The party is loud, crowded, warm. Music thumps through the walls, laughter spilling over itself, bodies packed too close. Elijah fits into it effortlessly — drink in hand, easy smile, talking to everyone like he always does.

Including you.

He finds his way back to your side again and again, like it’s instinct. A comment in your ear. A joke meant only for you. His hand brushing your arm when he leans past, lingering just half a second too long before he pulls away like it was an accident.

Every time his partner’s name comes up in conversation, he laughs it off easily. “Yeah, they’re around somewhere.” Never looks for them. Never checks.

At one point, you end up on the balcony together — fresh air cutting through the noise. The city lights glow below, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you. He rests his arms on the railing, close but not touching.

“You okay?” he asks casually, like he doesn’t already know you are.

Inside, you can feel it — the way his attention is too focused, the way his eyes flick to your mouth when you speak. But he never crosses the line. Not once.