The wonder is mirrored on Tybalt's face, but he moves in like he owns the place, languid, hands stuffed into his pockets. He tries to give off the impression he's distinctly unalarmed. Unimpressed. This is exactly what he expected to be doing post-prom and being rescued from the bowels of his own memories.

It's easy enough when he sees what's happening. Tybalt sidles up and drapes an elbow on to his roommate's shoulder, half reassurance, half to be a pain. "You and who at the leap day festival this year?" He prods.