[It's coming up to midnight and the grand confetti-filled closedown of the dance, but they're not there yet. The square has emptied a little at the edges and crowded in toward the middle as the music clicks on to a stream of ballads (the kind of thing none of them admit listening to but all somehow know). Chase has steadfastly kept his jacket on through the sweatier section, though his shirt has come down a couple of buttons, and he's half emptied one of the plastic glasses he brings back to her.]
You were right, about the soda. [He offers the full one.] Tap.
→ we are not what you think we are we are golden
You were right, about the soda. [He offers the full one.] Tap.