You fixed your dress for the fourth time in a row, taking mindless sips of the glass of champagne in your hands. The room was busy, suffocating you in the sea of people.

Every ten minutes your train of thought would be interrupted by some person who claimed to 'have known your family all their life', add in some anecdote about something they remembered of you as a child, and then proceed to throw overly personal questions about your major and possible romantic suitors.

You would smile, answer with words filled with flowers and sugars, make small-talk until something else dragged them away. It was the same every time. It had been the same for as long as you could remember. Being daughter to one of the most affluent families in the area came with its obligations.

You stared at the golden bubbles in the champange flute as if it held the answers to all of your troubles. Then you felt it: an arm sliding across your shoulders, pulling you to the side.

"Don't look too desperate without me." Logan. His head hung to the side, looking at you with innocent eyes. You felt the urge to protest before he quickly hushed you.

Things between you were a tangled mess. Logan would keep you company during tedious evenings, and take you to his bed afterwards. When the morning arrived, he would greet you with soft eyes and see you out the door like nothing had ever happened.

Neither of you ever complained. It was a comfortable dance that you had been doing for a very long time. The chemistry was there, you only lacked the guts to acknowledge it.

"I say we ditch. You've done enough talking for the night⎯there's a door to the left of the dinning hall, leads to some other room. It's got drinks."