Astrid was so far enjoying Miles' party. She didn't really know anyone there - it was mostly his university friends, far too smart for her - but she was introducing herself and making friends with any whose lights were comfortable. Most people's lights were just a little tipsy, and Astrid (as usual) was the only one in the room not drinking. She didn't mind though, because it was nicer to talk to people when she was sober.
She'd spent the last hour sitting on one of the couches with a rather handsome classmate of Miles', who was trying to explain to her why he was interested in political science.
"This is so boring," he'd said to her, "are you really sure you want to hear this?"
Astrid nodded, and she found that she enjoyed the way he looked at her, the way he leaned in to quite clearly flirt. He thought she was pretty and Astrid, who had sort of forgot what it felt like to be flirted with, couldn't deny she was enjoying and and, yes, a little bit flirting back.
At least, attempting to flirt back? She wasn't very good at her. Her only real romantic interactions had been with Corby and Miles and neither of those were usual boys or usual situations. But maybe, really, there was no such thing as usual.
He touched her hand, pretended it was an accident. Astrid pretended that it was an accident too but it thrilled her a little. She had made an effort tonight, which meant not that she had done anything fancy with her hair (it was just out and loose) or with makeup (because there was, as usual, none at all) but that she'd worn a nice dress, a pretty green one that Ava had bought her in Sweden.
Maybe I could kiss him?, Astrid thought as she listened to him talk about his trip last year to Nepal. His lights were reaching out for her. He wanted to kiss her, she could see that, but Astrid didn't know if it should happen yet.
"I should probably mingle a bit," Astrid told him with a smile, her hand brushing his 'accidentally' again. "I'll come back though."
Midnight. It was still about an hour from midnight so maybe that's when she'd kiss him, because the countdown was a good excuse.
She wandered around the rooms a bit, thought the press of people dancing, through a group of boys arguing about who was the hotter girl on some show, and made a line for the kitchen to get another drink.
That was when she spotted Miles and Stephie kissing.
Had anyone else seen the expression on her face, they would have misread it. The girl who came here with Miles and didn't know anyone else, and now watching him kiss another girl with horror. She must have looked like the jealous girlfriend, the jilted lover. But this wasn't jealousy that Astrid was bowled over with, it was shock and wrongness and horror and realisation.
The bite on Miles. The bruises on both of them. The things she'd never been able to put together until she saw both puzzle pieces pressed against each other now. Their lights were sharp and angular and there was such suffering in Stephie's that Astrid felt sick and overwhelmed by them. Hate and lust and it wasn't right and how many times had Astrid, when she was young, had to see men touch her with conflicted angry lights like that? I want you but I hate you. I hate you because I want you. I want you but I'd kill you.
And then Stephie swept away from him, her lights like a violent strobe that it seemed impossible that other people couldn't see it written all over her in every movement. She watched Miles after Stephie left, for just a few moments, and she wanted to say something but it all felt cheap and cliche and he wouldn't listen. Why would you do this? Can't you see what you're doing? Can't you see what she's doing? Can't you feel what she's feeling right now?
Miles wouldn't listen, but maybe Stephie would. So it was Stephie she followed, seeking her through the rooms and finally finding her. Astrid smiled, "hi," she said and then, because maybe she should not throw herself right into it without thinking she added, "I really like your dress."