1885 — Some Party, English Society Scene

Presumably the string quartet was playing different pieces throughout the night, but Don Juan felt he'd heard this one at least three times — this party was circling the drain, from his perspective, and he was itching to leave it. There was nothing stopping him. He could have gone back home at any point, or he could have gone to the club, or he could have gone to another party, or a friend's. He'd caught wind of two other parties just from listening to people talk during this party; he hadn't been invited to either but was hardly averse to crashing them anyway if they were more interesting. He hadn't been invited to any friends' houses tonight either, but he was starting to collect a handful of friends whose doors were more or less always open. So he had places to go, and nothing keeping him here... except for a connection he'd made tonight, which he might or might not have been imagining.

They'd shared a conversation at the beginning of the party. Something that started as the typical, forgettable small talk but evolved into something more interesting. He'd circled back to find them again later in the night and had not been disappointed. The conversation was deeper than the sort that one usually had at balls; he felt like he knew them better than some people he'd known for weeks, and they'd only been talking maybe twenty minutes all together. He didn't fall in love anymore — he'd learned his lesson, from Ana — so it wasn't as though he thought he'd found a soulmate, or anything. But he did feel a sense of camaraderie, a fondness that may or may not have been reciprocated. Now he couldn't leave the party while they were still here, because he didn't want to feel as though he was abandoning them.

When he found them for the third time that night they had a drink in hand. "Hello again," he said warmly, then with a significant glance towards their drink, "If you were looking for something to help keep you awake, I don't think that will help."

---