There was no reason for Daniel to arrive as late as he did. He had no clothes to change into, no friends to wait up for, no transportation to arrange. The party was a few flights of stairs and a single lengthy elevator ride away. Yet he still waited until past eight o'clock to arrive, ambling in with his hands in his pockets and a lazy smile on his face. His black eyes scanned the room, seeing far fewer of his housemates than he had hoped. But there was food, and there was music, and he hoped there would be more to come. Top-shelf booze, someone had said; Daniel wandered toward the table Jack had set up, knowing that even if the liquor did not deliver as promised, at least their resident chef's food would.
He poured himself a bourbon neat. All parties went better with a great deal of lubrication, and quiet parties even more so. He tossed back half in a single gulp, breathing deep as the rich, peaty flavor burned its way down to his belly. He swirled the liquid in his glass as he moved around the room, carefully appraising this new and unfamiliar space.