Rule 1: Never trust Choi Seungcheol's definition of fun

"The party's gonna be so fun, Jihoon," Seungcheol persists, throwing an arm fruitlessly over Jihoon's shoulder, "trust me, okay?"

Setting aside his relatively ty tasting school-made coffee, Jihoon shakes his head. "Nope, never. I'd rather stick a pole up my and cry than go to another one of your 'fun' parties."

Seungcheol has a habit of getting himself into sticky situations, and an even worse one of dragging his best friend (though Jihoon often denies his position as that) into them. From innocent things like putting sand into other kids' milk cartons at pre-school ("Jihoon told me too!") to getting arrested for joyriding ("It's Jihoon's car!"), Seungcheol seemingly always had a slot for Jihoon in his trouble laced schemes, which land him in so much hot water he has constant burns with his family and the law.

"Come on," Seungcheol groans, "I'll be there."

"And that's meant to make me want to come?"

"So is Jeonghan, you like Jeonghan, right?"

"I tolerate your boyfriend."

Seungcheol hmphs. "What about..." he looks around the student littered campus, ticking classmates who won't be there off in his head, "...Junhui! Remember him, you had a mad crush on him in Freshmanー"

A sharp kick to his shin paralyzes Seungcheol, nails digging into his ear as Jihoon grabs it like a strict mother after their son's broken another vase.

"Never, ever mention that again," Jihoon hisses, tone so sharp it could slice titanium. "Or it'll be the last thing you say," Seungcheol cripples to his knees, wailing apologies in pure agony as Jihoon twists at his lobe to enforce his threat. He let's go at the nearing sight of a teacher, smiling sweet and innocent as they pass in oblivion.

"Jeez, when did you get so frigid from a good time?" Seungcheol whines, rubbing his leg and caressing his ear simultaneously.

"Hm, let's see," Jihoon frowns, tapping his chin in exaggerated thought, "maybe it was when you crashed mine and my dad's cars. Or maybe when you left me dangling from the roof in your cousins dodgy climbing gear. Or, maybeー"

"Alright, I get the picture Mr. I'm-too-proud-to-admit-my-mistakes."

Seungcheol has to cower from Jihoon's physics textbook hurtling in his direction. 

 

One more time and Jihoon was going to snap. For the last hour, cooped up in study hall with possibly the most annoying prick on the entire planet (often referred to as Kim Mingyu), Jihoon has been constantly poked, prodded and whispered at by his tall, arguably acquainted Lit. partner, and it was driving him nuts.

"You should totally come, though," Mingyu suggests for the umpteenth time, his pencil creating an infuriating rhythm of tap-pat-tap-pat against the wood of the desk and his graffiti filled notebook. "Wonwoo's tryna sneak some of his mom's liquor out," he chuckles to himself, clearly fond of his on-again-off-again boyfriend's antics, "man, it's gonna be fun."

"If you mention that ing party one more time, and I swear to God," Jihoon sets his pen down as calmly as he can and leans over to snatch up Mingyu's pencil, waggling in front of his nose, "I'm seriously going to shoot someone."

Mingyu leans back in his chair and scoffs. "Why are you so against going to this party? It's not like you've never been to one, or drank, before."

"Why is everyone so adamant that I go?" Jihoon shrugs. "It's just a party."

"Yeah, but it'll be fー"

"Say it'll be fun. I dare you."

 

Jihoon's phone is cold against his skin as he presses it against his ear. "Yello?"

"Hyung!" Chan's less-than-endearing voice pitches through the speaker. Jihoon frowns and glances at his watch. 

"Chan, if you need help writing songs for Music, call me backー"

Chan giggles, a rare sound that makes Jihoon question the kind of drinks he's been having this evening. "Who does homework on a Friday night,hyung?"

Jihoon looks down at his algebra work spread across his desk. "I don't know, someone who wants to graduate."

"Seungcheol was right, you are frigid."

Jihoon pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly envisioning the pleasing sight of punching Seungcheol square in the jaw, and sighs. "If you're calling about that mothering partyー"

"Okay, okay, I'll hang up," Chan intones, "but just be warned, I think Soonyoung is outside your window."

Simultaneously, a clang rattles Jihoon's window pane, and the student mentally prepares himself for the vexing discussion to ensue.

 

"Just let go, Jihoon," Soonyoung grins over his shoulder where Jihoon is being lead forcefully by the wrist, "have fun, it's a party." They weave in and out of raving teenagers crammed into someone's front living room, avoiding flying red cups, silly string. and wild dancing arms. The beats from the booming stereo shake the floor and vibrate their way through Jihoon's body, accelerating his heart and pushing unwanted adrenaline through his veins.

They refuge to the kitchen, a little less populated but still crowded as Soonyoung pulls him to the corner where Seungcheol stood, one arm wrapped around his boyfriend, the other accommodating a cup of alcohol. His friend has his face buried into his pretty partner's neck, lucid grins plastered across both their faces as Seungcheol no doubt bit hickeys across Jeonghan's neck (or something of that sorts, Jihoon didn't really want his sober mind to dwell in fear of vomiting at the thought).

"Seungcheol!" Soonyoung cries, pulling his shoulder away from Jeonghan and gesturing to Jihoon. "One, get a ing room. Two, look after Jihoon until his get's drunk, I'm going to find Seungkwan." He pushes Jihoon's smaller frame towards the couple, and adds as an afterthought: "Or Seokmin - knowing Seungkwan, he's probably already upstairs with Hansol by now." 

Jihoon scowls at Soonyoung as he scurries away back into the living room, snatching a lone drink off the counter as he went. His senses were masked then by the scent of overwhelming body spray and strong alcohol, tight arms wrapping around his shoulders with little consent.

"Jihoonie!" Jeonghan coos, patting Jihoon hair in a drunken flair. "Seungcheolie said you probably weren't coming!"

"I wasn't," Jihoon mumbles, mouth covered by Jeonghan's shoulder. He holds the elder's waist ready to shove him off before Seungcheol does the job before him.

"Babe," he whines, and Jihoon almost gags, "give me some attention."

Jeonghan slurs something unintelligible and turns in Seungcheol's grip, holding his cheeks and laying a careless kiss on his face. Jihoon diverts his eyes, reconsidering the personal vow to not drink too much tonight for he might actually need it to deal with the amount of unsocial, incompetent people gathered tonight. He grabs the nearest red cup and examines the liquid inside. It's a murky, orange-brown color that resembles a cocktail if someone decided to in it. Despite its grotesque appearance, Jihoon bears his wits, and throws it down his neck, greeting the anticipated feeling of mist clouding his mind and the loss of feeling in his toes.

Jesus, Wonwoo's mom has some weird liquor.

 

Sometimes, Jihoon slips back into comprehension, stopping and wondering what the is going on, before his waist is taken in the hands of some stranger, a piece of paper being pushed against his lips through the stench of a mysteriously concocted drink. After that, intoxication covers his common sense again, and he's desperately trying to a thin napkin into his own possession. He has to stand on his tip-toes to reach, most the time, and for once, he doesn't feel like shoving his foot up the girl's who calls: "Awww!"

He has to stand on his tip-toes to reach, most the time, and for once, he doesn't feel like shoving his foot up the girl's who calls: "Awww!" For once, he'll comfortably hang off Seungcheol's shoulder as they wail the lyrics to Mambo No. 5, join Seokmin and Minghao when they recite the awful choreography to Oh Mickey. For once, Jihoon lets go, accepts the incoming kisses from Jeonghan, doesn't punch Seungkwan when he plays with his hair and laughs along when Hansol makes a crude joke. The atmosphere's hot as eyes fall on him when Wonwoo demands he does 'the finger-snappy-thing', it's exhilarating when people cheer in their drunken excitement, stomp their feet against the wooden floor along to the beat, and it's fun when he's jumping in a dance mob, arms in the air with drinks in hand.

At some point, though, Jihoon panics. When a body is crushed against his, unfamiliar lips on his mouth, cheeks, jaw, neck, wandering hands gripping his and pushing up his shirt. He's sure he didn't ask for it, did he? He can't remember, his foot dipping in the waters of cognition when he's badly wanting to be fully immersed, drowned in it.

He escapes to the back door, the music hollowing to an echo as the cold air wraps him in a cocoon. His chest rises and falls in an erratic fashion, the profusing freshness overwhelming his lungs. He feels sick, having lost count of his amount of drinks and what was them - it's possible he's sampled every type of alcohol known to man that evening. His vision is still dim, the empty blackness of the back garden a God send to his straining sight. He can barely stand up straight, wobbling and stumbling across the patio and draping his loose, limp body in a deck chair.

"Are you, uh, okay?" 

Jihoon turns his head, straining his neck to look around the sun lounger to the tree meters away on the grass. The boy who leans against it wore concern like a fashion statement, mixing the expression into his gentle features with a cigarette slipped between his fingers that smoked off in the chill. "You look kinda rough." 

Jihoon eyes the drug distastefully, feeling either a joke or snarky remark crawl up his throat (as to which it would be, he'll find out when he says it). He didn't know the boy - or maybe he did, but honestly, at this point, Jihoon wouldn't be able to recognize his own mother - and, as a stranger, had no position to comment on whatever habits he had, but he guesses the intoxication and foul smell is against him. "Sm...smokingー"

Of course, though, the intoxication also refuses his right to develop coherent sentences. Instead, he just throws up.

Jihoon doesn't care much for impressions he makes on new people - he is who he is - but when the boy chuckles, soft and fondly, Jihoon feels his mind relax that the antic spurred some amusement over judgment. He makes his way around the patio, sitting on the garden table and putting out his cigarette on the cold metal. In his other hand. he juts out a half-empty glass bottle, brown liquid swishing around inside. When Jihoon eyes that too, he smiles. "It's soda. I thought I'd bring my own beverage to avoid anything tainted in there."

Grabbing it and taking a sniff, Jihoon asks: "Not mu...much a drinker?" 

The boy shakes his head. "I have a very, very low tolerance to alcohol that causes this weird allergy thing. Take one sip and I'm on the floor frothing at the mouth. Jisoo, by the way."

Jihoon gulps down the drink, which was indeed soda, not leaving a drop.

"You're not Jihoon by any chance?"

Jihoon stops and has to think about the question before shaking his head. "Noーwait, no, yes. Yeah, I'mーI'm Jihoon. How do you know?"

Jisoo smiles again, and Jihoon stares as his eyes disappear into his cheeks. "I came with Seungcheol and Jeonghan. I'm in Jeonghan's choir class and they kept saying they've sent someone - Soonyoung I think - to go and get you."

"Oh," Jihoon mutters, resting back into the deck chair, "wow, Jeonghan actually has friends." 

Jisoo laughs (Jihoon likes that sound). "That's a bit mean."

"Yeah," Jihoon nods smile spreading across his mouth, "yeah, wellー" he halts and flies a hand to his mouth, leaning back over the chair to vomit again.

"I think you've had enough party for one night," Jisoo smiles, patting Jihoon's back to sooth him. In any other case, Jihoon would growl for them to get off, but his head felt like a balloon, and Jisoo has nice hands. "If you wanna leave, I can give you a ride home."

Jihoon nods, the disgusting taste of bile lining his mouth. "You're hands are nice."

Well, that wasn't what I wanted to say.

Jisoo laughs again, and Jihoon cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of his cute face. "Thanks," Jihoon swore there was a tint of red in his cheeks and felt pride pile on top of the churning in his stomach. "Years of guitar, I guess."

"I play guitar," Jihoon hums, pulling a closed lip grin, "we're so alike, let's just date. You have a nice face, too."

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

Jisoo holds Jihoon's arms and helps his shaky legs by draping it over his shoulder. "Slow down, buy me dinner first."

Jihoon tries to etch the request into his brain, but he's sure the migraine to ensue on Saturday morning will overtake it.