He couldn't sleep.
He had known he wouldn't be able to before he even got home—had known it somewhere in the car, watching the city move past the window with the specific, unhurried indifference of a place that had no investment in how his evening had gone. The event had been fine. He had stood and clapped and said the right things and smiled the right smiles and watched Ray Carver put his hand on Aurora's and smile at him over her shoulder like a man who had won something and wanted to make sure Liam understood the score.
He had understood the score.
He loosened his tie while climbing the stars and took it off entirely before he reached the bedroom. The jacket went over the chair. The rest of the getting-ready-for-bed sequence completed itself on autopilot, the way it did on nights when his mind was already elsewhere and his body was simply managing logistics.
