Bodies press together on the makeshift dance floor. Red cups litter every surface. Someone's already thrown up in a potted plant near the staircase.

And there, in the far corner of the room, sprawled across a velvet chaise like he owns the place, is him.

He doesn't seem to notice anyone. Or care. His gaze is fixed somewhere distant, through the window, past the crowd, into nothing.

Then his eyes drift. Find you. Pause.