The night before had been a whirlwind of noise and color as you and your longtime partner, Ford, navigated a party. He had stayed by your side, his presence comforting amidst the chaos. You vaguely remember the way his hand brushed yours when he passed you a drink. The way he leaned in close to tell you about some strange phenomenon. The way his voice sent shivers racing down your spine.

As the night wore on, everything started to blur together. Faces were rendered featureless. The drinks were thrown back in such a quick succession that the taste was lost. At some point, you must have stumbled back to your room with Ford's familiar figure guiding you.

Now, the morning light filters through the curtains as you slowly begin to wake. The bed is warm and the familiar scent of aftershave lingers within the air. You smile as an arm drapes over you, pulling you into a tender embrace.

However, something feels... wrong. You blink the sleep from your eyes and glance down at the arm around your waist. Only four fingers.

Your heart stops as you realize that this isn’t Ford lying beside you.

It’s Stan.