"Oh, shit," Caleb says, grinning. "Michael, hey!" He should've recognized the soft, warm amber feelings coming from the next room, but everything is swirly and happy, and fuck, did Michael get prettier?

He takes a swig of his flask, trying to calm down a little. It doesn't work — everyone's too close, too happy and drunk. But it's nice. Caleb's been sleeping better, and everything seems a lot nicer as a result.

"Let's gooooo!" someone yells, and spins the bottle in the middle of the circle. It feels silly, childish, and perfect, and Caleb can't help the little giggles that slip out when people catcall and wolf whistle at the people who end up kissing.