"Alright, c'mon, follow me," Art said. He knocked back the remainder of his whiskey but kept the glass in hand; he was pretty sure he had another glass for Valerian up in his room, but wasn't sure he had two. Art led the way through the main room, deftly navigating people's bodies as he led them out of the room. The prostitute was unbuttoning a man's shirt on the couch he'd been sitting on with Valerian, briefly, and Art glanced at them before glancing away, his face flushing with heat as he noted the look of the man's collarbone.

The crush of sound in the main room dissipated when they got to the staircase. Art started up it, slowing his pace deliberately — he was in the habit of running up and down the stairs, but that was sort of rude when Valerian was following him around. "Before we're in there — well, this isn't as nice as my house was," Art pointed out. He didn't want to hear any of that from Valerian, so he might as well point out that he was aware now, for all that it had him feeling a little exposed.

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