually. Something I can’t—won’t—give if I’m still with you. It’s better if we end it. You know that.”

“No, I don’t know that!” Norton argues. “We can be more careful. Convince them. I… I could feign interest in someone else, find another dancer to fawn over for a while, I could pretend that I—”

“We can’t risk it,” Naib interrupts. He stands up from the bed and Norton lunges for his hand, trying to pull him back. Trying to make him stay. He misses by a fraction of an inch, their fingers nearly brushing, but not close enough for it to matter.

“You’re not making any sense,” Norton argues, hanging halfway off the bed and hands curled helplessly in the sheets. “We already talked about the risks. I thought… we agreed, didn’t we? That being together was worth it?” His mind races for anything that could persuade Naib to rethink this. He scrambles to stand up as well, rounding the end of the bed to try and hold Naib, but his lover side-steps him deftly and Norton’s heart drops.

“Listen to me,” Naib says sharply. “I know you. I know you might value love above your own safety, but it’s because I love you that I have to make sure the Duke won’t target you. This is the only way.”

“You sound like you did when I first met you,” Norton responds. This is what’s most worrying. Naib does indeed sound like before, when his eyes were dull from the effort of keeping emotion and sex separate day in and day out, when he had no hope in love.

Naib visibly flinches. “Perhaps,” he says, tone low, “I was wiser back then.” He crosses the room and reaches for his coat, wrapping it around himself quickly.

Norton sees him move to turn the doorknob and sprints to block the doorway. He’ll step out of the way if Naib truly wants to go—he would never disrespect him by holding him here like a prisoner—but in his panic he can’t think of anything else to do. “Naib,” he begs, “Naib, please don’t.”

“Do you think it will end with opening night?” Naib asks miserably. “Do you think he will give me up? Men like him are of a different kind. He’s not going to let me go. We would have to hide forever. Never marry, never tell anyone, never be free!”

“I don’t care!” Norton reiterates.

“Stop it, Norton!” Naib’s voice is nearing a shout. “You can’t… You know I love you, but this is dangerous!”

“To hell with danger,” Norton responds vehemently. He feels like the world is crashing down around him. Life without Naib seems impossible now. He won’t let anything, and especially not some entitled aristocrat, take him away. “I’ll die before—”

“Don’t say that!” Naib snaps, eyes going wide. “Norton, don’t you dare say that.” The raw terror in his tone makes Norton freeze. “Never say you’ll die for me. I can’t stand it.”

“I’m sorry,” Norton says quietly, “I’m just scared of losing you.” He hadn’t meant to make Naib even more upset, even though his words had been true.

Naib closes his eyes, opens them again, twin pools of sapphire blue. “Tell me you won’t say that again. Promise me.”

“I promise.” Norton takes Naib’s hands in his own. “But you can’t convince me to accept this. Not when I know you don’t mean it.”

Naib turns away, taking his hands back as if Norton’s touch burns. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is, Norton.” His shoulders are hunched as if he’s trying to draw further into himself, or disappear from the room entirely. “It’s not that I want to do this. Believe me, it’s not. I hate hurting you.”

Norton steps forward and wraps his arms around Naib from behind, holding him tightly. He buries his face in his shoulder and squeezes his eyes shut. Naib sounds so resigned that he fears this may actually be the end of things. And if this is the final time he gets to touch Naib, he will make sure to make the moment last as long as possible.

They stand there without speaking for what seems like forever, until it becomes unbearable.

“Naib,” Norton says, muffled against Naib’s shoulder. “I swear I’ll do whatever it takes. Just stay.” He can feel Naib shudder, as if suppressing a sob. “Stay,” he says again, pleading.

Please, please, stay.

“You’re right.” It’s said so quietly that Norton thinks he may have imagined it. Before he can ask, Naib repeats it. “You’re right.”

Hope blooms against better judgement. “I am?”

“I can’t leave you,” Naib says, voice shaking. He turns to hug Norton properly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—Bernard demanded I—I could barely say those things to you. Just thinking of it… hurt more than anything. But I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It’s alright, Naib,” Norton promises. “It’s alright.” In truth he can barely stand seeing Jack near Naib at all, but if he’s to assuage Naib’s doubts he has to pretend otherwise. He knew there would be sacrifices going in. If it’s for Naib’s sake, he can tolerate it.

“I want to believe you,” Naib says. “I do. I just… I’m not used to honesty. It’s hard to hear those words and know they’re true.”

Norton stays silent, thinking intensely. How to convince Naib? Physical and verbal reassurance might help, but there must be something more, something unique between them.

Then he realizes.

“I’ll write us a song,” Norton decides, “just for the two of us. We’ll add it to the show, and whenever we sing it to each other they’ll think we’re rehearsing, but you and I will know what it truly means. It means we’ll never be apart, even if we have to pretend that we are.”

Naib smiles, the soft honest one that always steals Norton’s breath away. “Trust you to come up with something so romantic.”

Norton kisses him gently. “Only for you. Come here.” He leads Naib to the piano, sits down and gestures for him to join. Naib does so, and Norton cracks his knuckles in preparation to play.

The first few notes are tentative, Norton watching Naib’s face carefully for signs of approval. A hand comes to rest on his thigh, and it’s all the comfort needed for Norton to let himself become caught up in the music, finding a new melody, weaving it from nothing.

He plays with his whole heart, lets every blush and smile and entwining of hands flow from his chest and through his fingertips out into the music. He plays for what he has and for what he almost lost.

Naib’s hand tightens on his thigh and he leans his head on Norton’s shoulder. He begins to hum along quietly, the two of them creating something wonderful together. It’s almost tangible, and if Norton were to look up from the keys he would see how Naib’s eyes are sparkling the same way they did when Norton first sang to him, enchanted.

Norton knows when it’s complete almost instinctively, but he doesn’t stop playing immediately. Instead he presses each key more softly, letting the music fade slowly; this is a song that tells a story that continues on and on.

Finally, silence settles once more.

“It’s beautiful,” Naib breathes. “I almost don’t want anyone else to hear it.”

“They don’t have to,” Norton says quickly. “I won’t tell Demi and Chloe to write it in—”

“I said almost, Norton,” Naib assures. “It would be a shame for the world to never know your talent.”

Naib always calls Norton the flatterer, but he is the one who constantly manages to fluster the composer. “Would you like to help me with the lyrics, then?” Norton asks, placing his hands above the keys again.

“In a moment,” Naib says. He grabs one of Norton’s hands in his own, puts his other palm against Norton’s cheek. Norton leans into the touch, a bit confused but never opposed to affection from his lover.

“I’m sorry,” Naib murmurs.

Norton exhales softly. “You don’t have to apologize again.”

Naib smiles ruefully. “Yes, I do. Not for what I did earlier, though. I’m apologizing for making you fall in love with me at all.”

“You didn’t make me do that,” Norton says, perplexed but endlessly fond. “I ran to you willingly. I threw my heart to you and hoped you’d be kind enough to catch it.”

“How could I not?” Naib’s voice is nearly reverent. “You are the best thing that has come into my life.”

There are so many more things to say; so many things that transcend words. Later, Norton will pour all of it into their song, but for now he feels a rough hand in his own and warm breath brushing against his face, and he knows that this is what life is.

This is what Demi and Chloe hoped to achieve with Spectacular Spectacular, this is what people spend years or even decades searching for, and what so few of them find. This is the rare precious thing that the Duke desires to steal from them and will never, ever be able to, because in all his wealth and reputation he still cannot comprehend what it truly means.

“Norton,” Naib begins, but seems to choke on the next words. It’s perfectly fine, because Norton understands just what he’s trying to convey.

He feels it too.

Norton presses their foreheads together. “Come what may,” he whispers, “I will love you till the end of time. Till my dying day.”

“And I love you,” Naib whispers back. “Come what may.”

Chapter Text

The stagehands swing around the lights to shine back down on the actors, finally on beat after several tries. Norton shares a collective sigh of relief with the rest of the creative team from where they stand at the edge of the stage. At long last, they’ve managed to have a completely successful runthrough of the show. All that’s left is the ending of the song, the one Norton wrote on that harrowing night, and they will be able to celebrate.

Onstage, Naib catches Norton’s eye over the shoulder of François and smiles. Norton smiles back, then tries to hide it by faking a cough.

François, the Diamond Dog-turned-actor who is playing the street performer opposite Naib as the courtesan, doesn’t evoke nearly the same jealousy in Norton that the Duke does. Perhaps it is because his interactions with Naib are limited to the stage, never blurring the line between acting and genuine emotion. He’s nice enough, a bit flighty and unable to hold even the lightest of conversation while inebriated, but a fine actor and a talented singer.

Still, Norton can’t help but think the song sounds its best when sung by himself and Naib, alone.

Chloe nudges him, and Norton knows he’s staring like a fool, but he can’t help it; not when Naib is singing their song and looking so ethereal. He’s not even in full costume yet, and Norton wonders if he’ll be able to survive seeing Naib in the outfit the seamstresses have created for him. He’s gotten to look at it a few times, a gorgeous red and black number that glitters in all the right places. It will make Naib absolutely regal.

“Hopeless,” Demi teases quietly. She has an uncanny ability to know exactly what he’s thinking.

Norton huffs. “As if you aren’t. At least it didn’t take us months to even realize our feelings.” He’s been told of Demi and Chloe’s fateful meeting and the subsequent pining, and never fails to bring it up when they see fit to make fun of him.

Demi elbows him, and his resulting wince forces her to stifle a laugh in her sleeve.

The song draws to a close, the cast and crew begin to cheer as the main lights slowly come back on, and Norton still can’t take his eyes off of Naib. The actor risks another glance at him, grinning, and Norton can feel the love welling up in his chest.

He should know by now, though, that happiness never lasts long here.

“I do not like this ending.” The Duke’s voice rings out among the applause, imperious and damning.

All other noise ceases. Heads turn toward him as Jack stands up from his cushioned seat. His expression is disdainful. Norton feels a prickle of dread crawl its way up the back of his neck.

“What about it don’t you like?” Bernard is the first to break the silence. Norton’s gaze flickers between him, the Duke, and Naib. His entire body has gone tense.

“It makes no sense,” Jack complains, as if he knows anything at all about love. “Why would the courtesan choose someone who can’t provide for him? The street performer may have pretty words, but that can’t compare with material means. The enchantment of songs and poetry only lasts so long, and then the both of them will be left to spend their lives in misery. The rich man is obviously the better choice.”

“And I suppose you have a better plot in mind?” Norton looks to his side, startled, as Demi speaks up. Her arms are crossed, her eyes challenging. He has never seen her so agitated.

“Indeed I do,” Jack says, arrogance dripping from every word. “And you would do well not to speak to me that way. I suggest that the ending should be altered so that the courtesan chooses the rich man. It is what’s most natural. He could give the courtesan whatever he desired. That’s real love.”

Norton can feel the blood rushing in his ears. His hands twitch at his sides. How long? How long will this bastard control their lives?

“This play is meant to represent beauty and freedom and love,” Demi argues. “It doesn’t have to be realistic.”

Another month? Another year?

“I don’t care about any of that,” Jack snarls derisively. “Your Bohemian values mean nothing to me.”

Forever?

“But—”

“Why shouldn’t the courtesan choose the wealthy suitor?” Jack snaps.

“BECAUSE HE DOESN’T LOVE YOU!” Norton’s scream echoes through the Moulin Rouge.

For a moment he is relieved that he has finally said it, finally expressed the frustration that has been building up for months now.

Then he sees the faces around him, and realizes what he’s done.

Naib, Chloe, Demi, and Bernard are all staring at him in horror. François is wisely backing away behind the curtains.

The Duke, however…

The Duke’s face holds nothing but fury.

“I see,” he says, terrifyingly calm. “I see quite clearly now.”

“H-him,” Norton stutters, trying to fix what cannot be fixed. “I meant to say him.”

He is ignored as Jack carries on. “You think to make a mockery of me? In a theatre that I own?”

“Not at all.” Naib’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade. “I would never dream of it, love.” All eyes shift to him, standing alone in the middle of the stage. Slowly, he walks toward the Duke, stepping delicately off the raised platform. He stops just in front of Jack, raising a hand to caress his face. “I apologize for how terribly you’re being treated right now.”

He leans up and whispers something, inaudible from where Norton is standing. The Duke’s face softens, though only marginally.

Jack wraps an arm around Naib’s shoulders, then returns his gaze to the room as a whole. “The ending will be changed,” he announces, head held high. “The lovers’ secret song will be scrapped, and the courtesan will choose the wealthy suitor.”

Demi does not protest, though her chin trembles visibly. Bernard hangs his head.

And on Naib’s face, no emotion at all.

“Carry on, then,” Jack says. “I expect you now have much work to do.”

The cast and crew scramble to acquiesce, the rasp of distressed whispers just barely heard as people hurry to and fro.

Norton remains frozen until Chloe grabs his wrist, making him jump. She is squeezing so tightly that he winces. She drags him backstage even as he begins to protest, Demi following them closely. Chloe doesn’t let go of him until they’re fully concealed among the maze of backdrops and beams, away from the disaster out in front. Then she drops his wrist as if he’s burned her, whirling to face him.

“What have you done?” She hisses.

“Sweetheart,” Demi begins, but Chloe shakes her head.

“We told you! Everyone told you what he’s capable of, but you just couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you?”

Norton can’t help the way his temper flares at her harsh tone. “Was I supposed to let him just do whatever he wanted?”

“Yes!” Chloe exclaims, throwing her hands up. “Yes, you were!”

He crosses his arms. “That’s absurd. I’m not going to grovel at his feet, and especially not when he’s talking about Naib.”

“You’re a fool to provoke him, Norton Campbell,” she snaps. “You’ll never understand what he’s done, and what he’ll continue to do if he doesn’t get his way.”

“And you do?” His ire grows. How dare she assume he’s being blithe about the situation?

“Of course I do,” she says, “because he ruined my sister’s life!”

“What?” Norton asks, completely at a loss.

“I hate that man,” Chloe says vehemently. “I should have stopped that engagement the moment it was announced.”

“Engagement?” Norton has no idea what she means.

“My sister, Vera,” Chloe explains, “was engaged to him.”

“What?”

Chloe opens her mouth, then hesitates. Demi wraps her arms around her. “Take your time,” she murmurs.

Chloe exhales slowly, then continues. “It was arranged, as most Champs-Élysées marriages are, and at first it seemed like a good match. It was clear Jack was vain, and a bit possessive, but he didn’t come off as any worse than other rich men.” Her lip curls. “We were all blind. Even if our mother and father didn’t see it, I should have.”

Norton stares, barely able to comprehend what he’s hearing.

“For a month or so, everything was fine. Vera was rather thrilled that she’d soon have the title of Duchess. Then we learned of his vices.”

“Vices?”

“There were other women,” she explains. “Men too, presumably, but Vera only knew of three women. Women she considered friends, in fact. The Duke can be a charmer, when he desires to be.” She shakes her head again. “Vera was angry, but more than that she was sad. I was the furious one. I suggested that she fake an affair in revenge.” Chloe shudders. “I never thought… if I’d known, I would never have encouraged it.”

She pauses again. “When he discovered the “evidence”, he seemed completely unaffected. Vera and I thought he might be fair about it—he could have his affairs and she could have hers.” Her jaw clenches. “If only that were the case.”

“It didn’t end there, did it?” Norton asks softly.

“Of course it didn’t. My sister and I were both very fond of perfumes, and Vera had a particular favorite she wore every day. Lavender with notes of cedarwood. We still don’t know exactly what he switched it out with, but it doesn’t matter.” She looks down. “I’ll never get her screams out of my head.”

Norton inhales sharply.

“The scarring…” Chloe closes her eyes. “You can’t imagine.” She leans into Demi’s embrace, and when she opens her eyes again they are shining with unshed tears. “I hate him, yes. But I’m frightened of him, and you should be too.”

“I’m sorry about your sister,” Norton says. “Truly, I am. But I won’t let him take Naib away from me.”

“You need to listen to her.” Demi’s tone is deadly serious, but Norton can’t afford to listen. He catches sight of Naib, the actor nearly sprinting as he makes his way backstage.

Norton can feel Chloe grip his wrist again, and shakes her off. “Chloe, I have to talk to him.”

“Norton,” she snaps, “you’re going to get yourself hurt!”

Norton ignores her, pushing past and hurrying after Naib.

He catches up just as Naib steps into the dressing room—their dressing room—and closes the door behind them, locking it in case of prying eyes or ears. For a moment, he can’t bear to speak. Then the silence grows too heavy, and he finds that he must say something, anything.

“Naib,” he breathes.

Naib does not turn to look at him, so Norton takes him into his arms from behind.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, burying his face in Naib’s hair, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. He was so arrogant, and he wanted to take away our ending—”

“Well, now he really has,” Naib says, turning around suddenly, stepping away from Norton. “And I’m so, so scared for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Norton repeats. He doesn’t know what else to do.

Naib takes a deep breath. “If I can just convince him that it’s nothing but an infatuation on your part, that I’m just leading you on for the purpose of the show, then perhaps everything will be alright. Well, not alright, but you won’t be in danger.”

Norton blinks. “I don’t understand.”

“I told him I would go see him tonight,” Naib explains. “No more excuses.”

Norton’s heart feels as if it’s being clutched by an icy hand. “You’re really going?”

“I have to,” Naib insists. “You know that.”

“Yes, but…” Norton trails off, helpless. This time he has no argument, no justification other than a pure, selfish want.

“It was all i could think of to save us.” Naib’s tone is thick with resignation.

“You’re going to sleep with him.” It’s out before he can stop it, and Norton is horrified with himself. It can’t be true. Can’t be.

So why does the fear remain?

Naib closes his eyes. “If… if that’s what it takes to make sure you’re safe. To make sure everyone is.” There’s nothing but truth in his voice, and Norton wants to die.

The very idea makes him sick. Jack’s hands on Naib, his lips against his skin…

Unfathomable, and yet terrifyingly possible.

“I don’t want you to go with him tonight,” Norton says quietly.

Naib sighs. “There’s no choice.” He starts to move toward the door, and Norton reaches out to stop him.

“Please,” Norton begs, holding onto Naib’s arm like a lifeline. “I can’t stand it.”

“You promised,” Naib says sadly. “You promised you wouldn’t be jealous.”

“I did promise, and I’m sorry,” Norton apologizes hoarsely, “but it’s too much.”

“I told you what it would be like,” Naib murmurs. “Loving me.”

“Naib…” Norton’s voice cracks. “I’ll always love you.”

Naib sighs, pressing his lips to Norton’s cheek. “I love you too,” he whispers, “come what may.”

Norton will not cry in front of Naib. He will not. “Come what may,” he responds, hating how his voice shakes.

Naib kisses him and Norton leans into it desperately. He grips the back of Naib’s shirt, pretending this is happening in any other circumstance, with no awful Duke to tear them apart.

Gently, Naib removes Norton’s hand from his arm. “It will be alright,” he says, backing away. Norton wants to reach for him, pull him close, rewind time to when they thought they were invincible. But he can’t, because he knows that Naib is right. Everything he does, no matter how painful, is for the two of them. Love may be beautiful, but fate is cruel.

Then Naib is out the door, and Norton is alone.

And only now does he let himself cry.

Chapter Text

Naib sits across from Jack at the long, elaborate table, trying to eat at least a bit of the meal the chefs have prepared for them. It’s a difficult thing to do, though, when the safety of the one he loves is on the line.

They’re in the East tower that borders the Moulin Rouge, an abandoned place that’s been refurbished for the Duke’s stay. The banquet room they’re currently occupying is up five flights of stairs, and by the time Naib managed to climb them all he’d had to excuse himself to the bathroom in order to cough harshly and catch his breath.

The food—foie gras, brioche, black truffles—is delicious but almost too rich for Naib’s stomach, as he isn’t used to such fare. He tries to turn attention away from his lack of appetite by leaning forward as if he’s actually engaged in whatever Jack is going on about, while carefully pushing the food to one side of the plate with his fork.

Very suddenly Jack clears his throat, setting down his utensils. He locks eyes with Naib, smiling slightly, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Enough with the pretenses, yes? We both know you’re only here to save that little composer of yours.”

“That… that’s not true,” Naib says, and though he knows he is a strong actor it is so very hard to lie when Norton is involved. “He’s simply obsessed with me, and I indulge him so that he continues to write for us. That’s all. I came tonight because I wanted to see you.”

Please, please buy it.

Jack stands, and under the table Naib’s nails dig into the fabric of his pants. But he can’t appear reluctant, so he gets up from his chair as well. Jack crosses the room to him, his imposing height making it so he towers over Naib.

“Then prove it,” Jack says softly.

Naib lets his eyelashes flutter as he looks down; coquettish, seductive. It’s so much like before, yet terrifyingly different. If he can’t convince the Duke that his relationship with Norton is but a simple infatuation, it will end in disaster for both of them.

But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to.

A cold hand caresses his cheek. His chest tightens and he fights back the urge to push the Duke away.

Jack leans in to kiss him, and something in Naib snaps.

Norton is the only one he wants to let touch him like this, the only one he wants to let kiss him or hold him. The look on Norton’s face when Naib had told him what must be done to protect their love broke Naib’s heart all over again. It seems like each time he does something to keep them safe, Norton is the one who pays the price.

Well, no longer. He refuses to hurt Norton anymore.

“No,” he says sharply.

The moment it’s out, his eyes go wide. He shouldn’t have said that, even though every fiber of his body was screaming it.

Jack pulls away. “No?” He echoes, and at first he only sounds confused. But then he says it again, and a dangerous anger simmers within it. “No?” Still, he steps back further, and some of the tension leaves Naib’s shoulders. “So, you continue to choose that composer, who barely has a penny to his name, over me.”

“I… I’m sorry,” Naib says, trying to salvage the situation even as his mind tells him there’s no point. “He’s everything to me. I can try to please you, but you have to understand—”

Jack cuts him off. “I don’t have to understand anything. You’re as irrational a courtesan as the one in the play. What on Earth does he offer you that I cannot?”

“I don’t know how to explain it.” Now that there’s no point in lying, honesty flows from Naib’s mouth with ease. “All I know is that I can’t love you. Not in the way that matters.”

Jack visibly flinches, and Naib stares in surprise. Have his words actually managed to strike somewhere to make the Duke react with vulnerability rather than rage? Before he has the chance to think about it for too long, Jack turns away so that his back is facing Naib. His shoulders are hunched and, if Naib’s eyes don’t deceive him, his hands are shaking as they curl into fists.

“Very well,” Jack says. “I see what must be done.”

Once again, he speaks as if his will is the only one that matters, and it stokes the flames of anger under Naib’s skin. He’s already hit his breaking point, and there’s nowhere to go but down. Why shouldn’t he say everything he’s wanted to since this all began?

“There’s nothing to be done,” he snaps. “You will never have me.”

Jack whirls back to face him, his eyes wide and filled with rage. “Neither will he!” It’s a sentence filled with venom.

“That’s the thing,” Naib says, “he already has.”

And though it’s clear Jack’s connection to rationality is tenuous, those words sever the last strings holding him to it. “He won’t again,” he says, slowly, coldly.

Naib glares. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You will go to the boy.” Jack’s voice is a low snarl. “You will tell him he was nothing but a game to you. You will tell him that you choose me. You will shatter him.”

Naib bares his teeth. “Or. What.”

“Or I’ll kill him,” Jack says. “And it will not be a quick death.”

For a moment, Naib doesn’t process what the Duke has said.

Then it registers, and the anger is immediately overtaken by terror.

His next words are trembling, barely audible. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Jack’s smile is a sick and twisted thing. “Ask Miss Nair about the last person who provoked me. I assure you I will, and more importantly, I can.”

Naib can’t breathe. Norton, dead? It’s unthinkable. Yet here Jack is, threatening him with the possibility.

If he doesn’t do as the Duke says, then all he’s done to protect Norton, every time he’s pushed him away, will have been for nothing.

“You’ll be mine one day, Naib Subedar,” Jack sighs. “You’ll see that I can be good to you.” He gestures to the door. “Go, if you wish. I’ll allow you tonight to say your goodbyes. After that, you will never see him again, if you want him to live.”

Naib backs up toward the door, not taking his eyes off Jack, unable to trust that he won’t renege on his word and keep Naib here like some sort of prisoner. His back hits the oak and he fumbles for the doorknob, turning and sprinting out the moment it opens. He flies down the steps without regard for how it makes his chest and throat burn.

It is roughly three hundred feet from the East tower to the Elephant. Somewhere in the back of Naib’s mind, he thinks it must take him twenty seconds at the most to cross that distance.

He takes the steps of the Elephant two at a time, and by the time he bursts into his room he’s heaving, his lungs screaming for him to stop. But he can’t stop, not now, not when he must find Norton and take him as far away from Paris as possible. He coughs into his hand and blood spatters across it, but he wipes it off on his shirt and keeps going—the fabric is black, so no one will see the stain anyway.

In the closet he keeps a few bags and satchels, mostly for carrying small things such as makeup and wallets, but there is one that will suit his needs. He pulls it from its low shelf, and every movement makes his chest feel like it’s being crushed.

Naib shoves whatever he might need from here into the bag, which isn’t much; in terms of physical possessions, most of his are those frivolous outfits for shows. He takes his medicine, a bit of money he keeps stashed in the bottom drawer of the vanity, a few sets of clothes that aren’t indecent.

The door swings open and Naib looks up in horror, afraid the Duke has followed to make sure he isn’t trying to escape their deal. Thankfully, it’s only Bernard. Less thankfully, he looks enraged.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bernard asks, not quite shouting but very close to it.

“Norton and I are going away,” Naib snaps, not about to waste time with his self-serving employer. “Away from the Duke, away from you, away from the Moulin Rouge!”

“What on Earth for?” Bernard asks incredulously. “I just saw you running from the Duke’s tower like a madman. Did he… did he hurt you?”

“No! No, nothing like that,” Naib says, shuddering. “He threatened to kill Norton if I didn't stay with him. So we’re leaving. Both of us, tonight.” He swings the bag over his shoulder.

Bernard steps in front of the door. “You can’t do that, Subedar.”

“Try and stop me,” Naib hisses. “Move, or I’ll move you myself.” No one is keeping him away from Norton this time.

“You need to put that down and listen to me,” Bernards says firmly. “Just listen, for once in your life!”

Naib isn’t going to endure this any longer. “No! All my life I’ve had to do what people told me! I’ve never been treated like someone with real value until Norton found me. He’s different. He loves me, and I won’t let that go.”

He shoves past the other man and turns the doorknob, ready to be done with everything involving the Moulin Rouge. “Goodbye, Bernard.”

“You’re dying, Naib!”

Naib freezes.

“You’re dying,” Bernard repeats after a few seconds of awful silence. He sounds defeated.

The word loops in Naib’s head. Dying? Yes, he’s sick, but he’s not dying. Surely he’d know.

Then he thinks of the blood. The pain. The effort it took to make it up the stairs.

You're lying, Naib wants to say. He wants to call Bernard’s cruel bluff, his pathetic attempt at keeping his star performer.

But he can’t, because Bernard never uses his first name.

Slowly, he turns back to face Bernard. He can’t speak or move, even though he dearly wants to scream and demand an explanation.

“The doctor spoke with me a few weeks ago,” Bernard continues when Naib doesn’t respond. “He told us you had months at the most.”

“Months,” Naib echoes.

“At most,” Bernard finishes for him.

Naib exhales shakily. The bag slips from his shoulder and onto the floor. He doesn’t bother to pick it up.

“If you leave, the Duke will hunt you down,” Bernard says. “You know that, and I'm sure you thought you could evade him as long as you two were together. But when you die, Norton will be alone in that battle.”

Bernard’s last words cut directly to Naib’s heart. To put Norton in danger and then abandon him, even if it was against his own will, would be the greatest cruelty.

“Then what do I do?” Naib asks. He’d really said it to himself, but Bernard overhears, and heaves a sigh as if he knows Naib will hate whatever he says next.

“Leave him.”

“What?” Naib stares in disbelief.

“Leave him,” Bernard says again, staring back. “I know you love him, but you can’t save him like this. There’s only one way to do that, and it’s to never see him again. The Duke will stay away as long as you keep him happy.”

Naib shakes his head. “Norton won’t let it go so easily. He knows I love him.”

“Then you have to convince him otherwise,” Bernard says quietly. “You have to hurt him to save him.”

Naib grits his teeth. “The Duke told me to do that.”

“For a very different reason,” Bernard argues.

“It’s going to destroy him.”

“But he’ll stay alive.”

“Goddamnit,” Naib murmurs. “I know you’re right, but I…”

“Go to him,” Bernard says. “Go say goodbye, and do what you need to do.”

Naib squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them, they’re brimming with tears. He turns away and opens the door, stepping through.

The bag lies forgotten on the floor.

He takes the steps more slowly this time, now that there is no need for urgency, now that he knows the truth.

He can’t run away from this, because there’s nowhere to go where death won’t find him.

Since he can’t run, he must stay, and make sure Norton leaves.

He tries to think of the positives, the way Norton would if he were in this position. If he stays, the Duke will think himself triumphant until he realizes he’s gotten a ticking time bomb instead of a lover. Perhaps in his last moments, Naib will be able to find some satisfaction in that. He can also die doing what he loves, and finally be appreciated as an actor rather than a pretty face, even if only for a short time.

At the very least he can protect Norton, which is all he’s ever wanted to do.

Still, it’s not enough to soothe the ache in his lungs and his heart, and with every step he curses himself for his weakness, because he should have known from the start that people like him were never meant to have happy endings.

They're creatures of the underworld. They can’t afford to love.

Chapter Text

Taking the stairs up to Norton’s apartment, Naib feels as though he might faint. Partly from the shock of finding out his inevitable fate, partly from the way he can’t get enough air, and partly because of what he knows he must do.

Hurt him to save him.

This won’t be easy; not only because it will be painful, but because Norton is the most determined person Naib has ever had the privilege of knowing. He won’t let go without a fight, and Naib knows that if he wants this to work, he must be ruthless. Loving Norton means he knows his weaknesses, and therefore will know just what to say to hurt him the most.

He’s just not sure that when he does manage to break Norton, he won’t break too.

It’s almost impossible to believe that only a few months ago, he’d never believed people like Norton Ruíz-Campbell could exist in the world. The very idea of someone so kind, so brilliant, was nearly unfathomable. More impossible was the idea that such a person could love him, a courtesan disillusioned with life. Norton proved him wrong. He was proof that love could persevere.

Yet even love cannot stop death.

Each step upward cements the inevitability of his next actions. Everything he’s gained, he is about to throw away, and this time there is no way out.

When he finally makes it to the apartment he leans against the door, catching his breath and trying to hold in the loud, hacking coughing fit that is trying to claw its way out of his lungs. Norton still isn’t aware of his illness, and Naib intends to keep it that way. If everything goes as planned, Norton won’t ever know that he has died.

He closes his eyes and thinks of how only days ago he and Norton had made love. They’d told each other how much they adored and needed each other, again and again and again. Afterwards, Norton had finally told him his full last name, and confessed why he was so reluctant to share it with others. Naib had kissed his fingertips and told him it was beautiful.

He holds onto the memory for one blissful moment, then opens his eyes and forces it away. If he’s to do this, he can’t think of the good times.

That can come later, when he is once again alone and will have nothing else.

Naib takes a deep breath—one that rattles in his lungs—and pushes open the door. Norton always keeps it unlocked, the foolish man, and though his back is turned Naib can see how he jumps when the door creaks on its hinges.

When Norton turns around and sees that it is Naib who’s entered, his entire demeanor softens. He’s fully dressed even though it’s late, and Naib realizes with a pang of guilt that he must have been planning on staying up all night just in case Naib decided to come see him.

“Norton,” Naib begins, “I—”

“I was so worried,” Norton says in a rush, hurrying forward to embrace Naib. “All night I was wondering if you were alright.”

“I need to—” Naib tries again, but Norton keeps going.

“Thank you for coming back to me,” Norton says, and leans in to kiss him.

“I’m staying with the Duke,” Naib interrupts sharply, pushing him away. The act is like a physical pain, as if he’s reaching into his own chest and pulling his heart apart piece by piece.

Norton blinks, stumbling back. “What?” Naib can tell from his tone that his words haven’t registered yet.

“He offered me everything I ever wanted,” Naib continues, because he knows if he stops he won’t be able to start again. “All I have to do is stay with him.”

“But you don’t want to be with him,” Norton says, and the confusion and blooming frustration in his tone makes Naib want to forsake the plan, run into his arms. But he can’t. Because if he denies Jack, Norton will die.

“I do,” Naib replies, adding as much viciousness into his tone as he can bear. “I’m surprised you haven’t realized yet.”

“Realized what?” Norton asks, sounding irate, and somehow the anger is a relief. It means Norton might move on more quickly. “This isn’t… it’s not funny, Naib.”

The next sentence is the hardest thing Naib has ever had to say. “I can’t believe you haven’t realized that I’m tired of you.”

Silence.

“You don’t mean that. Naib, you don’t.” Norton takes a shaky breath. “You can’t.”

“I mean every word.” Naib’s hands are trembling and he curls them into fists to hide it. “Everything he told me makes sense. You’re just a composer, Norton, and this is Paris, where musicians are a dime a dozen. You can’t provide for me. You can’t love me the way I need to be loved.”

“And he can?” It’s horrible to look at Norton now, to see how his dark eyes are wide and glistening with tears.

“Yes,” Naib replies. “Yes, he can.”

“No,” Norton says quietly. “This is a trick. He’s making you say this. What did he tell you? Is he going to hurt you if you don’t leave me?”

You’ve always been so smart, my love, Naib thinks wistfully. But right now it is a curse, because Naib will have to work that much harder to hurt him.

He does not deserve someone like Norton. Norton has brought light and hope and love into his life, and in return Naib has given him nothing but pain.

He narrows his eyes. “Are you stupid? Or are you simply refusing to listen? I don’t want you anymore, Norton.”

“Don’t say that.” Norton’s voice cracks. “Please, don’t say that. Don’t let him tear us apart.”

“It’s not just about him,” Naib says desperately, hoping he won’t have to go much further, praying he won’t have to use the cruelest thing he has in store. “It’s about you. Us. We don’t work, Norton! I knew it from the start.” He turns to leave and Norton grabs his arm, pulling him back. Naib coughs, then covers his mouth in horror. He can’t let Norton know how sick he is, or he’ll never leave.

He has to get out of here.

“Let of me,” he gasps out. “Norton, let go!”

“You have to tell me what happened!” Norton begs. “None of this makes sense! We said we loved each other!”

“It’s your own fault for believing me!” Naib shouts, then turns his face away, shuddering. His lungs are on fire.

Norton is silent for a long, long while. Then he speaks again, each word wavering. “But you do love me.”

Naib’s jaw clenches. He’s unable to look anywhere but at the floor, chest heaving for air. The Duke’s voice echoes in his head.

Shatter him.

“No,” he manages to get out, “I don’t.” Every fiber of his body is screaming at him to stop, but he can’t, not if Norton is to live.

Norton’s hold on him disappears, and he nearly drops the act. He doesn’t want this to be the way it ends.

“Tell me you’re lying.” Even without looking, Naib can tell that Norton is crying. “Naib, tell me you’re lying!”

Naib shakes his head. “I can’t do that.” He coughs again and clutches at his throat, wishing he could rip away the sickness that tears them apart.

Norton tries to say something, but it dissolves into a choked sob. The sound strikes something deep within Naib’s soul.

He has to say it. He has no choice. If he doesn’t, there’s no guarantee that Norton won’t keep trying.

“You mean nothing to me.” The words burn terribly as they leave his mouth. Norton whimpers and Naib grips the side of the doorway, holding himself up so he doesn’t collapse from pain and grief.

He makes the mistake of looking up and oh, how Norton’s expression will haunt him forever.

“I feel nothing for you,” he continues, starting to cough again. He turns away from Norton, grasping the doorknob.

“No,” Norton cries, “no, no, Naib, please don’t leave me.”

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

“Naib…” Norton’s voice is nothing but a broken whisper.

Naib glances back one last time, and deals the final blow.

Norton, please, don’t forgive me. Just forget me.

“You. Are. Nothing.”

He slams the door behind him, but he can still hear Norton’s crying and pleading through it. He hurries down the stairs, longing to go back and swear to Norton he didn’t mean any of it. He digs his nails into his palms to stop himself.

He has to rest again once he reaches the ground floor, and he’s half-convinced he can hear Norton’s sobs even down here. He coughs several times into his elbow, the force of it making his shoulders shake, and when he pulls away the fabric of his shirt is bloody.

As he leaves the building, he leaves his heart there too.

Outside it’s begun storming, and Naib shivers as he walks quickly back in the direction of the Elephant. The rain soaks through his clothes and chills his skin. He can’t find it in himself to care. All he can think about is how just hours earlier he’d told Norton that he’d love him, come what may.

And now Norton will forever think him a liar; a cruel, selfish liar.

But he will be alive. Naib tries to comfort himself by repeating this fact over and over in his mind. Norton might be hurting now, but he will stay alive.

By the time he reaches the Elephant he’s completely drenched, and the cold has worsened his cough. Making it up the stairs takes monumental effort. How many steps has he taken today? Too many, if his lungs have anything to say about it.

He opens the door and sees that Bernard is standing there waiting for him in the main room. Naib wonders if he’s stayed here the entire time to make sure Naib hadn’t disregarded rationality and run off anyway.

Neither greets the other, both staring in silence.

Half of Naib wishes Bernard hadn’t told him the truth, while the other half knows it was better to know than to have run off with Norton and die unexpectedly, leaving his love alone and in peril. The resentment is there regardless.

At last Bernard opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, Naib feels a wetness on his cheek that is too warm to have come from the rain. He brings his fingers up to press against it, and realizes that he’s begun crying.

As if the revelation has broken some sort of dam, the rest of the tears burst forth. He sobs openly, covering his face with his hands as if it will hide him, even though Bernard has already seen.

“Oh, Subedar,” Bernard sighs, stepping forward.

“I did it,” Naib cries. “I broke him.”

“You did what you had to,” Bernard says, and in his voice is a sadness Naib has never heard before. “I know it must have been hard—”

“It wasn’t hard,” Naib snaps through his tears. “It was the most excruciating thing I’ve ever done. It was like crushing my own heart in my hands.”

“Subedar…” Bernard trails off. For once, the charismatic owner of the Moulin Rouge has been rendered speechless.

“It hurts,” Naib sobs, “it hurts so much.” Within him is a void that grows every second, pulling him down into its despair. “I don’t know how to make it stop.” He won’t be surprised if the sadness kills him before the illness does.

Bernard pats his shoulder awkwardly before pulling back, a stranger to providing comfort. It’s better that way, actually, because Naib’s not sure he could bear any more physical contact with anyone who isn’t Norton.

He wants him back. He needs him back.

“I…” Naib can’t find the words. “I…” His knees wobble, and in the next moment his legs give out. He falls to the floor heavily, curling in on himself.

Bernard makes a noise of concern and reaches out, until he realizes that Naib hasn’t fainted and is instead sitting back up.

“I love him,” Naib gasps out, clutching his head in his hands. “I need him with me. I… I’ll die anyway, but at least I could have died with him.”

But it’s too late. Norton hates him, and he hates himself too.

“You saved him,” Bernard says. “Isn’t that what matters?”

Naib nods, sobbing too hard to respond properly. Of course it is, but that doesn’t mean that any of this magically becomes easier. He will be the Duke’s plaything until his last day on Earth; he will leave this world never seeing Norton again.

“The show must go on,” Bernard murmurs. “You know that well as anyone.”

But without Norton, Naib isn’t so sure that anything, let alone the show, matters anymore.

Chapter Text

It’s the opening night of Spectacular Spectacular, and Norton is curled up in bed, unmoving. He’d gotten dressed, managed to eat a bit of food, but then collapsed back under the covers and has refused to move since.

He’s tried to enter the Moulin Rouge twice since Naib broke his heart. Both times he’d been stopped, rather forcefully, by guards who were obviously stationed there on the Duke’s orders. He’s still sporting the remnants of a black eye from his last attempt. After that, he’d given up on trying to reach Naib. If the other man wants to be with the Duke instead, fine.

...Except that it is the furthest thing from fine. It’s so painful that Norton feels as if he is stuck in the ocean, being dashed upon the rocks again and again by relentless waves. There is no reprieve from this heartbreak.

Demi and Chloe are both in the apartment as well, trying and failing to console him. Their words wash over him uselessly, because they are not what he wants to hear. All he wants is for Naib to tell him that he loves him, that he wants them to be together. If he did, Norton would forgive him for everything. He knows he would.

But it won’t happen, because Naib doesn’t love him. He has chosen the Duke.

“I’ve known Naib a long time,” Demi says, sitting at the edge of the bed and squeezing his shoulder, “and I know he loves you.”

“If he loved me,” Norton rasps, “he wouldn’t have been so cruel.” It’s true that Naib had tried to leave before, but never with such viciousness. This time, it’s as if Naib has reached into Norton’s chest and crushed his heart in his hands.

“Norton, something isn’t right here,” she tries. “He must have been threatened by the Duke.”

Norton says nothing. Because if that were true, why wouldn’t Naib simply tell him? He’d thought they could trust each other. But perhaps Naib has never trusted Norton to be able to protect him, and that burns worse than any physical injury.

“There’s no way he could have meant it.” The hand on his shoulder tightens. They’ve been going back and forth for nearly an hour now, the women doing their best to convince Norton that there is still hope. As of now, they are losing the battle.

He shrugs it off, uncomfortable with the touch. The only person he wants near him right now has left him. “He meant every word.”

“I just want you to listen—”

“Demi,” Chloe says suddenly, “could you step out for a minute?”

Demi looks back and forth from her lover to Norton, then bites her lip. “Okay….” She does as she’s asked, leaving the apartment and closing the door behind her carefully.

Norton looks at Chloe questioningly. She has stayed standing at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed. “What did you do that for?”

“I told her to leave because she’d be mad if I wasn’t nice,” she explains. “And I’m not going to be nice. What the hell, Norton? We’re trying to help you.”

“You can’t,” he says irritably. “No one can.”

“Well, that is the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard,” she shoots back. “Are you just going to lie in bed until you rot?”

He looks away. “Most likely.”

“No,” she says, and he can hear the glare in her tone. “You are not. Look at me, Norton.”

Reluctantly, he does.

“Do you truly believe he doesn’t love you?” she asks.

Does he?

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “I don’t know if it was all a lie or not, and it’s driving me mad.” He has thought of Naib’s last words to him over and over, and it never gets easier.

“Then you can either lie here feeling sorry for yourself, or you can do something about it.” Her words are harsh, but Norton knows they come from a place of concern.

“Do what?” He asks helplessly. “I’ve already tried.”

“Try again,” she says firmly. “If you love someone, you never stop trying. I gave everything up from my old life because I love Demi. I love her more than anything in the world. I know you feel that way about Naib, and I know you’re hurting, but you can’t stop trying.”

He stays silent.

She presses her lips together firmly. “Fine. Demi,” she calls, “you can come back in.”

Demi pokes her head back into the room. “I checked the clock in the hall. It’s nearly six.”

Six. The show will start in less than an hour. After that, Naib will belong to the Duke forever.

“Then we should go,” Chloe says. “Bernard will have already enough to say since we weren’t there all day, and I don’t care to spend half my night being yelled at.”

Norton stares ahead, mind occupied with the awful images his traitorous brain is conjuring of Naib and the Duke. Will the Duke end up making Naib his husband one day? It’s not unlikely.

He’s going to be ill thinking about it.

“Norton!” Demi snaps her fingers, startling him out of his spiraling thoughts. “Take a breath.”

He exhales shakily.

“We’re going to get ready for opening night,” Chloe says, making her way to the door, “and I expect you to be there. If you aren’t, I’ll be very disappointed.”

Before she leaves, Demi turns back to look at Norton. “Be careful,” she says, and it’s the most serious he has ever heard her be.

Then they are gone, and Norton is alone.

He closes his eyes and waits until their footsteps have faded. Then, heaving a great sigh, he stands up. He knows that Chloe is right, and he’s said similar things to Naib before. He can’t let himself give in to this despair. If it wasn’t real, he has to find out for himself.

There’s no need to change into fancy clothes, for he has no need to impress anyone. No more illusions, no more lies. He has grown tired of this city’s glamour. He laces up his boots and runs a hand through his hair, all the grooming he deems necessary.

He glances back at the bureau. Before he can stop himself, he’s digging through the top drawer for the cash he’s been saving up. He hadn’t told Naib about it because of what it was intended to be used for.

After opening night, he would have bought a ring.

But perhaps this money will have a use yet. Stuffing it into his back pocket, he exits the apartment and hurries down the stairs, then takes a deep breath before stepping outside.

And for the last time, he goes back to the Moulin Rouge.

As he walks he makes a plan; going in the front entrance will be impossible given the guards. He’ll have to go around to the backstage doors, which thankfully he’s no stranger to. Then it’s just a matter of getting to Naib’s dressing room and confronting him. Somehow, that’s a much more frightening task than getting past the Duke’s men.

Once he’s close enough, he sees that the entire building is lit up with lights of all colors; silver, gold, while, red. People are streaming in through the gates, and Norton is thankful for the crowd. The guards will likely have been told to be on the lookout for him, and if they are busy searching through the many faces that are entering, they won’t notice him as he runs to the back.

He reaches the first backstage door, the one he and Naib always met outside of. He looks left, looks right, then slips inside.

Backstage is achingly familiar, the hustle and bustle so great that no one takes notice of him. He makes his way through the halls with ease, trying to avoid bumping into any of the dancers or crew as they dart about, carrying props and makeup and whatever else warrants them tearing through the place at such great speeds. It’s so busy, though, that by the time he gets through to the stairs that lead to the second floor, the show has already started. He takes the steps two at a time, knowing there’s no time to waste.

He’s just reached the last step when he sees the guard.

There’s no question about his position. The man is huge, muscles visible through his suit, and the hand at his hip makes it obvious he’s in possession of a holstered gun. Norton is nearly spotted but ducks behind a curtain just in time. He peeks out, watching as the guard turns to the opposite side and walks down the other hall.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Norton scampers out from his hiding place and moves toward the main dressing rooms. He knows that Naib likes to take the first one on the right, as it’s closest to the stage.

He’s almost there where he hears the heavy footfalls of the guard returning, and looks around desperately for another curtain or similar cover. He spots one on the other side of the hall, and makes a desperate run for it.

The guard turns the corner. Norton presses himself against the wall behind the curtain and holds his breath. The hulking man takes an excruciatingly long time to walk through the hallways, but finally ends up pushing open a door to another section of backstage and going through it. Once it’s slammed behind him, Norton abandons all subtly and sprints to the dressing room.

The moment he reaches it he flings open the door. It’s empty, of course, given that the play’s begun, but it’s no great loss. Norton can wait.

He paces the small room, his hands laced behind his back. Each minute seems to stretch for an eternity. It hadn’t seemed so long during rehearsal. Norton’s stomach roils with anxiety. He’s not sure he can do this.

Finally, muted cheering comes through the walls. Act one is over, then. Any minute now. Norton faces the door, heart pounding in his chest.

When Naib enters and realizes that the room is already occupied, his mouth falls open.

“Norton?” He whispers, and he sounds almost scared.

“I’ve come to pay you,” Norton says quietly.

“What?” Confusion is written across Naib’s face. He steps back as Norton approaches. “Why are you here?” Even in all his anger and sadness, Norton can’t help noticing how gorgeous Naib is. He’s dressed in a gorgeous white outfit, his makeup light and glittery, his hair tied with white ribbon. He looks every bit the innocent courtesan of the play.

But Norton knows better now.

“You’re paid to tell people what they want to believe, yes?” Norton laughs humorlessly. “You did your job so very well. It’s time that I gave you what I owe.”

Naib’s face falls. “No, Norton. Please, don’t do that.”

“Why not?” Norton asks, pulling the money from his pocket. “Isn’t this what you wanted? The money? The security? All those things I couldn’t give you?”

Naib turns his head away. “Stop it.”

“Why?” Norton repeats. “If it wasn’t true then why can’t I pay you?”

“Stop!” Naib yells, then shudders, covering his mouth as he coughs. Norton nearly moves to comfort him before he remembers himself. He waits for Naib to finish, money crumpling in his fist.

Naib straightens, wiping his chin, red lipstick smearing across it. “You have to leave,” he says.

“I will,” Norton replies, “once you let me pay you.”

“No!” Naib snaps. “I’m not taking that money. You don’t understand, you need to go right now.” He opens the door again, walking away. “And I have to be back on the stage.”

Norton chases after him, more confused and upset than ever. “You’re right, I don’t understand. If you don’t want the money then why did you leave me?”

“Forget it,” Naib hisses, “please, just—” He’s cut off by another coughing fit. Still, he keeps moving.

Norton catches Naib by the wrist, pulling him back. “Tell me it wasn’t real, then! Tell me you don’t love me or let me pay!”

“Norton, stop!” Naib gasps. “You have to leave!” He yanks on his arm, trying to shake off Norton’s grip. His breathing is ragged.

“Norton!” The call of his name comes from the opposite side of backstage, where Demi and Chloe are staring in horror. Demi’s hands are cupped around her mouth as she yells to him. “You have to go! We just found out that the Duke—”

He tunes her out, too focused on Naib and the way his heart feels like it’s being crushed all over again. By this time they’ve made it to the very middle of the second floor, just behind a set of intricate prop doors. Norton can hear the actors onstage, the cheers of the crowd, but none of it matters.

“Tell me you hate me,” he begs, because the uncertainty is what’s most unbearable. “Tell me I’m nothing. Tell me!”

“I can’t!”

“Why?”

“Because—”

The doors swing open.

Norton and Naib freeze, staring out into the faces of the audience. The actors are staring too, confused at the sudden appearance of their exiled writer. Norton spots the Duke in the front row, his face contorted with rage.

Don’t worry, he thinks, you’ve won anyway.

For a moment, all is terribly silent. Then Bernard, in the role of the rich man, does what he does best and improvises.

“Aha! I see right through your ruse, scoundrel! Though you have adopted a disguise, I see that you are still the poor performer here to steal away my betrothed!”

The audience makes a collective sound of understanding. But Norton can’t find it in himself to be relieved. Why should he care for the show anymore, when everything that matters is already ruined?

He stands, pulling Naib up with him. He walks forward a few paces so that everyone can see, then throws the money at Naib’s feet.

“This man is yours now,” he says, reciting the lines of the scorned performer. “I have paid my debts!”

Naib makes a shocked, broken sound. Norton forces himself to continue, looking into Naib’s eyes.

“Thank you,” he says, “for curing me of my ridiculous obsession with love.”

Slowly, he walks further downstage until he is by the little stairs that lead off it. He fights the urge to look back, then steps down onto the audience floor, heading up the middle row, ready to leave this part of his life behind forever.

Where he will go from here, he doesn’t know or care. Perhaps back to America, where he can find a dead-end job and numb himself until he never thinks of Naib again.

Someone is crying. He does not turn to see who, because if it is who he fears then he will never be able to walk through those doors.

He has almost made it out when Demi’s voice rings out through the building. “WAIT!”

Against his better judgement, he does.

“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn,” she shouts, “is just to love and be loved in return!”

Norton’s breath hitches.

Then he hears another voice. Tentative, quiet, but there all the same. Naib is singing—singing their secret song. The one that means they’ll always love each other, come what may. Norton turns to see him. Tears are streaming down Naib’s face, his makeup is smudged and his hair falling into his face, but nothing detracts from the beauty of his voice.

When he finishes, there is no sound but that of his labored breathing. Norton stares, hardly daring to hope.

“I love you,” Naib whispers, but the room is so silent that Norton hears it anyway, and it takes his breath away.

Then Naib speaks again, louder. “I’m so sorry. None if it was true. You’re not nothing. You are everything to me. I love you so much.” He takes one step forward, then another. “Please, come back to me.”

Norton has no words, so he does the only thing he can think of. He begins to walk back to the stage, and opens his mouth to sing the remaining refrain of their song. Naib joins in, eyes alight with a hope that must be reflected in Norton’s own.

Taking the steps back up, Norton meets Naib in the middle of the stage, lacing their hands together. They finish the song together, staring into each other’s eyes.

“I love you,” Naib says again. “I do.”

Norton kisses him.

Naib returns it eagerly, throwing his arms around Norton’s neck. Norton’s hands come to rest at Naib’s waist, pulling him as close as he can.

The audience cheers, by some miracle still convinced this is all part of the show. Norton doesn’t care either way, because he has Naib in his arms once again. When he pulls away for breath he presses their foreheads together, sighing softly.

Then the orchestra begins to play again, startling them both. Right, the play isn’t finished.

They look at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. Norton knows all the performer’s lines anyway, so why not just go for it?

They turn back to the audience, and they perform.

Barring the dramatics at the beginning of the second act, the opening night of Spectacular Spectacular goes, well, spectacularly. The show ends with all of the actors onstage for the final song, Norton and Naib at the center of it all.

Norton may not have heard the last of what Demi had been trying to yell at him earlier, but he finds out soon enough. Out of the corner of his eye, Norton sees the guard from earlier taken down by a well-timed high kick by one of the dancers—Margaretha, he thinks, who he’s met once or twice before. Demi and Chloe scurry over, dragging him further out of sight. Something shiny is left behind before Chloe runs back and takes it; it takes a minute for Norton to realize it was the gun.

Ah, of course the Duke’s jealousy would reach murderous levels. But as long as that’s the only imcompetent assassin on the job, there’s nothing to really worry about.

Just as he thinks that, Norton hears another commotion and turns to the left just in time to see Chloe land a punch directly into the Duke’s face. The aristocrat goes stumbling back, something falling from his hand. It’s quickly scooped up by Demi, who runs in the other direction.

Norton gets the feeling that some sort of great disaster has just been avoided. He watches with great pleasure as the Duke stands slowly, rubbing his jaw. With a sneer, he turns his back and stalks out of the theatre, and out of their lives.

The music and voices rise to the grand final note, and the audience’s applause and cheers rise to meet them. With one last triumphant piano riff, the show is over, and the audience members leap to their feet. People three towns over must hear the commotion. Norton grins, amazed. He’s never thought of himself as much of a performer, but maybe he could get used to it.

Then Naib slips his hand into his, and Norton turns back to him. He pulls Naib in to kiss him once more, deeply.

They kiss again and then again, uncaring of anything else.

“I’m sorry,” Naib says once they must part for air, barely audible over the roar of the audience. “The Duke was going to kill you. I had to save you.”

“It’s alright,” Norton says, holding Naib’s face in his hands. “It’s alright. All that can come later. Right now I’m just glad that I still have you. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Naib murmurs.

Norton smiles and leans in for another kiss. Now that he knows Naib will always love him, he’s not letting him go again.

The curtain falls, and the cast and crew begin to celebrate along with the audience. Naib and Norton are the only ones not in on the cheering, because they are too wrapped up in each other. It’s only when Demi jokingly tries to pull their faces apart that they relent, laughing.

Bernard yells at them all to get in places for bows, but he’s chuckling too. Norton can’t stop smiling, and he tugs gently at Naib’s hand, ready to slip away back to his apartment and do nothing but hold and kiss and cherish Naib for a long, long time.

Naib stumbles beside him. He leans forward, clutching at his chest and throat.

“What’s wrong?” Norton asks. “Naib?”

He’s alarmed when Naib collapses to the ground, and the alarm turns to terror when Naib coughs and blood spatters onto the wooden floor.

“Naib!” He shouts, dropping to his knees beside his lover.

Naib doesn’t answer him, just continues coughing. He rolls onto his back, gasping for air. Norton’s hands are shaking. He doesn’t know what to do. “Someone get some help!” He yells, and a few of the dancers run offstage, hopefully to find a doctor. “Naib, look at me,” he says, slipping an arm under Naib’s shoulders and trying to hold him up.

“I’m sorry, Norton,” Naib manages through his efforts to keep breathing, “I...I’m dying. I’m sorry.”

“What?” Norton doesn’t believe what he’s hearing.

“S-should’ve told you.” Naib coughs again, every word a visible struggle. “I’m sorry.”

No. This can’t be happening. Not when he’s just gotten Naib back. He can feel himself start to panic, hands trembling harder. “You’re not dying. We’re going to get you some help.”

Naib’s eyes are fluttering open and shut. “Too late. It… it’s okay. I… got to see you. Got to be in your arms. All I wanted.”

“No.” Norton’s lip trembles. “No, it’s not okay. I need you, Naib. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Naib says, though it’s clear that every word takes a terrible effort.

The tears overflow. “Don’t leave me again,” Norton cries. “Please, don’t leave me.”

“Oh, Norton,” Naib says, raising a shaking hand to his face. Norton takes his hand in his own and it’s so cold, too cold. “I’ll always be with you.”

Norton can’t speak. He can only press his lips to Naib’s forehead and hold his hand tighter.

“Promise me,” Naib whispers. “Promise you’ll… tell our story, Norton.”

Norton shakes his head. “I can’t go on without you,” he sobs.

Naib squeezes his hand weakly. “Promise,” he repeats. “Promise.”

Norton can hardly speak through his tears. “I promise,” he whispers.

A faint smile graces Naib’s lips. Then his hold on Norton weakens, until his hand falls back to the ground. His raspy breathing stops. His eyes are glassy, empty.

He’s gone.

Norton wails. It’s an ugly, horrible, heartbroken sound. He rocks back and forth, cradling Naib to his chest.

“No,” he cries, “no, no, no. Please, God, no.” He buries his face in Naib’s hair, muffling his sobs. He breathes in Naib’s scent, trying to hold on, praying that this isn’t real. That if he just holds Naib long enough, he’ll wake up. “Please, please, God.”

His light, his life. Gone.

Around them, the actors watch helplessly. Bernard takes off his hat, bowing his head. Demi hugs Chloe tightly, both of them in tears.

And just for a moment the whole world seems to stop, as the man who believed in love above all holds in his arms the man who made that belief real.

Chapter Text

Paris, 1900.

It may be a new century, but the Montmartre Quarter hasn’t changed at all. So when Norton steps foot in the district for the first time in almost a year, it’s easy to find the apartment he’s looking for.

It had been too painful to remain in Paris. Everywhere he went reminded him of gentle touches and words he would never hear again. A few weeks after Naib passed away, Norton had packed up and returned to the States. This is his first time returning to the City of Love.

He takes his time walking along the cobblestone roads dotted with snow flurries, his overcoat keeping out the cold. It’s only a bit past noon, so most of the bars and entertainment venues are just now opening. The quiet bustle of shop owners and early customers is somehow comforting.

He makes a left at the next street, coming to a stop in front of a shabby but welcoming apartment building. A sleepy cat resting to the side of the entrance tilts its head at him as he walks in.

The apartment he’s come to visit is on the first floor of the building, so thankfully he doesn’t have to trek up and down the rickety stairs that he doubts could hold the weight of a full-grown man. Its door has a wooden sign hung on the front, with Bohemians Welcome painted on it in haphazard red strokes.

He knocks twice, then stuffs his hands in his pockets to warm them and waits. It only takes a moment for the occupants to answer, and Norton smiles when he sees a familiar face open the door.

“Norton?” Chloe Nair asks, blinking in disbelief. “You’re back in the city?”

He waves sheepishly.

“Who is it?” Demi calls from somewhere inside.

“Come and see,” Chloe says, a smile slowly overtaking her features.

The door opens wider to reveal Demi leaning in curiously. Her entire face lights up when she sees Norton, and she rushes through to hug him, nearly bowling him over with the force of it. “Norton! You’re back!”

“I am,” he says, returning her embrace.

“Well come in, come in,” she says, letting go in order to beckon him inside. “Make yourself comfortable. My God, Norton Campbell! It’s nearly been a year.”

He takes his hat off as he enters, setting it on the counter awkwardly as he doesn’t see a hatrack. Chloe snickers and he blushes, but she pats his shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’re just funny.”

Demi is rustling through one of the kitchen cabinets, reemerging triumphantly with a bottle of amber-colored liquid and three glasses. “This calls for a good drink.” She gestures with her free hand to Chloe. “Could you go get the bread, sweetheart? The bit we already have sliced.”

“Jam, too?” Chloe asks, making her way over.

“You’ve read my mind.” Demi nudges the cabinet shut with her hip, then returns to where Norton is still standing. “We’ve got a little patio, if you want to sit out there.”

“It’s freezing,” Chloe protests from the kitchen.

“It is indeed,” Demi agrees cheerfully, “and we could use the fresh air.”

“That sounds perfect,” Norton says.

“I knew you’d agree,” Demi chirps, and tilts her head toward a door on the left side of the main room. He follows her outside, taking one of the metal chairs, grateful that he’s wearing so many layers.

Demi uncorks the bottle, filling up each glass. “Mead,” she explains. “Chloe’s gotten me into it, and I don’t think this is an absinthe sort of day.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” he jokes.

Chloe emerges with a plate of bread and a jar of jam, a pair of butter knives in her other hand. “I hope you’re in the mood for bread, because it’s too early to be cooking.” She sets the plate down and takes a seat as well.

“Bread is great,” he says, reaching for a slice and one of the knives. “So,” he continues, spreading a bit of jam over the center of it, “how are things in the city?”

“Not much different.” Chloe sips at her mead. “The Bohemian ideals hold strong.”

“Cheers to that,” Demi says, raising her glass.

Norton pauses, taking a drink before resuming. “And the Moulin Rouge?”

“We went and visited the other night,” Chloe says, “though we’re writing for other venues now.”

“It’s still operating?” He asks, surprised.

“Mhm,” Demi confirms, “and still very popular.” Even without him, is her unsaid implication. “They’re doing As You Like It now. Branching into the classics. It works well, actually.”

“I suppose I’m just surprised the Duke didn’t foreclose it,” he says. “He easily could have.”

“I guess he cared,” Chloe sighs, breath like smoke curling in the air, “in his own twisted way. However hard that is to believe.”

Norton chews at his lip. Imagining the Duke as anything but selfish and cruel is very difficult. But Naib was special, and it’s not impossible that something in him had changed Jack in some subtle way.

“But tell us about America!” Demi says, cutting into his thoughts. “Have you been well? Seen any cows, or whatever it is you have over there?” She dunks her bread into her mead, earning a groan from Chloe.

He laughs. “No cows. I’ve been working as a typist during the days, writing at night. Published a few things on the side.” It’s not the ideal situation, but he is content and that is enough.

“Ah, that reminds me! How is the book going?” Demi asks, snapping her fingers and munching on her bread.

He takes another sip. “It’s coming along. Slowly, but it’s happening.”

Naib had asked him to tell their story, and Norton intends to keep that promise. Though he’s more familiar with music and scripts, he has put himself to the task of writing a novel that will hold their love within its pages. It’s not easy, to be sure, and the first weeks of trying to relive the past had been agony, but now it is a project that Norton cherishes.

Through the words, his and Naib’s love will live forever.

“You’ll bring us signed copies, won’t you?” Demi asks.

“Of course,” he replies. “You’re at the top of my list.”

“Then I eagerly await the day,” she declares, then takes a swig of her drink.

For a moment there is a comfortable silence. Then Chloe takes a breath, setting her glass and food down. She leans forward and looks into Norton’s eyes. “Are you okay?” She asks. “I mean, truly okay.”

He sighs. “I’m learning to be,” he admits. “I wasn’t for a long time, and there are still bad days. I’m better, though.”

She nods. “Sometimes that’s all we can ask for.” She looks away, and Norton knows she is thinking of Vera. Though he can’t imagine her guilt, he feels that they somehow share a bond through loss, no matter how different the loss may have been.

They lapse back into the quiet.

“Do you remember what we toasted to, when we first met?” Demi asks suddenly.

Norton nods. “Truth, beauty, freedom.” For so long, he had thought them lost forever. Only recently has he begun to believe that he may one day find them again.

I’ll always be with you.

“And love,” Demi adds softly.

Norton smiles, thinking of eyes like sapphires and a soul like fire. “Yes,” he agrees. “Above all, love.”