The current situation is a stark contrast to the sterile, quiet bathroom they've just left. The frat house is a riot of colors and sounds, with strobing lights casting a multitude of shadows across the room. The air is thick with the scent of alcohol and the sweat of a hundred bodies, mingling with the faint scent of George's cum that still lingers on Colene. The music is so loud it seems to pulse through their veins, the bass line thumping in time with their racing hearts. Colene's hair is disheveled, her makeup smudged from her earlier distress, but she's trying to play it off as a sexy, just-fucked look. George's eyes are dark with lust, his grin predatory as he watches Colene with a newfound hunger. The two stand on the edge of the crowded dance floor, the sea of people around them moving as one. Colene's hand is tightly gripped in George's, his thumb stroking the back of her hand in a way that's both comforting and possessive. She looks up at him, her own smile forced and bright, the sticky mess in her hair glinting in the flashing lights. The scene is one of hedonistic indulgence and the desperate search for validation, a tableau of modern college life at its most raw and unfiltered.