spiral.
@ryanid, halloween party, middle of the night, status: pretty drunk ( event )
-- dare, do a body shot off the person to your left.
the whole party seems to have turned into a personal race that san’s started with himself to see just how completely smashed he can get before someone decides to cut him off from the bar. he’s gotten to the point where mixing alcohol with energy drinks sounds like a good idea, which usually means he’s well on his way to drunk. his costumes gone, jowi’s spirited off with it. he’s only a little bitter about it, he’d liked tucking himself under all layers. at least there’s enough people around where his t-shirt doesn’t seem entirely ill-advised. the ribbon still tied around his neck, however, does.
it’s probably only a testament to how loud the club is that he hasn’t torn the bell-attached-ears jowi had worn to the party off and discarded them at a half-empty table long ago. instead, he fits himself -- once again -- at the bar. this time he finds an empty stool. to be fair, he’d only known about it because ryan had texted him back and told him that she’d saved him a seat. but details had, at that point in san’s night, become negligible.
“how’s your night been?” he asks, and his voice out slips slightly underneath a slur. tongue starting to get just a little clumsy behind his teeth. he slides himself a little closer, chin pressed to the bony just of her shoulder to glance down at the empty bar glass in front of her. “i was promised drinks,” san tacks on, like ryan somehow wouldn’t remember sending him that promise five minutes ago. like he even needs anymore drinks. but ryan is often a trusty enabler, so he send her one of those off-kilter smiles that are usually reserved just for her and hums to himself when she waves down the bartender for the both of them.
“you should buy me more drinks than that, it’s my birthday.” it comes out in a deadpan, and it’s technically not really his birthday. it’s the weekend past it. but he figures it’s close enough, considering they’re dragging the sentiment of the 31st around with them to this overcrowded club. “should we do one of those fucking dares? or me a lime, let’s do a bodyshot.” it’s one of those drunken decisions, but it’s not like san’s shoved all that far out of his comfort zone. not like they haven’t pressed themselves close before, even after they’d stopped dating. san and the concept of boundaries was a loose term. fluctuating between disappearing entirely and being impossibly too rigid.