He drinks another cup of the concoction.

He is strangely warm, almost buzzing. It’s only been a few minutes, surely, but everything seems oddly remarkable. The beautiful music croons in the background, which he finds himself nodding along to and even humming with. Suddenly, everyone seems highly attractive, every action beautiful.

And finally, the conversation over a red cup with a stranger seems far more important than he wants to admit. The conversation drones on, but he finds himself intensely captivated by every word the handsome stranger says.

“Dude,” says the voice. “Are you okay? Is this your first-time drinking?”

“Yup. Is really fun.” His words slur together. He wants to apologize, but his mind is strangely hazy. “I’m just really…tired of this.” He raises his cup, gesturing to the party raging behind him. “I’m never the one having fun. I wish I was like…them. All I do is try to be the perfect student, the perfect son, but it’s never…worked.”

The boy regards him for a moment before grasping his glass and swirling it around, gazing at his expression in the amber potion. “Me too.” He looks back up. “No one’s really candid about it, though. I feel like I know you, but damn…I don’t know where I've seen you…”

“Huh?” He hiccups for a moment.

“Let me think for a moment…” A song plays as Sam looks at the boy. He’s right – he does look familiar, but his mind won’t let focus on his somber expression for too long. “Ah, who cares. I’m Dave.” He looks away, at the wall of colored glass bottles, his perfectly straight black hair falling over his resigned eyes.

“Sam.” The room gets louder. The exhilaration of liquid courage seems to fade the more he compels it to take him. He sees Leah across the room, leaning on Will as they attract people into their circle of lively and animated conversation. Will’s fingers are interlaced with hers as he cheekily kisses her before laughing with the rest of them. Leah hesitates for a moment, looking over her shoulder before her laugh joins the chorus.

The pit only grows.

“Shit. Dave.” Dave looks towards Sam curiously. “Where’s the bathroom?” He points down the hall.

He stumbles out of his chair, feeling Will’s concerned gaze on his back. He lurches into the secluded hall, his hands on the wall to brace himself. He wrenches open the bathroom door, slapping the switch, collapsing to his knees and vomiting into the formerly pristine, white toilet. He suddenly feels intensely hungry but pulls himself to his feet before collapsing once again on the snow-white tile.

He closes his eyes, the bitter taste still on his lips and the familiar burn in his throat.

The bathroom is impossibly small.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

“Sam?” It’s Will. “We’re going home.”

He stumbles to his feet, his head intensely dizzy as he unlocks the bathroom door and stumbles into Will. Strong arms pull him up as Leah scrambles to his side, placing a reassuring arm on his shoulder. A halo envelops the angel as her heavenly glow lifts some of the fog from his mind. At her side, is another angel, who clears the demons away for his companion to stagger through the curious crowd.

The cold weather slaps him and he shudders. It’s a relief when he collapses into the cold leather seat and the car revs to a start. Will drives the car in silence, occasionally checking up on him.

Leah sits next to him. Though barely awake, he feels her eyes graze his intoxicated face for a brief moment, before looking out into the twilight.

He gives in to the darkness.

                                              --------------------

A gentle voice prods at him, calling him to the land of the living. He drowsily opens an eye.

The car is parked outside his house. His father stands on the porch, glaring at Leah as she helps him out of the car. Will wishes him a good night as he closes the door.

Leah’s hands linger on his before she backs away.

“Good night.”

He nods and she slips in the car.

The hard lines of his father’s expressions become more defined as he comes close to his father, casting broad shadows on the porch. His usually meticulous appearance seems slightly haggard, dark circles appearing under his eyes and his black hair uncombed. His arms are crossed over his chest as his thick, black eyebrows draw together to regard the slightly tipsy boy who stared at his shoes.

“Look at me.” His voice is surprisingly soft. He looks at his father’s time-worn face, eyes full of anger and sorrow at once. “Is that alcohol I smell on your breath?”

“Yes…” says Sam, shifting under his steady gaze.

“Have some water and go to bed.” He turns away, briskly walking inside. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” He knows they never will. It will just be swept away, underneath the rug of everything pride stopped them from talking about.

Sam nods before stumbling up the stairs. In the hallway, he passes his sister, standing with her arms crossed over her chest. “Sam, wha-”

“Shut up,” snarls Sam quietly.

He throws himself on his mattress, not bothering to change his filthy clothing.

All he can think of are the stars, the ones who decorated the ancient dome and the ones who wandered among mortals.