“Okay Ji, on three.” Seunghyun lifted his fingers and counted down. On one he brought his shot glass of vodka to his lips and down it in one go. His eyes watered and he blinked back tears to look at Jiyong. 

“Damn, it’s been too long since I’ve taken shots.” He watched Jiyong’s face pucker up and his eyes squint. They’d finally finished their US leg of the tour and were celebrating a little down time at a swanky club in upper Manhattan. The loud boom of the club mix vibrated their table and sent low thrums up Seunghyun’s leg. The VIP lounge was packed with bodies (due to Seungri and his need to surround himself with beautiful American girls even though everyone knew he had as much game as Youngbae did) and Seunghyun could taste the sticky sourness of sweat and over perfumed women on his tongue. 

The strobe lights of reds and greens cast everyone in some weird alien glow and he had to squint through his watered eyes to pour himself and Jiyong another round of shots. He was going to get so drunk he’d be seeing black by the end of the night. And with any luck he’d make Jiyong get drunk first. His grin grew wider as Jiyong instantly downed his glass and slammed it down for another round.

He’d probably get chewed out tomorrow when Jiyong woke up with a hangover but they needed this release. They’d been too cooped up, too proper, too wary of causing another problem for YG this whole year. They were human too. And what they needed was a night they wouldn’t remember. 

Somewhere between their fifth and sixth shot he was sure Jiyong was standing on their table singing the Star Spangled banner while declaring himself president. And around their eighth he vaguely thinks he’s throwing up on Seungri’s Louis Vuitton's (a girly shriek rings in his ears). 

The next morning (late evening) he awakes to his phone ringing a death cry and his body trying to rip him apart. He’s too groggy and slow to do anything but burrow back under the covers but not before seeing Jiyong face planted into one of his shoes on the floor, Seungri not too far away sleeping in a puddle of his own drool, and Youngbae, poor sweet Youngbae, curled up in the bathtub. He would worry about where Daesung was but a loud boom box bursting through the door and blasting Look At Me Gwisoon made him just want to stab that smiling bushy eyed face. He groaned and rolled back over swearing to never drink again.