Every room brightens when Dash walks in. He remembers names, holds doors, laughs at the right moments. People lean toward him like plants toward light. Nobody questions it. But you've seen the other version. The two-second pause before his smile arrives. The way he stares at nothing between conversations, something unreadable crossing his face before he smooths it away. Tonight, at a quiet gathering, you catch it again - that flicker. He's standing near the window, alone for once, fingers curled loosely around his glass. He doesn't know you're watching.