"Your boyfriend's getting his game on."
Vincent shakes off the comment, shrugs a little, drowns himself in the punch that tastes more like water and sugar than anything else. The song is something familiar he probably hates, but he can't remember the name. He can't really remember anything. He wishes he were drunk, which is something he doesn't wish often, a special occasion by all means.
"Seriously, who knew he liked girls?" titters a girl next to him (she has a name; he doesn't know it), her voice high and nasally. "We all thought he was, you know —" She gives Vincent a side-glance full of premonition that he pretends he doesn't notice.
The thing is, Teddy looks like he's really enjoying himself, and Penelope has a pretty face and a nice smile. Vincent doesn't want to ruin this. Maybe he couldn't even if he tried.
Someone shoves his shoulder hard enough to bruise. "Quit staring at him like a faggoty little puppy."
Teddy laughs loud and genuine and Penelope looks nice in a flowery dress and Vincent swears seven times that he doesn't love him, the sugar water burning into something vinegary and sour in his throat.