I can't help but feel a surge of excitement when I hear my phone ring from across the room. Friday nights are lame as hell when you have nothing to do and no one to spend them with.
My feet carry me too the kitchen where my phone lies on the counter. About four rings in, I can finally halt my obnoxious ringtone and answer the call.
"Hello?" I ask, taking a seat on a barstool.
"Hey, (Y/N). What are you up to tonight?" The voice belongs to my lovely best-friend Michael.
I twist my hair around my finger as I reply. "Nothing at all, why?"
He chuckles, "I'm doing the same. Come over? I've got three bottles of wine and half a bottle of tequila if we decide to go crazy."
I laugh as I look forward to the idea of having something to do tonight. "I feel like it's been forever since we've gotten wasted. Let's do this. I'll be over in ten, but be warned: I'm crashing on your couch. If I get even half as drunk as I was last time we did this, there's no way in hell I'm getting behind the wheel of a car."
I can practically see his smile through my phone, and I'm smiling, too. The two of us are hilarious when we're drinking. "Alright, alright, I've been warned. Now get over this or I'll have to open a bottle without ya."
"See you in ten, Mikey."
"Can't wait."
The conversation ends, and just like that I whisk myself off to my bedroom to get changed and grab a few things so I can stay the night.
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Michael and I have been friends for two years. For some reason, we hit it off right away. Although that reason probably springs from our love for a nice, chilled alcoholic beverage. I find it funny, here in the states, neither him nor I are legal, but somehow we squire up a way to fill our apartments with plenty of bottles.
He's a funny drunk, not to mention an honest drunk. He thinks everything is ten times funnier after he's downed about eight or nine shots. I've got to admit, his laugh is the best, regardless of whether he's been drinking or not. I've always adored his laugh.
My favorite moments with him have been the ones where we're intoxicated. Because, as I previously mentioned, he's not just hilarious while under the influence, but honest, too.
One night, he had drank much more than usual—within the realm of fourteen or fifteen drinks. I've never seen him drink so much, but somehow he managed to keep a somewhat-decent head on his shoulders. "(Y/N)," he had said to me. "You know, you're a really good person. You might not think too highly of yourself, but I'm sitting here wasted, and I'm still s-sober enough to realize what a kind-hearted girl you are. Someday I'm gonna have to ask you to give me lessons," he took another swig of his drink as he tried to recall what he was previously saying. "L-Lessons on how to be as great and as nice and as kind as you are. I wanna be more like... you."
As sarcastic as he can be, I know that his statement came from the heart.
Anyways, here I am on Mikey's doorstep, eagerly anticipating his smiling face, and the liquor he has to offer.
"(Y/N), finally you're here. That was way more than ten minutes!" He whines as he welcomes me into his flat.
I love his flat. All of the rooms feed off of the living room, and it gives a really homey feeling to the apartment.
"So, where's the poison?" I ask with a devilish grin.
He walks towards his kitchen cabinet, pulling out the promised bottles of wine and the single bottle of tequila.
