Ariel beamed happily and drunkenly at Wes (he thought it was a very good name). The room around them was loud, but he hardly heard any of it, so focused was he on what the boy in front of him was saying (or, in some cases, not saying). He postured himself as someone nonchalant, cool and detached, but there was an earnestness about him - somewhere. Ariel was sure of it. Somewhere beneath the letterman jacket and perfectly disheveled blond hair.
The older boy's eyebrows shot up at the sudden invitation - or what he took as an invitation that followed closely on the heels of another hair-brush from Wes. But where he had restraint, Ariel did not. This was one of those carpe diem moments. Robin Williams, then, would have been proud of the way the singer reached forward to firmly grasp the other boy's hand - the one that had just fallen to his side - in his own and began to pull Wes across the crowded room.
Presses of bodies were nothing new to Ariel. He maneuvered expertly around the teenagers engaging in all kinds of risky behaviors and making all manner of poor decisions. He had his own risky business and bad decision-making to do, thank you. There was a room - it was where the band had placed their coats and changed for the show - near there front of the house, and it was there that the older boy lead his new acquaintance-cum-student.
It was dark and empty, save for the chairs strewn with discarded jackets and bags. Ariel released his prey. He cocked his head and looked up at the tall boy.
"I saw you watching me, you know," he said in a smug tone, though he smiled brightly. "On stage."