Heâs not entirely sure what heâs doing there. Connor rummages through his memories, trying to figure out what exactly led to a frat part of all things. He finds his answers, in glimpses. An invitation from one of the guys he tutors, and Connor had honestly been in such a rush that he agreed without thinking, just so he would be able to make it in time for his next class. But now, standing amidst a crowd of probably piss drunk college students, he thinks to himself that maybe being late isnât all that bad of a thing. The guy that invited him, Ian, he wants to say, (itâs been a long day and Connor would be lucky if he remembers his own name.) catches him by the arm with a wide smile and he could only manage a small grimace in response. It goes unnoticed though, as he dragged further into the crowd, with a cup thatâs been shoved into his hands. Itâs only polite that he accept it, which is what he tells himself when he tips it back and gulps the punch down. Definitely spiked. Definitely a bad idea.
But itâs sort of comforting, the heat that burns itâs way down his throat. Makes him feel sort of out there, and relaxed. A few cups later and Connorâs almost completely gone, laughing almost suspiciously loud as he talks to people that heâs never met before in his life. Any other time and heâs be crapping his pants. All concept of the minutes passing is lost on him, and he ends up on the dance floor, sandwiched between a couple who are not to shy about where their hands travel. His cheeks are completely red, lips party as he moves to the music. Is there music? Maybe itâs all just in his head. But that doesnât make sense because then how can everyone else hear it too?
Connor bounces himself from person to person, feeling a rush from all the contact, He swears that at one point he sees a flash of a familiar face, and a head of soft hair that he suddenly really wants to comb his fingers through. But his glasses have long since disappeared and heâs got absolutely no clue where they are. Itâs kind of funny, actually. The flash is gone, and Connor actually pouts, pulling away from the hands on his hips to stumble through the crowd. He looks thoroughly had, his hair messed up, clothes all over the place. Thereâs a dull thrum at one part of his neck that he suspects is a love bite, but he canât be too sure. When he catches glance of the familiar face one again, he grins, stumbling over to the figure. A part of him, the last remnants of all rational thought, reminds him that he could be mistaken, thereâs no telling if itâs actually Ryan in his current state, but Connorâs past the point of reason.
All he knows is that he misses Ryan and regrets all the stupid and shitty decisions that he made to push the other boy away. So Connor reaches out, wraps pale fingers around the warm wrist and tugs, chuckling under his breath as he licks his lips. ââey,â he calls out over the music, a slur to his words. âYâshould dance with me.â
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