july 2015

The notes of Sober echoed through the house, filling every hallway and every room, every inch of space they could find; but there wasn’t anything –or anyone –sober at the moment. Seungri was singing at the top of his lungs in a very drunken way, surely convinced to be at the best of his abilities, and it was a miracle if all the windows hadn’t exploded yet; Jiyong was lying on the floor -which apparently had seemed the best place where to stay to the leader, even if the couch was literally just beside him –looking up at the maknae with a little smile and glistering eyes, which could’ve been caused by the alcohol, and totally not because his Seungri was a silly cute thing when drunk.
 
Seunghyun marched in, holding six cans of beer in some miraculous way, smiling from ear to ear, feeling lightheaded but happy; he barely avoided stepping on the leader while dropping all the cans on the table, in the middle of a mess of takeaway food and empty glasses of wine: two of them rolled on the floor and he just looked at them, before grabbing one of the surviving ones and tossing it to Youngbae, who casually caught it, pretending that he hadn’t been waiting to receive one for a while and had started to grow tired and had considered storming into the hyung’s kitchen asking him why he was taking so long.
 
The song ended and the room plummeted into silence, which was almost immediately broken by Seungri falling onto Jiyong, colliding with half the table in the process; the leader lamented for a second, before hitting the maknae on the head and stretching to reach for a can of beer. Seunghyun sat down on the couch, near Youngbae, ignoring the fact that his friend was staring into the void with his arms crossed over his chest, as if something undefined had made him angry, and popped open his own can, taking a long sip and looking around in the room. Daesung was fumbling with the phone placed near the stereo, probably searching for a song to play next; out of nowhere, Jiyong pushed Seungri off of him and himself up, supporting himself holding on the table and the couch:
 
“Daedaedae!” he screamed a bit too loudly, making everybody else cringe slightly. “I dare you to sing ‘I Was Made For Lovin’ You’ to…” he scanned the room with his eyes, as if wondering intently who to choose, before pointing a finger towards Seunghyun, and waving his arm up and down to indicate that he’d chosen his victim. The “victim” tried to protest by getting up and failed miserably, falling back onto the couch with a thud, almost spilling his beer all over himself, accepting his destiny throwing his head back as if he was a martyr ready to burn down.

Daesung laughed light-heartedly, turning around to wriggle his eyebrows –or, at least, that was what they could see for barely a second, before his bangs fell back onto his eyes -at Jiyong in a not-very seductive way:
 
“Only if you sing ‘I love you, baby’ to Youngbae.” hearing his name, the grumpy figure at the end of the couch grumbled something and eyed both of them with a glare that could’ve killed a person, before going back to staring in front of himself as if he found something incredibly interesting in the air he breathed.

At the same time, Seungri let out a gut-wrenching ‘no’ and caught their leader by the waist, dragging him back onto him and burying his face into his shoulder, mumbling words that suspiciously resembled ‘GD’s mine’; Jiyong didn’t seem bothered by it, his smile was quite satisfied, actually.

What he’d suggested seconds before seemed completely forgotten, erased by other thoughts and far more important things.
 
Daesung decided to leave the stereo alone and, carefully avoiding the various objects which were lying on the floor –Jiyong and Seungri included –reached the couch the others were sitting on, draping himself over them, his head on Seunghyun’s lap and his legs resting on Youngbae’s.

The latter was still staring in front of himself, probably wondering why he wasn’t drunk yet; of course, being absolutely wasted, he couldn’t understand that he already was, he just felt the need to mope by himself. Seunghyun looked down at his dongsaeng, feeling a sudden surge of irritation towards his hair which was covering his small, adorable eyes:
 
“How come you’re this sober?” he asked, playing with his bangs and dragging it back on his forehead, lightly pulling at the strands; he wanted to sound a bit upset, but he ended up chuckling softly, without even waiting for an answer.

Daesung was staring up at him, his eyes bright and deep; he felt like he was falling into them, into him, like his pupils were black holes drawing him in, the unknown beckoning him.
 
Okay. He was definitely too drunk for his own good, and his mind was wandering in its hidden places and he was getting lost; that didn’t make any sense. Anyway, he kept running his fingers into the younger’s hair. He found the action oddly calming, and he didn’t want to stop; he didn’t have any reason to.

Everything around them had gone quiet; quickly glancing around, he noticed that Youngbae’s head had fallen against the back of the couch and that his eyes were closed, his arms slipping motionless beside his body. Jiyong and Seungri were partially out of his vision, hidden behind the coffee table, but, for what he could see, the maknae still had his arms around the leader’s waist and the latter was resting his head on his shoulder; everyone seemed to have fallen asleep out of sudden, as if somebody had pressed an on-and-off switch.
 
Entirely unconsciously, he’d started moving his hands over Daesung’s face, and realized only when the younger nuzzled his nose against his palm; he looked back at him and found his eyes were unreadable, even darker than they’d been before. His common sense told him to halt his movements, because what he was doing was weird, but all the alcohol he’d in his veins -and the gleam in his dongsaeng’s eyes –shut it down almost immediately. He softly dragged his fingers over the bold curve of his nose, passing upon his eyebrows and slowly making his way to his cheekbones, caressing them for a second, tracing the line of his jaw and pressing down on the side of his neck for a brief second; Daesung closed his eyes in the process, and he, for some reason, reminded Seunghyun of a cat, an oversized cat with warm and soft skin. He smiled again, his fingers moving to his lips, slowly; he didn’t dare touch them, he barely brushed against them, his fingertips tingling, craving a contact.
 
He felt his warm breath –which was more intoxicating than the alcohol he loved so much –against his skin when the younger, opening his eyes again and staring into the depths of his soul, opened his mouth and started singing, his voice a mere whisper:
 
I was made for lovin' you, baby
You were made for lovin' me
And I can't get enough of you, baby
Can you get enough of me?
 
He shook his head, without thinking. No; he could never get enough of him.