good comes with the bad

[tate mccarthy]

Lights swim as the beat makes the floor vibrate under Tate's polished oxfords. It's easy to forget that he's in his own apartment, so transformed by the professionals he'd paid a small fortune to fix this party up for him. His full length windows are dripping with huge blood vinyls, the lighting tinted orange and red, the whole ceiling covered in thick fake spiderwebs like dense clouds overhead. The lighting and decorations create a sense of density, of walls closing in, or maybe that's all the tequila he's consumed this evening. All his fears of how this evening will go have long gone, replaced first by relief and now by a buzz that's dulled to complete obliviousness, the edges of the room lost to him. Before he can stop himself, he's out on the balcony with Gigi, dressed scruffily as her brother though his clothes drown her slight frame. Towering over her, Tate can't help but let his eye line fall to her lips, focusing on their fullness and their glossiness as she talks about something to do with the stables. "Hey, can you shhh for one second?" he asks, his words slurring ever so slightly as he lets a slow grin cross his face. With an orange solo cup in one hand, his other cups her face as he leans down and draws her closer, kissing her deeply. "Sorry." Straightening up, he downs the rest of the crimson punch in his cup. "You can continue."