His eyes were heavy, the bags under them, apparent, after so many late nights, waiting. He trudged himself off into his bedroom, not bothering to close the door behind him.

He was almost sloth-like, his feet dragging across the floor as his head drooped. He made no effort to quicken his speed at the sight of his bed. He probably wouldn’t get any sleep tonight, anyway. There was almost no point.

Dropping himself onto the mattress, he situated himself under the sheets, head lolling to the side as it hit the pillow. He was staring out of his bedside window, and through the glass, he could actually see the stars tonight. Usually, they’re shielded by clouds, or smog, but tonight, he caught himself smiling as he watched.

His weighted eyelids finally fluttered to a close, the smile still etched into his features as he instantaneously drifted into a relaxing sleep:

He gave a quiet huff, the music from the ballroom straying into the foyer, where he stood, alone. Everyone else was on the other end of the double doors, dancing and socializing, drinking and eating, laughing and loving.

He was hesitant, concerning himself with whether his mask was on straight, the embroidering in his vest was even, or if his lace bow around his neck was tied tight enough so it’d stay, but loose enough to where he wouldn’t be asphyxiated.

He stole a glance over to a hall-mirror, admiring his reflection for looking so well-put together for once, pausing to think about what he might find on the other side of the doors, waiting for him.

With one last determined sigh, he pried his gaze away from the mirror, taking timid steps toward the large oak doors, his hands resting on the smooth wood for only a heartbeat, before gliding them to the golden handles.

He twisted them, and then pushed.

Inside the ballroom was simply magnificent. He saw so many people twirling and dancing, all in Victorian-era dresses or tuxedos, all with elaborate embroidery and lacing, and all complimented with masks. Some of the older men even had powdered wigs, accenting their tuxes that they had chosen. There was a grand double-staircase encircling the room (he assumed they led up to the bedrooms), and the walls closest to him were lined with delectable foods, appetizers and main courses alike. The smell of the food was oh-so heavenly, and he tried to match each smell that wafted to his nose to a particular food.

He closed his eyes, taking in a longing breath, his head tilted at an upward angle. When his eyes opened again, they met a glittering chandelier, almost taking his breath away as quickly as he inhaled it. It was the centerpiece of the ballroom, and he was only just beginning to admire all of it’s lovely features, when the music ceased it’s playing, as did everyone’s jubilant dancing.

His eyes darted to and fro, scrutinizing everyone under his gaze. They were all looking atop the staircase. His eyes followed, bee-lining to a lone man, dressed in the most elegant tuxedo of all and equipped with the most elaborate mask, eyeing the others as they quieted. He assumed this was the host, and so he, too, quieted so that the host may speak.

"Ah, so good to see you all! Please, continue to enjoy yourselves! Just being a bit fashionably late, is all. Interesting crowd tonight, though, hm?"

He felt the host’s wandering eyes stop on him, seeming to lock with his own. He blinked, turning his head over his left shoulder, and then again to his right.

The music started back up, and turning back, he saw the host begin to gracefully step down the stairs on the staircase closest to him, hand gliding down the wooden rail, his eyes still ever-watching.