The party was bustling, a couple minutes walk off of Garrison campus and into some kind of rental space or a crappy, freshly moved-out boy's apartment. It was hard to tell. The swarms of older teenagers and general barren decor, it was impossible to tell if the mini-fridge was a feature of the party or if it was a part of someone's permanent kitchen setup. And, although it was off of academy grounds, the staff would still have the authority to punish the rowdiest of the party-goers if they found out.

But so far, things were going well enough. And it wasn't as if Keith could be bothered to care about being caught. He was a minor infraction away from getting expelled. It was only a matter of time for him. So going to an open invite party with free food and drinks that were almost certainly spiked with alcohol seemed as good a way as any to end off a series of disciplinary infractions.

With red solo cup in hand and hair in his eyes—the strands useful to hide a fading but still clear black eye, he'd found himself a nice spot on one of the couches that hadn't been completely taken over as a makeshift lover's lane. Keith was well known, definitely, almost notorious for all the fights he got in, but he was by no means popular because of it. He was just the emo kid with the mullet and no parents.

The reputation was serving him well enough right now. He had no qualms with just being left alone to drink, watch the cheap light machine project colours onto the walls and ceiling, and brood. As lost as he could get in his own little world, tuning out the fact that the mass of bodies and clouds of speech were actual people, his peace was inevitably interrupted as the cushion dipped down next to him. He'd have no real problem usually, but whoever it was had sat down close enough that he could actually feel their weight on the couch, bursting his personal bubble.