Parties. Burn in hell the lot of them. Too many people. Way too many–

Minho huffed as he adjusted the neck of his hospital gown. Grateful for the ties in the back to cover most of his back-end. He was happy with what he decided to dress as. While guys were running around with lame werewolf costumes, dracula’s, pirates, poorly done zombies and smurfs,  and even the weirder ones that dressed as teletubbies, he decided it was a good thing he worked with extreme costume design for a living.

Instead of coming as a basketball player, like many of his colleagues had imaginatively suggested because of his height, Minho dressed as a mad-scientist’s test dummy. He fashioned a third eye to his cheek and his skin looked like different patches of other skin was sewn together to make his own. Few parts of the latex skin was his own skin color, some lighter, some darker, some even looking rotting or old and damaged. He had a few of the damaged parts look as if they were wet and leaking. Like a modern day Frankenstein with more haphazardly done stitches and extra appendages sticking out of different places. He was proud of if since he’d managed to attract attention and questions like ’where did you get your costume?’ to which he boasted, “made it myself.” The only problem was that too many people crowded and it made him feel cornered and uncomfortable. 

When he eased away from the crowd Minho decided it was time to reward himself with food to which he regretted even more. It should have been obvious that there was going to be people drinking some spiked beverages but Minho was so into the costumes that he somehow had looked it over and miscalculated the chances of him being mobbed by drunken teens and adults. How the two age groups even mixed here was beyond him. He didn’t care either. The need for air and personal space was deafening at this point. The feeling was coupled with the decision to turn down more of his colleagues party invites. Minho wasn’t having too much fun. Distinctly the invitation said “soirée” and his work friends pounced last minute to tell him to monster himself up. That it was a “themed soirée”.

’Kind of like a Monster Mash!’ Even gave him the clothes to change out of his dress clothes with, which they made sure to steal and promise him their safe return at the end of the party when it was too late for him to grab them back .Safe return?. Fat chance.  

Instead of moping around though Minho wandered on the outskirts of the largest mass of people, avidly avoiding anyone that looked even mildly drunk, to find someone to talk to. Of course he was going to mess it up. His social skills didn’t go further than “what would you like done?” and “please remove your clothes and put them there”. Technically it wasn’t very social either - just work. Now to pick someone to strike conversation with while also hoping the words “nice costume” weren’t the first words he said and hopefully not the last before some rabid boyfriend appears and tries to bludgeon him.