They always discussed set lists at the beginning of the night, made sure that things fit together, and they had a good mix. No one who could rap worth a damn was on tonight, so Eliot had been tapped for Hamilton.

He always moved like someone who was meant for much grander venues, like the spotlight followed him whether it’s real or imagined. His uniform vest was unbuttoned at the top, silk scarf undone just enough to suggest carelessness, and when he climbed up onto the bar it was with the easy arrogance of a man who knows exactly how to command attention.

The first plinking notes of You’ll Be Back from Hamilton started up, and Eliot’s lips quirked into a smirk. He did like this song. Playful, petty, possessive—a perfect fit.

"You say... the price of my love's not a price that you're willing to pay…"