This party was way too cool for Ben Wyatt. And sure, most parties were too cool for Ben, with the exception of the Settlers of Catan tournament he attended a few months ago. That, he dominated. This, not so much.

Here, in the Upper East Side apartment with the loft, amidst obscure indie electronica playing in an impressively seamless mix on expensive speakers, he had to remind himself why he came to these things. He had spent his first few months in New York City working from day till night, seeing the city only through the frame of his office window. Then, one day he realized that he hadn't spoken to anyone outside of work besides his best friend, Ann, and the swarthy guy at the deli counter down the street.

There was a reason, of course. Even now, as he took a nervous swig of beer that he didn't really want, he wished he could just hole up in his apartment and marathon Arrow or Sense8.

Somehow, in spite of the days in Partridge when things were going well, he never knew how to handle himself among strangers. It wasn't the first time that Ben wondered how he had been elected in the first place. Had he always been this unsure and anxious? Or had this way of being emerged after Ice Town, like a defective cell turned cancerous by a reckless intake of carcinogens?

Whatever the past was, right now he desperately wished Ann was here to rescue him from these tortured conversations, these ritualistic exchanges of professional information that everyone pretended to be interested in. Of course, Ann would probably just insist that the point of this was to make new friends, and shove him off into some other uncomfortable exchange. Stuff like that always irked him, not because she did it, but because she was usually right.

But still, this sucked. He had gotten stuck talking to the guy, maybe 23 or 24, in the pre-faded hoodie leaning against the exposed brick wall. The man avoided looking up from his phone with a religious devotion. "So how do you know Sophie?" the guy asked, eyes locked into a downward gaze on his screen.

"She works in my office," Ben said. Sophie, the impossibly hip intern with the cool glasses and side shave, had invited the entire office to the party, though he seemed to be the only one who showed up. Another faux pas. Oh well.

"Hey!" Sophie said to him, making her way through the growing crowd. "You met my boss Ben. Did you know he used to be a mayor of his hometown? He was like 17 or something. Can you believe that?"

Ben felt defensive against an implication he wasn't sure he understood. "I was 18," he corrected.

Sophie seemed to sense his discomfort. "Now Ben heads up the fiscal responsibility division of Queens," she said. "He reports to the Mayor. It's a pretty important job."

"'Fiscal responsibility.' So you cut funding to stuff?" the man drawled. "That's cool." His tone wasn't remotely convincing.

"Well, actually I make recommendations—"

"Oh my God this party is lame," and Ben flinched as a slender dark-haired woman interrupted them brusquely. "What are you guys talking about?"

The guy across from him didn't look up from his phone. "The city budget," he said.

"Fascinating," the woman said with an exaggerated raise of her eyebrows.

"Actually," Ben spoke up, mustering a little excitement within himself, "we've just gotten the go-ahead to include future city bond revenue in our fund pool, so things are gonna get pretty shaken up."

"Buckle your seatbelts!" the woman said, in what Ben now recognized as faux-excitement.

"Ah," he said wryly. "What's your name?"

"April Ludgate." For a moment he waited for her to ask his name, but she didn't, instead only glancing around to see if there was anything more interesting going on. In the awkward pause, he tried to avoid taking another drink from his beer, tried not to give in to the way she unsettled him. He failed: "That's a cool name," he said, wishing the words would evaporate as soon as they left his mouth.

She just glared at him, almost offended by his uncouthness.

"Oh, I can totally see how you were a mayor," the guy mumbled sarcastically.

Ben tried not to let his irritability show. "So how about this music?" he asked, trying to make conversation.

"It's OK," she said shortly.

The guy beside them chuckled. "April's the one who made the playlist for tonight," he said blankly.

"Really?" Ben said. "I think it's good. It seems like you put a lot of work into it."

"God, it's OK," April said, looking at her shoes.

Ben watched her fidget for a moment, wondering what her deal was. Eventually he cleared his throat. "So what do you do?" Ben asked.

"I catalogue fetal rats at the city morgue," she said.

"Oh my God, really?" Ben looked horrified.

April grimaced. Something told Ben that she hated answering these questions at parties almost as much as he did. "Whatever," she mumbled beneath her breath, before speaking up: "I coordinate a mentorship program in Queens."

"Oh, that's really cool."

April shrugged.

"You don't like it?" Ben asked. "I thought it would be really rewarding – helping people find what they care about."

"Yeah, that's—" April started. "I mean, it's something to do," she covered.

"Sorry," Ben pulled away, "I'm making you uncomfortable."

April brushed it off. "It's whatever," she said. But she didn't meet his eye.

Ben realized then that, despite her façade of apathy, despite fitting in with all of these hipsters, she was just as anxious about situations like this as he was.

He should have known better than to grill a stranger on what she really cared about. After all, he got it. There are times when passion only blows up in your face, and it's better to cram it down where it can't breathe. Because after a while, you just get used to it.

"I think it's great, what you do," Ben tried to make amends, "That's something the city really needs."

"Well, sucks for the city," April shrugged, "since I'm transferring to D.C. in August."

"Oh," Ben said, and felt almost disappointed.

In the pause, the warm May air, freshened by Central Park, drifted through the open windows of the 9th story apartment.

"Did you know Ben was a mayor once, when he was like 17?" The guy told April, bored.

"I was 18," Ben couldn't help but correct him, no matter how he wanted to not talk about it.

"And now he cuts the budget for all of Queens."

"I make recommendations," Ben corrected in vain.

"Wait," April said, "are you the reason the city mentorship program is having their budget cut?"

"No, I don't-" Ben said.

"That's so messed up," April said.

"Again, no," Ben said.

"This guy's all about fiscal responsibility," said the guy looking at his phone.

"You are?" April's eyes narrowed at him.

"Yeah, but—"

"He cuts the city's programs," the guy said.

"Oh my God, please stop!" Ben yelled, suddenly on the verge of losing it. "Yes, I'm a budget specialist. And yes, that means cutting some programs. But that doesn't automatically mean I want take the disadvantaged people in this city and hang them out to dry. I know, it's the conservatives who trot out the word 'fiscal responsibility,' and somehow everyone has just accepted that they own that. That's wrong. Financial responsibility is something every government should strive for; it's a promise to the people not to waste money, because it's their money. That's what democracy is. Politicians love talking about 'fiscal responsibility,' but all they mean is programs they don't like. But there are disadvantaged people all over this city who depend on programs, and they're not going to get the help they need if the government goes into the red. The homeless shelters, the equal housing bureau, the mentorship program, all of them. Yeah, I care about fiscal responsibility. But that's because every penny wasted is one penny fewer for the people who really need it. And that's who I work for."

Ben was suddenly conscious of April's eyes on him, and Sophie's, and the half of the room who had heard his rant. The guy across from him was watching him, phone at his side.

April looked up, and said quietly, "I can see why you were mayor once."

For the first time in a long time, Ben could, too. It was nice to be reminded.

In the pause, he watched April's dark, beautiful eyes, filled with something he didn't quite understand, but wanted to.

"You said you're planning to leave in August?"

"Yeah," she said.

He used the last bit of momentum he could muster. "Then I guess I have three months to convince you to stay."