Clean Slate » a.i. au

Seven

        "Never have I ever... had this drink, this is amazing, what is this?" I close my eyes and shake my head – I've lost count of how many times I've done that in the past two and a half hours – at Luke, sprawled across the sofa a few feet away from me but if he continues shifting and turning like he has the whole time, his legs are gonna be in my lap in a matter of minutes.

        "First of all," Calum starts loudly – Christ, if only I'd remembered their loudness is yet another reason I don't like hanging out with them. "You bought the drink, you fucktruck. Second, you're fucking wasted, Liz is going to castrate both of us."

        While Luke is clearly too shit-faced to function, much less reply to Calum, Michael has been giggling at just about everything Calum's been saying the whole evening – so this accusation of his isn't an exception either. "Calum," He cackles, shutting his eyes in laughter- either I'm too blind to see what's so funny about everything Calum says or Michael is also too shit-faced to function properly. "He's, I don't think- Luke, do you even remember the rules?"

        Yep, both of them are gonna need help walking to a taxi tonight. Calum thinks he's much better than them, but he's gonna join the club of drunken punk-rock kittens soon, too. "Of course I do," Luke exclaims, about a minute after Michael asked the question, "I got drunk for the first time while playing it. Alright, never have I ever... had unicorn hair."

        There's a silence for a couple of seconds, before Luke bursts into a fit of laughter at his own self – while Calum is looking at him like he's fighting the urge to spare Liz the effort and castrate Luke himself, and Michael is giving him the same look, only he looks more amused. "I hate this band," Michael mumbles, rather passionately, as he leans forward with difficulty, to grab his shot glass and down his drink in one gulp because, well, he has had unicorn hair. I don't think there's a hair color that could be mentioned during this game at which he wouldn't have a shot.

        It takes me a few seconds to realize, but I'm actually smiling at the three donkeys. I could name a thousand reasons I hate being around them, but they could never beat the fact that being in their presence makes me feel so alive. This would be the perfect night, if the person sitting across from me – who's probably spent half of the night looking at me – wasn't here.

        "Okay, since... no one except Miguel is big enough of a drongo to have unicorn hair... Calum, it's your turn," Luke barely gets the words out, as his head is hanging off one of the arms of the loveseat the three of them are sitting on- well, Calum and Michael are sitting on it, Luke on the other hand has his body stretched out across the other two guys' laps, his legs hanging off the other armrest of the couch. He is that long.

        I blink once, carefully averting my eyes to Calum – who still hasn't lost the look of hatred and self-hatred in his eyes. "Never have I ever wanted to slit someone's throat this much," He says dryly, narrowing his eyes at Luke, making me chuckle and Michael giggle, of course.

        "Actually," Ashton, who's only had about three shots the entire evening – so long ago the effect has already worn off – surprises me by speaking up. "I'm pretty sure I have."

        Michael and Calum cock their heads to the same side in the same time, and even Luke lifts his head to see what's going on; Ashton moves forward in his seat, and our close proximity allows me to notice him looking Riley straight in the eyes as he takes a shot.

        Seriously. Seriously. Just when I thought some miracle fell out of the sky and declared this to be a peaceful night, Ashton decides to convince me no such miracle happened. Seriously.