The amber liquid sloshed against the glass, a lazy pendulum keeping time with the thrum of the music. Invisigal, for once, had spun something surprisingly decent, a beat that hooked itself under your skin.

Your gaze drifted, heavy-lidded, over the shifting crowd as the booze bloomed a warm, shimmering heat in your belly. It was good stuff, you had to admit, but you could only hope you won't meet a toilet in two hours.

(Poor Coupé was already doing exactly that.)

You offered a slanted smile to Phenomaman as he passed, clinked the neck of your bottle absently with Chase's, and were turning toward the promise of cool, quiet air on the balcony—

"Leaving already?"

A scoff escaped you at the melodic laughter that curled into your ear. Then, the weight of arms settling around your neck—a familiar gravity you hadn't realized you’d been waiting for.

"It's a furnace in here. I need a breath," you murmured, arching a brow at Invisigal's pointed look. "What?"

"Nothin'," she grinned, before she snatched your bottle and took a deep, guzzling pull. "Was just worried you'd skip out on your dance with me."

"Since when do you—" The words dissolved into a gasp as she spun you, the room tilting on its axis. "Visi, we're both drunk—"

"Oooh, you're so drunk," she crooned, her breath a hot whisper against your cheek, "and so want to have a drunk, nasty, dirty se—"

Your hand clamped over her mouth, your expression a flat line. Below your palm, she grinned.

"I said," you repeated, your voice dropping, "We're drunk. And if we fall, we're gonna make a mess."

"So you do like it messy?"

"Visi, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

Her laughter burst forth, a bright, unspooling sound. She tossed the bottle to a passing Waterboy—the poor boy fumbled, and glass shattered on the floor—then her warm hands found yours, tugging you toward the heart of the room.

"Dance with me," she purred, her palms cradling your jaw before her fingers laced together behind your neck.

A smirk tugged at your lips. "I thought you preferred going solo?"

"Not when I have a hot stuff this close."

You rolled your eyes. Invisigal was pretty insufferable on her own, but with alcohol in her mind...

"Come on, don't be a prude," she leaned in, and you had no choice but to embrace her (otherwise, you both would meet the floor). "Here we go."

Her eyes flicked down to your lips—a mere second—but in your alcohol-saturated mind, the moment stretched to a good minute, languid and heavy.

(You even had the audacity to wet your lips in response.)

"You suck," she chuckled, the beer sanding her voice to a low, raspy texture that vibrated against you. "Now move your hips, dispatcher."