Kitchen
It wasn't until he saw Liam's post, really, that Neil had made up his mind to show up at MK's party. History was fucking repeating itself, and of course Ms. Trainwreck of the Year was once again at the root of the problem. If she wanted to dig herself into a hole of booze and drugs, fine, whatever, that was her problem, but like hell was she dragging Sam down with her. And maybe some of that anger should have been directed towards Sam herself, for shoving aside all the progress she'd made and intentionally putting herself right smack dab in the middle of temptation, but he had a lot of self-guilt wrapped up in that. It was difficult to be angry when he blamed himself for driving her to this point in the first place, so all that anger was, for the most part, directed at himself, which put him in one hell of a bad mood.
Getting inside was easy enough, especially since he looked the part of the rich, carefree bastard. Expensive clothing, a scowl, and a day's worth of stubble practically screamed stay away, which ended up being appealing in that twilight-zone sort of way. He shoved his way through clusters of people, ignoring offers of booze and things in baggies, not caring, his main goal to find Sam, but his pace slowed one he ended up in the kitchen.
Fuck. Fuck, there was a lot of alcohol, and Neil hadn't really thought about it being a problem beforehand. He licked his lips distractedly, trying not to think about having a drink, just one, to ease his nerves, but there were people everywhere just offering it to him, and they ignored his protests. Okay, no, he could do this. He could. That was what he repeated to himself as he turned away, trying to regain his bearings and get himself under control.