Chapter Text
One.
Nights like this at the Hollywood Ghost Club are what Willie lives for. Well, metaphorically speaking. The music, the lights, the fashion. It’s a party big enough to make him forget everything else.
The blinding pain of his head splitting open on the pavement gets can’t be felt over the pounding of the drums. The aching loneliness that seeps in when the sun comes up and the party ends is drowned out by the wail of the guitar. And the way the bass line moves through his empty veins is almost worth the hours upon hours of cruel, grueling rehearsals Caleb puts him and the other dancers through.
It’s definitely worth it tonight, because tonight Willie gets to share this magic with the adorable blonde drummer boy he nearly killed a second time with his skateboard.
Caleb calls for “dessert,” and Willie takes his cue to spring up and join the other dancers. He keeps his eyes on Alex the whole time, grinning at the awestruck look on Alex’s face. Willie puts all his energy into the dance, in a way he never has before. He thinks he finally understands what dancing is supposed to feel like. It’s supposed to feel like joy, like freedom, like smiling into beautiful blue eyes and having those eyes smile back.
When the choreographed dance break ends and the floor breaks out in chaos, Willie pulls Alex up with him. All he wants is to dance with Alex, but suddenly Reggie is swooning over Marigold and the twins are heading their way and someone—Ernesto, maybe— is tugging Willie away. It all becomes too much. Willie gets lost in the lights and the music and the crowd, and all he can do is put on his meticulously rehearsed smile and go where Ernesto takes him. He ends up face-to-face with some lifers he vaguely recognizes. Caleb wants the ghosts to schmooze this couple in particular so they bring more of their rich and famous friends.
He can’t focus on the conversation. He’s too busy trying to make sense of the blinding swirl of colors around him, looking for Alex’s grungy beat-up jacket in the sea of coattails and cocktail dresses. When he finally catches sight of Alex’s blonde mop, his heart, or whatever he has now in place of one, goes cold.
Alex is dancing with Dante and Fuego. Dante and Fuego, who are older and stronger and way more suave than Willie could ever hope to be. Alex catches Willie’s eyes and waves him over, but Willie barely registers it over the rage rushing through his ears. He has to get out of here.
He poofs up to his room and screams. He’s positive no one downstairs will hear. Not many of them would care if they did.
Of course he’s not allowed to have this one thing. Of course Caleb has to take this away, too. He already has Willie’s soul, his freedom, his control over his own damn body and what he does with it. He was foolish to even think he could have one thing for himself.
Willie screams until his throat is throbbing in pain.