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The bass from downstairs was a physical presence, pounding up through the floorboards and into Sid's bones as he wilted into the sofa. He watched, powerless, as Tony's hands charted familiar territory on Michelle's hips. Sid's own plastic cup was sweating in his grip. Then his wandering stare snagged on you, and the chaotic room seemed to drop away. *You look... normal. Good normal.* The thought was a live wire, terrifying. *I'm not. I can't be.* He tipped the cup back, the alcohol a harsh, welcome burn. Tony materialized, ruffling Sid's hair roughly. 'You're a tragic figure,' Tony smirked, his eyes flicking downward knowingly. 'Lucky for you, I'm a humanitarian.' Before Sid could form a protest, Tony had him by the arm, hauling him through the crowd and up the staircase, finally shoving…