unwritten stories

it's a conversation about minerals , nothing more , nothing less , but every word drifts teasingly between them . each syllable seems to brush the shell of his ear , slip down the column of his throat , daring to fall lower , and lower , and lower . until it feels as though every sound shaped by alejandro's tongue has found a home somewhere along osian's body . against the skin exposed to the night's chill , sinking into marrow , filling the long hollow places inside of him . he doesn't break the moment , he doesn't shatter the silence with words burning like sin on the tarmac of his tongue .

instead , he follows after alejandro , a moth drawn to flame , welcoming the fire that will swallow it whole and leave nothing , not even dust , behind . osian will gladly be consumed , if it means being closer to him . if it means seeing those eyes one more time .

the night air wraps around him , threatening to chill him from the inside out , but he refuses to let it touch him . he keeps moving , closing the distance . his gaze flicks briefly to the lingering smoker , watching them stamp out their cigarette and drift back to the party the two men have just abandoned . and once the space around them is empty , no witnesses , no curious eyes , osian steps into the place he's come to call something else entirely . a name he never allows himself to speak .

apologies roll off of alejandro's tongue , excuses for why they ended up here instead of at the water station , pretending to care about levels and mineral content when both their minds were elsewhere . ❝ and here i was , so looking forward to those waters , ❞ osian teases , stepping forward . the distance shrinks . then another step , and another , until he stands just shy of the other , close enough to feel the warmth radiating off alejandro's body against the bare sliver of his own . ❝ terrible , ❞ he confesses softly , lifting a hand to cradle alejandro's cheek , tracing the line of his jaw , fingers settling lightly against the side of his neck . ❝ i've had to look at you all evening , and barely do anything about it . ❞

there is nothing between them but the secret that lives in their chests , the things that binds them to shadowed corners and stolen moments . it claws behind his ribs , threatens to devour everything in its path , but osian knows he chose this . knows it's for the best , for both of them . ❝ i've missed you , too , ❞ he breathes , as if speaking any louder might steal the meaning . or the moment .

Then Osian’s lips brush the hollow beneath his ear, and the world tilts on its axis. “Osian…” His name leaves Alejandro's lips like a half-formed prayer, half warning—anyone could step into the dark at any moment—yet his hands betray him, sliding out to grip Osian’s waist, gentle but certain. He exhales, unsteady, and when he speaks again his voice is low, frayed at the edges, unable to hide its want. “Minerals,” he repeats, the word a fragile attempt at composure that softens into something almost shy. “They’re formed under pressure,” he murmurs, tipping his head just slightly, offering more of his throat, more skin than he means to give—an invitation wrapped in restraint, aching to be answered.

“Heat. Time. Conditions no one else survives.” A faint smile tugs at his lips, helpless, unguarded. “They don’t shine right away. They have to be pulled out of the dark. Cleaned. Cut. Coaxed into revealing what they really are.” He lets a beat pass, allowing him a chance to attempt to fight the haze his mind was clouding with. “And the rare ones…” His voice drops, warm enough to melt. “You don’t find them twice.” He lets the silence stretch — not tense, not anxious, but full, like inhaling just before a kiss he’s not sure he’s allowed to take.

And then, they have.

And then, that pretty strangers hand was in his pants, curling around his cock and Vik felt all of the breath leave him, like someone had landed a sucker punch right to his gut. It feels so good he can barely stand it.

He makes a noise, a half grunt half moan and braces both of his hands into the door either side of the strangers head, muscles bunching tightly in his arms and his chest flexing as he tries to keep himself standing and upright and as normal as he can manage.

"Fuck..." he drawls, choking on the word when it lodged somewhere half formed out of his mouth. His hips jerk automatically, thrusting slowly into the other mans hand. Vik drops his head, chasing that familiar feeling unfurling like a lily in his stomach. Fuck, it's been a while since he's been on the sober side of fucked up to enjoy shit like this. He can feel it, really feel it, not just pretend that he can and give a shit long enough for it to be over so he can go back to drinking.

No. Viktor can feel this. He can feel the glide of his long fingers over his cock, the sweep of his thumb across the head that makes him hiss loudly into the crook of the strangers neck. His mind warbles and whites out when the stranger starts to talk, filthy word after filthy fucking word. They twist and warp and fold in on one another, thrumming like the beat of bird wings against the soft, pink insides of Viktors chest. He's nodded before he really even knows what the question is, and then, a short and sharply hissed "yes. Anything. Fuck-" into the others neck.

He realises, embarrassingly, that he's shut his eyes and pressed his face into the others shoulder, feeding like a vampire on the warmth he exudes. Viktor blinked himself awake, as if out of a dream and turned his head ever so slightly to press shaky kisses against the juncture of the other mans neck and shoulder.

"I want you." Viktor says softly, hotly, as he lifts his head and presses his mouth into the space below his ear lobe. "-Fucking need you, sweetheart-" He presses one hand against the strangers chest, just holding for a minute and feels the drum of his heart under his palm. It's nice, quaint almost until his dick jerks in the strangers grip and Viktor almost looses his fucking mind. His fingers start to curl like talons and eventually, he has the others throat in a tight grip and Viktor is leaning back, away from him. Viks face is flushed, eyes shining red and ominous in the low glow of the emergency sign. "-So fucking needy." he hums in amusement. He's starving, fucking feral for him. Vik wants to fuck him so badly he can't breath. "-So fucking desperate for cock from someone you don't even know." Viktor flexes his fingers around the strangers throat as a warning, a promise, all the fucking filthy shit in between that. "-Yeah baby, I'll take you back to mine. I'll fuck you all fucking night if that's what you want, right in front of the big windows that cover the strip. Hmm?" Vik leans down until their noses brush and the grin he's wearing is lascivious and vicious as a fucking knives edge.

"-Want me to fuck you where everyone can see? hmm?" Vik thrusts his hips sharply and then, moans unabashed and unashamed. All for him. "-see how fucking well you take me?, how fucking good you look full of me? Aww, baby-" Viktor coos and its almost mocking enough to sting, but he's stroking his thumb along the big vein in the strangers neck as he does it, soothing them both. "-You're so fucking desperate." Vik surges forward suddenly and kisses him, hot and raw and sliding his tongue in along his just so to taste him all over again. The hand around his throat releases like the clink of a vice and then, suddenly, Viktor is tangling those same fingers into his hair and tugging sharply, breaking them apart with a soft, obscenely wet noise.

"Were you waiting for me for some time?" Ren asked when she finally made her way through the thick crowd to find Ale. The end of the bar near the bathrooms was where he was located but it happened to be a place of migration tonight, which she'd luckily been able to slither through without causing much of a fuss. Not that she minded getting into a few verbal altercations after elbowing people out of the way. "I feel like I've already been through three lives since being here. I walked right through a girlfriend accusing her boyfriend of cheating, a drunken girl almost doused me in her sweet pink drink, and I got stopped by a regular who mistook this place as the club." The strip club, but she figured he'd understand what she meant. "—and held onto me as if I owed him any time of day. Needless to say, I need a drink."

Before she could even register what was happening, he began walking, measured and unhurried across the slick pavement, the cold night air biting at them both. Smoke from earlier had long dissipated, leaving only the scent of his cologne mingling with the faint trace of nicotine lingering on his skin. He held her close, the warmth of her body pressed against him, the tremor of nerves and alcohol still pulsing through her, and for a long moment he stayed silent, letting her feel the weight of his presence.

Then, soft but sharp, his voice cut through the night: “Now, this is not about the money you took. I could care less about that. It’s about the actions you took—leaving without properly telling me. Did you think you’d be able to hide from me forever? Did you think I wouldn’t find my most precious jewel? Were you not happy in my company? Did I not spoil you? Give you nice clothes to wear, offer you security? Why did you do it?” He walked on, the question hanging in the cold air between them, his pace steady, each word deliberate.

Minutes later, the headlights of his driver’s car cut through the darkness, and he set her gently into the back seat, making sure she was seated securely. Sliding in beside her, he rested one hand lightly on his knee, eyes tracing her form without speaking for a beat. The city blurred past as the car moved, and finally, his voice returned, calm and almost conversational, yet still carrying the underlying weight of command: “You’re cold. I’ll fix that.” He pushed the seat warmer button, looking at her with an almost gentle look. "Better?"

there  is  that  silent  smirk  ,  soft  ,  disarming  ,  the  one  that  she  learned  as  a  child  ,  curving  at  the  corner  of  her  mouth  .  her  father  used  to  tell  her  it  wasn't  appropriate  for  a  girl  like  her  ,  one  meant  to  sit  quietly  in  the  back  of  the  room  ,  not  command  it  .  how  wrong  he'd  been  ,  when  she  had  made  the  courtroom  her  domain  ,  her  hunting  ground  .  that  innocent  smile  she  word  so  well  had  become  a  quiet  warning  ,  the  last  thing  anyone  saw  before  she  unleashed  the  chaos  she  was  capable  of  .

❝  all  you  have  to  do  is  ask  ,  elijah  ,  ❞  she  murmurs  ,  testing  the  thread  that  ties  them  together  .  maybe  it's  red  ,  maybe  baby  blue  ,  maybe  something  she  hasn't  named  yet  .  for  now  ,  it's  only  linked  them  through  the  mafia  ,  her  by  birth  ,  him  by  earned  place  in  its  ranks  .  ❝  maybe  i'll  take  you  along  the  next  time  it  happens  .  ❞  there  was  never  a  shortage  of  contracts  for  the  mafia  to  carry  out  ,  flimsy  bits  of  paper  that  could  end  a  life  in  the  space  of  a  signature  .  some  deserved  to  receive  their  fate  in  baby  blue  ink  ,  complete  with  a  small  heart  dotting  the  i  .

silence  stretches  between  them  ,  taut  and  humming  .  two  pairs  of  eyes  track  each  other's  every  shift  .  then she  sees  it  ,  that  tiny  twitch  in  his  jaw  ,  the  barest  ripple  under  his  skin  ,  and  her  gaze  snaps  toward  it  ,  waiting  to  see  if  it  happens  again  .  waiting  to  catalog  the  effect  she  has  on  him  .  then  he  leans  forward  ,  just  a  breath's  worth  ,  and  her  eyes  fall  to  his  lips  ,  how  they  part  as  he  takes  the  last  bite  she'd  left  him  .  slowly  ,  she  lifts  her  gaze  again  ,  meeting  eyes  that  have  not  once  wavered  from  her  .  they  hold  hers  as  the  bite  disappears  into  his  mouth  .  and  in  that  moment  ,  something  changes  .

❝  are  you  claiming  me  to  be  the  temptuous  serpent  ,  elijah  ?  ❞  she  asks  after  his  words  settle  into  the  air  between  them  .  the  religion  isn't  hers  ,  she  knows  only  the  stories  retold  ,  but  she  knows  the  shape  of  temptation  .  the  serpent  promising  how  sweet  the  forbidden  fruit  might  taste  ,  if  one  only  dared  a  bite  .  the  thought  lingers  until  his  hand  closes  over  hers  ,  warmth  radiating  up  her  arm  as  though  his  touch  alone  intends  to  burn  her  from  the  inside  out  .

her  eyes  don't  leave  his  face  ,  tracing  every  line  with  an  artist's  precision  ,  before  she  forces  her  gaze  to  the  remnants  on  the  place  ,  sins  awaiting  their  fall  .  ❝  if  you  keep  playing  this  game  with  me  ,  ❞  she  begins  ,  selecting  a  crispy  rice  square  topped  with  tuna  tartare  ,  ❝  you'll  end  up  with  an  invitation  to  the  next  grand  opening  ,  of  whichever  restaurant  it  is  next  time  .  ❞  a  familiar  glint  sparks  in  her  eyes  as  she  holds  the  offering  out  to  him  .  there  was  no  end  to  the  openings  she  and  her  family  were  invited  to  ,  restaurants  ,  casinos  ,  everything  in  between  .  most  were  dreadfully  boring  .  but  bringing  elijah  along  ?  that  might  finally  give  her  a  reason  to  enjoy  one  .

Elijah’s eyes hold hers like winter holding the last star before dawn, unblinking, merciless, beautiful in its refusal to yield. “Serpent?” he echoes, voice a low psalm dragged across broken glass. “No, never. Serpents beg for attention, to tempt.” He leaned in more, enough to whisper against her ear without touching her, silently he drinks in her scent. “You are not the tempter,” he whispers, breath brushing the shell of her ear like a confession he’ll never voice in daylight. “You are knowledge itself, sweet, forbidden, final.” His fingers stay over hers, unmoving now, just the steady weight of a man who has decided the line was drawn in sand and the tide is already here.

“An invitation,” he murmurs, each word deliberate, weighted with intent. “To the next grand opening?” He tilts his head, savoring the tease, the offer, the unspoken challenge. His thumb drifts along the top of one of her knuckles, slow, precise, cataloging. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he bites down with careful precision, tasting more than just the food—the ritual of the exchange, the danger wrapped in it. He chews deliberately, letting the silence stretch, letting the tension coil around him like a second skin. Finally, his eyes lift, sharp, controlled, unyielding. “All you have to do is ask,” he murmurs, low, teasing, the echo of her own words from earlier lingering in his voice like a dare.

He lets the words hang in the air, savoring the weight they carry, the way they curl around the space between them like smoke. His gaze flicks to the morsel again, not out of hunger but curiosity—each movement deliberate, a test, a measure of patience he’s honed over years. Fingers still resting lightly over hers, he traces the line of her knuckle once more, slow, almost ritualistic, as if mapping the pulse of the challenge she’s laid before him. “But if I ask,” he murmurs, voice low, controlled, “it won’t be to the next grand opening, Nazli.” He lets the words linger, each syllable deliberate, weighted. “I’d be asking for something a little more…private. Something I think only you can make worthwhile.” He tilts his head, eyes sharpening, watching, letting the space between them hum with the unspoken choice. “The rest,” he adds softly, letting it trail like smoke in the air, “is entirely yours.”

The closeness, unfortunately, did make the sharp exhale Dahey took at Alejandro's words all the more obvious. Less at the thought of the other fulfilling the promise but Dahey put themself in that spot. They pressed back, getting closer, with a hand on Alejandro's thigh "for balance". "Such a desperate little lad," they said, like the praise they knew it was. Like it was something they were going to exploit.

Alejandro was doing everything right and there was no way he wasn't being rewarded for his troubles. Whichever of these promises Dahey needed to keep, they were willing as that firm, guiding hand led them through the doors and to where Alejandro wanted to go.

The music, the lights, that didn't matter. It could be found anywhere in this city. Including on the actual street. As nice as it was knowing what would come with the bass rattling his bones and the pink hue over everything, every part of his brain was focused on being moved around where someone else wanted. Something Dahey showed thanks for by saying, "Darling, you've not cracked the top five. Though there's always time to move up the list."

An honest smile crept over Dahey's face, watching Alejandro defend himself and making all the little promises was endearing. It was Dahey's turn to push into his space, looking up at their date as he continued talking about what he offer, what he brought to the table. Getting as close as they could and still be able to talk, Dahey's voice went low, the Irish accent thick in a way they rarely let it be. Too many other things were happening in their head to worry about "hiding" that.

The lights hit Dahey’s face just right—all rose-gold and shadow—but Alejandro didn’t give a damn about the club either. Not when he could feel Dahey attuning to his movements, letting themselves be steered. That alone sent a slow, dangerous satisfaction curling in his chest. He let himself imagine the night unfolding: the teasing, the chase, the way he could make them follow his rhythm if he timed it right, and the delicious tension of watching them try to keep pace.

Their quip made him laugh, low and warm. “Not top five?” he repeated, feigning outrage as he pressed in behind them, lips brushing the curve of their jaw before he pulled back. The heat of proximity had him already planning how to start working his way up, and perhaps a dark corner would give him the advantage he liked having. “Then perhaps we should find a dark corner so I can start working my way up.” A shiver of anticipation ran through him at the thought of what might happen once they were alone.

The touch at his waist made him inhale slow, a pulse of heat sharpening his focus. Alejandro placed his hand over Dahey’s, fingers threading between theirs for just a beat before letting go. “We’re having the kind of night where we stay close,” he murmured, jaw brushing their temple as he spoke. “You get that drink… I’ll get us a corner. Slow start, fast finish.” His thumb slid once across their hip, deliberate, teasing. A crooked grin tugged at his lips. “Or we can skip the slow start, find somewhere private, and…well, you can figure out the rest. I’m here for whatever you want, mi cielo.” He felt the pull of anticipation, the kind that made waiting for the next move almost unbearable—and he loved it.

His pre lunch meeting with the district attorney had turned into a post lunch meeting, and Viktor was fucking furious. Bad enough that city hall had been on his ass about a handful of vaguely Callahan adjacent cases that were very blatantly, a stab in the dark dig at a defamation pin down, but it also seemed like the DA was out to fuck with Vik personally, and he was not about to let that shit stand.

After a brief, very clipped conversation between Viktor and the hairy eyed DA, Vik had dropped a massive manila envelope on their desk and smiled viciously. Most of the 800 plus pages in there had been heavily, heavily redacted by Viktor the previous day, and he had taken a massive amount of pleasure in that particular fuck you.

City hall wanted to treat him like an idiot? He'd fucking show them.

"Weekend reading, as per your request." he said smoothly "-have fun, I'll see you bright and early Monday morning."

With that, Viktor turned on his very expensive Versace heel, and left. The walk back to his car had him crossing a long stone courtyard outside of the building and Vik had made it semi-halfway before he was setting his briefcase on a memorial bench and tugging his camel hair coat a little tighter about his trim waist. Soon enough, the Malbros made an appearance and Vik had sucked down a big grey puff before his shoulders relaxed down from somewhere around his ears.

While he usually avoided conversations when he was in a mood, he had been left feeling particularly catty after that conversation with the DA, and felt like a fight. Viktor glanced at the person beside him, smoke trailing from his nose like a dragon.

"-Shitty place to be spending your Friday. All of Vegas to play with and you're here?" Vik snorted, taking a drag of his lunch and swallowing the burn with a shudder "-please tell me you at least work in this fucking hell hole, or are you just a fiend for misery?"

Her gaze lingered on his coat, noting the expensive cut, the way it hugged his trim waist, the faint scent of smoke clinging to it. She flicked her eyes back to his face, green orbs steady and deliberate, measuring him without judgment. “But misery? No,” she added, voice calm, even, carefully modulated. “I’m not here for the thrill of frustration or to soak in bad energy. I’m here to make sure things run the way they’re supposed to, to keep the wheels turning smoothly in a city that prides itself on chaos.” Her tone softened only slightly as she allowed a hint of wry humor to edge in. “Vegas may be full of noise, lights, and chaos, but some of us have to keep a little order in it—or at least try.”

Veronica straightened fully, green eyes locking onto his with bright, calculating intensity, a spark of challenge buried beneath her calm exterior. She tilted her head slightly, letting the movement punctuate her next words. “Though I’ll admit,” she said, letting the observation linger for effect, “watching someone else wrestle with it can be…entertaining in its own way.” Her arms fell loosely to her sides, the casual posture belied the deliberate control in her stance. She stepped just a fraction closer, enough to narrow the distance without breaking protocol, and let her voice drop slightly, measured but curious. “So, working overtime, or are you free to explore a bit of the Vegas playground while the city runs itself into the ground?”

It's not the alcohol, though he knows that isn't helping him feel any less fucked up than he is. It isn't the drugs. He's got the tolerance of a rhino and one line doesn't even crack the surface these days, so it's not that either. His insides feel weird, not bad just...weird, sort of. Tar black and illicitly sticky, they cling to his bones and make everything heavy, but it isn't an uncomfortable feeling. It's as if everything hot and red inside of him is trying to move around, organs slipping over one another like eels until he can't concentrate on anything but that feeling.

One heartbeat they’re still tangled on the floor, mouths fused, drinking each other like the last water on earth, neon bleeding across their skin as if the club itself has forgotten the rest of the world exists. Inside Alejandro’s skull, memories flare and die like struck matches: every joy he has ever stolen, every fleeting happiness, all of them blurring, burning, rising in a single white-hot rush. Too much. Still not enough. Who are you? The question detonates behind his eyes, bright and useless and desperate. Then the world tilts.

Location: penthouse suite of any hotel

“Careful,” she said, tone warm with mock warning when he tossed the line about enjoying himself. “Tell me you’re having fun and suddenly I’m responsible for your emotional well-being. I didn’t sign a waiver for that.” He had that gravelly delivery that some guys leaned on too hard, but he wore it like it just happened to him. Interesting. Dangerous, if she let it be. She wouldn’t. But she’d enjoy the nuisance of it.

When he admitted it’d been a long time since enjoying himself felt like an option, she didn’t soften—just let one eyebrow lift like she was filing it away. “Welcome back to the land of the living, I guess,” she drawled. “We have snacks. Allegedly.” Although she had been hard pressed to find any in the past hour.

His question about a jealous date earned him a short bark of laughter. “Oh, please. My last date was an airport pretzel I dropped on the floor and ate anyway.” She tipped her bottle at him. “Nobody’s coming to fight you on my behalf.”

“Then, I guess I won’t tell you it’s fun time. It’s a terrible time, actually, dreadful even.” He let the words drag, deadpan, then took a slow sip from the flask like he was toasting his own misery. “Possibly the worst night of my life. I’m suffering. Deeply.” His eyes stayed on hers over the silver rim, unblinking, the faintest spark of mischief flaring behind the flat delivery. When he lowered the flask, that crooked half-smirk was back, sharper now, like maybe (just maybe) Elijah was starting to relax. “See? Waiver voided. You’re off the hook.”

He huffed a quiet laugh at the comment about snacks, the sound almost surprised at itself. “Snacks would’ve been nice,” he muttered, looking around for a second. “Guess I’ll settle for the company instead.” His gaze slid back to her, steady and unapologetic. “So far, it’s not terrible.” He extended the flask out for her, eyes never leaving hers as he did.

He extended the flask toward her, silver catching the low light, eyes never leaving hers. The offer hung there, wordless but deliberate—no pressure, no performance, just a quiet offering. His thumb brushed the cool metal once, a small, unconscious tell, then stilled. “It’s the good stuff,” he said, voice low enough that only she’d hear. “Promise it won’t kill the plants.” He paused, "Or you. And hey, if you're going to put with my company, you're going to probably need a couple of swigs for the night."

And then, not even all that bone deep noise is enough to stave of the rolling desire that flips his stomach, and Viktor feels a ferocity slam into him so hard that he almost chokes.

"No. Just me." Viktor tries not to dwell on what he says, on the warning shot of someone I never want to see again. It feels more ominous that it should, and Viktor wants to pry, wants to ask what he means but he also just wants to fuck him. He would like both, the intimacy and the depravity, but will settle for the latter. Viktor grins sharply against his ear then, his voice a low thin growl "-aren't you fucking lucky..."

Alejandro lets the rhythm pour through him, liquid and molten, and for the first time tonight he is weightless. Not falling, not fleeing, just grounded. Every sway is a tide that carries him farther from whatever hunted him an hour ago; every press of this man’s chest to his spine is a door slamming shut on the past. His own hands cover the stranger’s, small against those broad palms, and the warmth there is an anchor deeper than any drug. This man doesn’t even feel like a stranger at all, it’s like they’ve known each other in other lifetimes, as if they were lost in this life and just found each other. He is untethered and tethered all at once: a kite soaring in a storm that has promised, without words, never to let the string break.

With feet planted firm, chin in the air, Dahey didn't move a muscle at the obvious attempt to earn a reaction. No way they were showing their cards this early. Instead, it earned a disbelieving scoff and stare that said it wasn't what Dahey heard. They licked their lips as their gaze flicked from Alejandro's eyes to his lips, letting the silence stretch longer than it needed to before "It's where I'd keep you."

Not exactly the truth, Dahey wasn't one for keeping anyone anywhere, but that wasn't the game they were playing. It wasn't fact-based. It was fun.

At the door, invested in their phone both to make Alejandro suffer and to look disinterested in all of this, Dahey leaned back into the other's hand. They could feel it and typically wouldn't reward not committing to something but the contact was too good to pass up. "Hmmmm," Dahey's eyes lifted to look at the doorman and back to their phone as they swiped their thumb up the screen a couple of times. "You're somewhere between 'Talks While He Chews' and 'Has a Thing for Feet, brackets, Not in a Fun Way'."

"Of all the things," Dahey heaved a sigh. "You say all these great things, and then you end with 'dog-da--" gagging a little, Dahey stood there suffering, unable to repeat it. "I think I'll reach out to 'Far too Interested in Star Wars', he talks a lot, and I don't understand a word of it, but he is hung, so what's a forty-minute lecture about something called Spock?" To really sell it, Dahey's thumbs raced over the screen. Not sending a text but drafting the message to cancel class tomorrow. They had more than enough faith this night was going to go the way they needed it to. @novahze

His mind flashed to Osian for a second and it pinged a dull ache that he immediately tried to shut out. In this moment, Alejandro wished…things were different with the two of them. Regardless he kept his composure and he played the part that was expected of him, the person Dahey wanted tonight was what Ale focused on.