Van & Gil
Gilderoi's thoughts were swirling. He was angry; sad; rejected; lonely - all of that kept in check by a carefully maintained facade of control. But lately, that control had been slipping away from him, because his ally had abandoned him. Just like Van had. Just for some girl.
When Van turned away from him, he wanted to claw out the boy's eyes. He wanted to toss his glass at the wall. He wanted to tackle him and kiss him and fuck him and hurt him and he wanted to do it all right now.
Gil was drunk, but not that drunk. Still, he knew he didn't want Van to go.
"Why didn't you--" Gil called out, his voice a little too loud. He stopped himself: a Rubinhart did not beg. Not for anyone. He shook his head, clutching at his glass as he leaned against the wall, trying to look cool, trying to look as if he had not been spurned just now.
His sharped eyes scanned the ballroom, looking for someone to pick a fight with.