It is almost always a factor: he'd had a buzz on the walk, and maintained it well enough with Ty's friends. "Ask whoever spiked the punch," he says, muffled in a fold of Ty's lapel.

"It's your prom, dipshit. Enjoy a dance."

That it's Kira's too doesn't really matter, just enough to keep him here. Ty is a warm place to rest his head, eyes slit to avoid the vertigo of alcohol and moving in the dark behind his eyelids.

If anyone cares, he doesn't. They pass a bored chaperone, and irritation rolls over but settles in them. There's worse happening here for them to ignore, and he pulls Ty deeper into the crowd with his weight, lets it close up around them.