From somewhere not-too-far-off in the milling crowd, Quentin would hear a very familiar laugh. When he looked, there was Eliot — far more put-together than the disheveled mess he'd been when Quentin had last seen him, laughing it up with a man who appeared to be just around their age. Said conversation partner was ethereally handsome and, if one looked close enough to notice the sharp teeth and fresh-blood-red irises, apparently not quite human. But such details could be easily missed at a distance, especially if one was distracted.

Whatever it was they'd found so hilarious, the laughter took a good few seconds to start dying down. Still grinning and trying to catch his breath, Eliot held up a hand in the universal sign for give me a second.