The room pulsated with energy, the walls seeming to throb with the rhythm of the bass. Multicolored lights cast a kaleidoscope of patterns across the faces of the revelers, their youthful features painted in shades of blue and red as they danced with wild abandon. Stanley's party had been billed as a "Night to Forget," and for Inch, it was rapidly becoming just that.

Futuristic holographic projections danced alongside partygoers, creating an otherworldly atmosphere. Hovering orbs emitted soft, ethereal light, bathing the room in an eerie glow. Students, dressed in the latest fashions, swayed and gyrated to the music, their movements a hypnotic blend of fluidity and desperation, seeking solace in the thudding beat of the music.

In one corner, a group huddled around a table laden with a cornucopia of illicit substances, the air thick with acrid smoke and the sharp tang of chemical euphoria. A girl with neon-streaked hair expertly rolled a joint, her fingers moving with practiced ease, while others inhaled the fumes from glowing vaporizers, their eyes glazing over as they lost themselves to the high. Beside them, a young man with a digital tattoo, a sleeve of a stylized dragon that moved, chasing its own tail around the man's arm, colors changing all the while, leaned against the wall, his face twisted in concentration as he injected a luminescent liquid into his veins, the substance sending electric shivers up his arm.

On the other side of the room, a makeshift bar had been set up, complete with hovering drones that mixed intoxicating concoctions with a mechanical precision that belied their grace. As the drones whirred and buzzed, filling cups with vibrant, glowing liquids, the crowd clamored for more, their voices raised in a cacophony of desire and anticipation. Inch found himself among them, his heart heavy with the weight of Beth Anne's harsh words, seeking solace in the warm burn of alcohol as it slid down his throat.

Throughout the night, Inch dove deeper into the hedonistic chaos, allowing himself to be swept away by the tide of excess. He danced with a beautiful stranger, her lithe body pressed against his as they moved in perfect syncopation to the pounding music. He swallowed pill after pill, chasing the elusive dragon of euphoria as the world around him blurred and twisted, the colors and sounds melding into a swirling vortex of sensation.

As the hours wore on, the atmosphere in the room grew heavier, the energy of the crowd shifting from exuberance to desperation. The music slowed, the bass no longer a driving force but a mournful dirge that underscored the growing sense of ennui that settled over the partygoers. They moved with less vigor, their laughter tinged with the bitter edge of exhaustion.

It was in this state that Inch stumbled out of Stanley's boisterous celebration, the remnants of laughter and depravity clinging to him like a second skin. The night had evaporated into a fog of alcohol, narcotics, and hedonistic indulgence – a pitiful attempt to dull the pain left by Beth Anne's departure. As Inch staggered through the dimly lit alleys near the university dorms, his mind muddled and his body feeble, he slumped against a filth-covered wall and retched violently.

It was Nicholai, who had been keeping an eye on him, that found Inch in this wretched state, unconscious and covered in his own vomit. Worry softened Nicholai's eyes as he assessed the young man's pitiful condition, and he hoisted Inch to his feet. With an arm around Inch's waist for support, Nicholai guided him through the shadowy streets to a modest café just beginning to stir in the early morning light.

Inside, Nicholai assisted Inch in cleaning up as best as he could, procuring a damp cloth to wipe the worst of the grime from his face and clothes. Inch's eyes, still glazed and unfocused, flickered with shame and regret as he accepted a steaming cup of coffee and a simple breakfast from Nicholai's outstretched hands.

"What happened to you?" Nicholai inquired softly.

Inch shook his head. "I don't know," he mumbled. "I just...I just couldn't take it anymore."

"Take what?" Nicholai questioned.

Inch hesitated, then took a deep breath. "Beth Anne," he said. "She's left me."

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Nicholai's eyes widened. "Beth Anne? But I thought you two were in love."

Inch nodded. "We were," he said. "But she left me. She said she couldn't handle being with someone who was so...so lost. She despised that I'm friends with Stanley. I mean he isn't that bad, and fascism isn't... " he trailed off, sighing.

Inch's voice faded, and he buried his face in his hands. Nicholai placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I know how much you loved her."

Inch nodded again, unable to speak.

Over breakfast, Nicholai steered the conversation toward "The Social Contract" by Jean-Jacques Rousseau, an Old Earth political philosophy book that delved into the concept of the social contract and its implications for society.

"So, what does this mean for us?" Inch asked. "What does it mean for the way we live our lives?"

"It means that we have a responsibility to each other," Nicholai said. "We have a responsibility to create a society that is just and fair for everyone. We have a responsibility to protect the freedoms of others, even if we don't agree with them."

"Rousseau believed," Nicholai expounded, "that humans are naturally free and equal, but that society and its institutions have corrupted this innate state of being. He posited that the social contract is an agreement between individuals to create a society that safeguards their freedoms and ensures their safety."

"Yes, but... like, y'know fascism can provide a sense of order and stability in a chaotic world, and it can mobilize the resources of a country for rapid economic development." Inch mumbled.

Nicholai shrugged.

Inch and Nicholai lapsed into silence as Inch sipped his coffee and mulled over his predicament. As they ate their breakfast, Nicholai offered his support. "We'll get through this,"he said. "I promise."

Inch smiled weakly. "I know we will," he said. "I have you to help me."

"Inch," Nicholai said, "I know this is a difficult time for you, but I want you to talk about it. Maybe if you talk about it, you can start to heal."

Inch hesitated for a moment but then nodded. "Okay," he said. "I'll try."

And so, Inch began to tell Nicholai about Beth Anne. He told him how they had met, how they had fallen in love, and how they had shared some wild adventures when they were children. He told him about the night she left him and how he had been feeling ever since.

Nicholai listened patiently, and when Inch was finished, he said, "I'm so sorry, Inch."

Inch nodded. "Thanks," he said. "It means a lot."

They walked in silence for a while before Nicholai spoke again. "Inch," he said, "I want to talk to you about something."

Inch looked at him curiously. "What is it?" he asked.

"I want to talk to you about compassion," Nicholai said. "Compassion is the ability to understand and share the feelings of another person. It's the ability to put yourself in someone else's shoes and see the world from their perspective. It's the ability to feel empathy for someone else's pain and suffering."

Inch nodded, his expression guarded. "Yeah," he said. "And?"

"And compassion is important," Nicholai continued, "because it allows us to connect with other people on a deeper level. It allows us to build relationships and to create a sense of community. It allows us to make the world a better place. It's a double-edged sword, honed by the weak as a means of survival, yet wielded by the strong to create a better world. Nurture it like a muscle, and wield it like a weapon to forge your path."

Inch stabbed at his eggs, his mood souring. "I know, I'm not a kid."

Nicholai's expression softened. "I didn't mean to come across that way," he said. "I just want you to remember that compassion can be a powerful tool. It's easy to lose sight of it, especially when you're hurting. But it's during these times that it's most important to hold onto that sense of empathy and understanding."

Inch exhaled slowly, releasing some of the tension that had crept into his shoulders. He glanced out the window. He saw a figure across the street, standing in the shadows - a woman he thought, a tall one. His eyes were still blurry from the excess partying; in truth he was still a little drunk. Maybe a lot drunk, he thought as he rubbed his eyes, hoping to clear them. When he looked across the street again, the figure was gone.

Inch shrugged it off and refocused on Nicholai as they ate and talked through the morning until Inch felt ready to head back to the dorms.