"Ye gods," says Eliot, clutching at his heart in mock horror. "I'd hate to end up on a planet that doesn't have vodka. No, fear not, we'll take good care of you here." He neglects to add that he’d enjoy taking personal care of Jay. As much as he’s enjoying the heady buzz of meeting new people, underneath that there’s the sour thought that maybe this would be irresponsible and moving too fast. Eliot hates feeling like that.

He swirls his glass of Chateau d'Yquem and leans closer. “I have to say,” he says, brushing a hand lightly over Jay’s arm, “I wouldn't think simple describes anything about you.” Which is true; the way Jay’s dressed makes Eliot look downright shabby in comparison, and that’s not a thing that happens often.