Work Text:
The Abbey hasn’t seen this much glitter since the last black mass ball. Terzo has promised the entire ministry a “spettacolo indimenticabile,” and judging by the chaos of preparations and the backstage area, he meant every word of it.
Every corridor smells faintly of fog machine fluid and fall spices. Ghouls dart every which way in costumes- a fire ghoul in a devil costume, an air ghoul in a crooked witches hat balancing a large box full of fake spiderwebs; and someone was, unsuccessfully, attempting to glue rhinestones to a mic stand.
You were supposed to be one of the back up singers in a group of MANY, and nothing more. But the moment Papa Terzo got that glint in his eye and declared that tonight needed “a partner worthy of the spotlight of the stage”, somehow you were pulled right into the center of the act.
Now you are standing behind the curtain, dressed in a very dramatic half mask and glittered black suit that nearly matches his own.
“Ready, Cara mia?” He whispers as the house lights dim practically all the way.
“Define ready.” You shoot back without missing a beat.
Grinning from ear to ear, the stage lights flashing golden hues across his painted face, he quips back “Too late.”
The curtains sweep open to thunderous cheers.
The first half of the show was nothing but pure Terzo: booming music, cheeky jokes and planned out mock scares that leaves the audience in fits of laughter rather than fright. He sings with the ghouls, dances with the members of the ministry in the crowd, and at one point even does an overly dramatic reading of “The Raven” with such exaggerated Italian charisma and charm that it made it sound like a love poem…he wrote.
And then he finally turns to you.
“Signori e signore,” he purrs into the microphone “for this next number…I require assistance from the most dangerous creature in this room…” a wicked grin washes over his face.
Your cue.
You step into the light, heart hammering in your ears, as the large crowd cheers enthusiastically. The orchestra (that he somehow bribed here specifically for this occasion) strikes up a sultry swing tune- one that you DEFINITELY don’t remember ever rehearsing. Terzo offers his hand with a beautiful theatrical flourish, spinning you into a dance routine that is entirely improvised and also entirely ridiculous and over the top.
But it is so much fun.
He twirls you, dips you, flirts with half the audience in between, all while you both laugh in complete merriment.
By the finale, the crowd is on its feet cheering, clapping in rhythm with the music as you and Terzo hit the final pose together- his arm around your waist, both of you winded and laughing together under the spotlights.
When the curtain finally does fall, the Abbey erupts into the chaos of breakdown- ghouls are rushing around to change, props being packed by other siblings of sin, laughter echoing all over the halls. But Terzo lingers on the stage, watching the crowd filter out as he leans around the curtain.
You step up beside him, voice soft and soothing “You really outdid yourself tonight, Papa.”
He smiles without turning, the edges of his makeup smudged from sweat and laughter.
“No, WE did dolcezza. The people…they will talk of this night for years. The Halloween of miracles and mischief.”
You laugh. “Miracles? Hm? You nearly tripped over the cape on your costume twice.”
He finally turns to face you, eyes shimmering under the fading stage lights. “Ah, but! You caught me. That makes you part of the magic.”
For a moment there is silence between you- only the low hum of amplifiers, and the faint echo of laughter from distant ministry corridors.
Then, softly, he offers his hand again.
“One last encore?”
You place your hand in his without even thinking about it.
The music is gone, but he hums something low and sweet as he draws you in close to him. This dance this time is unhurried- no audience, no spotlight, no theatrics, just the warmth of his gloved palm in yours, and the way his laughter melts into something much gentler.
When the last note he hums fades into silence, he doesn’t step back. His forehead brushes against yours, as loose pieces of his jet black hair fall against the side of your face.
“Grazie.” He murmurs gently. “For making my chaos beautiful.”
You smile, leaning into his embrace. “Anytime, Papa.”
He hesitates for a moment- just long enough for you to feel it and search his hypnotizing gaze- and then with all the tenderness of a velvet curtain dropping, he kisses you. Slow, sure and incredibly sweet. The type of kiss that doesn’t belong to the showman- but to the man underneath the makeup.
The stage lights flicker once, as if in warning of the end of the night. It perfectly catches the shimmer of his cape as he steps away, smiling widely.
“Perhaps next Halloween,” he asks softly “we make it a duet?”