Clusterfuck

xx

Toby unwillingly meets every single one of the guests at the party. And by unwillingly, he means he is literally dragged by the sleeve across Steph's apartment by Leo, introduced to each person as "Toby, my unofficial chauffeur" by Leo, and quite literally clung to by Leo whenever a conversation between the two of them and at least one other person would go on for more than a minute.

Toby hates it and doesn't, all at once.

Once everyone has been acquainted with one another and the rainfall has become drowned out by the music Steph has queued up to boom through the stereo, that knot that had formed in Toby's stomach beforehand seems to slowly become looser. He's still not exactly in a favorable environment, but now at least these people aren't total strangers, and now he knows who he thinks he will probably be straying away from as much as he can (i.e., Leo's friend named Edward, who Toby was worried would genuinely bark at him as they shook hands).

They sit, stand, dance, eat, drink, laugh, talk. It's a tame gathering, not some kind of uncontrollable frat party—Toby doesn't have to be incredibly close with her to know that something along those lines is drastically different from Steph's style—despite the copious amounts of alcohol that sit on the kitchen counters, some of it bought by Toby and Steph earlier that day, and some of it brought voluntarily by the other partygoers. People are still drinking it, of course—to not would be a tragic waste—but they're doing so with... reasonable etiquette. After all, they have yet for someone to barf all over Steph's Abaca rug.

But ten p.m. is when people seem to simply not care anymore. Least of all, in fact, Leo. Perhaps he's had one too many Vodka Cranberries, because his freckles swim in a stream of pink that flushes across the front of his face, and he starts talking more, laughing more, dancing more.

Toby learns that Leo cannot dance.

Some older rock song fades out, its essence still lingering in the air after a few brief moments, until the silence is replaced by yet another song, something more recent. And apparently something that Leo likes a lot.

"Oh, shit!" he shouts as he slams his empty solo cup down on the island and raises his arms, pointing both fingers at the ceiling, revealing a little sliver of his lower stomach that Toby doesn't look at. "I fucking love this song!"

Toby snickers at him, his own mind a bit fuzzy from the two or three beers he's had so far tonight. But the snickering stops quite abruptly when Leo's arms come swinging back down and he grabs a hold of Toby's wrists, yanking him in the direction of the stereo.

"What are you doing?" Toby demands, squirming in a desperate attempt to withdraw from Leo's surprisingly firm grasp.

"You're being lame," Leo tells him bluntly. "You haven't been enjoying yourself."

"That's—not true—"

"Dance with me."

"No."

"Dance with meeeee."

"No."

"Please?"

Toby looks at Leo, at those blue eyes shining like glass beneath their dreamy, watery glaze. He looks down at where Leo's hand is clasped around his wrist, and nearly jumps a mile when Leo's thumb makes the tiniest gesture and strokes up and down his skin. Out of instinct, he withdraws, stumbling back a bit, and pushes his hand through his hair. Leo draws his eyebrows together and opens his mouth to say something else, whatever drunken series of words queued up on his tongue, but copper arms snake around his torso from behind and Steph rests her chin on his shoulder, smiling dreamily up at him. Toby whirls around and returns to the kitchen island.