You take neither. Not the cup, not her hand. You step half a pace back, enough to put distance between yourself and the decision, and let the room close over the space where you stood. Nobody chases you for it. That is the strange mercy of a party this size: refusal barely registers, absorbed into the noise like everything else. You find a wall and lean against it, close enough to still feel the music in your chest, far enough that no one expects anything more from you tonight. You watch instead of joining. Elizabeth laughing somewhere near the drinks. The contest already three cups deep. Bodies moving in patterns you no longer feel obliged to match. Staying upright and clear-headed does not feel like winning. It feels like keeping one hand free. And then, in the crowd, a face turns toward the light and your whole body goes cold before your mind catches up to why. [[The Face in the Crowd|Look again]] --- [[Phone Buzz While Dancing|Look away, check your phone]]