"Oh my god," Caleb says. He shakes his head, hand up for a moment as if to wave away smoke. "Fuck, what are the odds?" he asks — almost crows, because he's getting drunker by the second, because everyone else is getting drunker by the second.

But one thing he isn't? Turned off from the idea. He leans forward, a bit wobbly, and balances on one hand as he reaches for Michael with the other.