"An optimist stays up until midnight to see the new year in. A pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves." -Bill Vaughan
12 o' clock. The witching hour. Midnight. A car coasts down an empty street, sidewalks and houses on either side. It's a nice neighborhood, lower-middle class. One that probably has a lot of kids playing around during the day. Those picturesque neighborhoods, with bright sun and picket fences and ice cream trucks. The car peters to a stop, and one of the men inside throws open the door. He promptly starts to retch, his face low to the ground, and his body threatening to topple him out of the car.
"Fuck man, you okay?" the blonde driver asks. His hair sticks up, hardened with gel. It doesn't look like it, but the strands are quite stiff to touch. The driver leans over, after trying to brush up a stray piece of hair, and tugs on his friend's shirt.
"Fuck me," the passenger moans. The driver takes unbuckles himself and takes a hold of the other's arm, pulling him back into the car. Another vehicle zooms by, almost ramming into theirs, and lets out a good three second whining of a honk as it drives off. "Take me home, Mikkie."
'Mikkie' flips off the now-too-distant driver, who obviously can't see the gesture. He hiccups once, buckling his friend, then himself, back into place. "No way am I driving seven hundred something kilometers to get you home, Abel." His eyes are slightly glazed over, and he laughs quietly at his companion.
Abel slumps into his seat. "Just take me somewhere. Leave me on the side of the road to die. I don't care."
The driver fumbles with the gear shift, putting the car back into motion. "Not happening. Don't even joke."
It's dark in the Danish capital. There was recently a power surge in this area of Copenhagen, and repairs are still under way. The streetlamps on almost every street flicker inconsistently. Ordinarily, there would be more than enough light from the moon overhead, but the sky is overcast, leaving only the headlights of the car. Because of this, the driver moves the car slowly, not daring to trust his impaired perception in combination with the poor visibility.
"Mikkel, drive faster you fool."
"Not happening either."
Abel makes a rather strange noise in the back of his throat, or maybe deep in his chest, and groans again. It's disturbingly doubtful that Abel tried to make the noise of his own volition. Mikkel glances over at him, snorting. "You hardly even drank. Pretty sure I had twice as much."
"I can tell," Abel says, trying to sit up straight. "Sure you should be driving?"
"I'm good. Can hold my alcohol better than anyone." Mikkel slams his foot into the brake pedal as a pair of teens run into the road ahead. The headlights light them up fully. He honks at them, which causes the two kids to bolt out of the way. They scramble up and over a fence into somebody's backyard. Mikkel eases the car forward again.
"Fucking kids," Mikkel mutters. "Are they stupid everywhere?"
"Seems like it."
Mikkel pulls onto a small highway, leading away from the suburban area. The streetlights here all shine brightly. The government considered it to be more necessary to repair the lights in the busier areas before those in residential neighborhoods.
Mikkel plays around with the radio. "Any requests?"
There are more cars here, all of which are driving much faster than that of the inebriated duo. Most pass their car, but some slow down to accommodate them. These cars eventually also pass, not having the patience to continue behind at such a reduced speed. "Not driving on this road."
"Song requests?" Mikkel says, laughing. He messes up the hair on Abel's head, and almost crashes into a car driving next to them. The car swerves away, giving a sharp honk and pulls into a different lane. Mikkel straightens his car, waving to all that pass by.
"'Driving with two fucking hands' by the ever-popular 'not fucking crashing'?"
Mikkel places both hands firmly on the wheel. "Okay, okay. Done."
The two, having been great friends for years, got together to do this every so often. Get together in one or the other's home country, and go bar hopping until they were almost too drunk to get home. That, however, never stopped them from actually getting home. They tried to be careful, and usually called cabs. As they got older, they just found other things to do with their time, things that were far less likely to result in painful injuries for people other than themselves.
On this particular night, neither man had been expecting to drink much. Mikkel had driven his car down to a popular new bar near the outskirts of the city. Of course, there were some friendships where temptation was just something that was not to be ignored. They drank more than expected, and Mikkel refused to leave his car so far from home overnight, resulting in very careful, but still dangerous, DUI.
"Out of curiosity," Abel pipes up. He's wedged his legs against the dashboard and the door, forcing his body to stay as stationary as possible. "Where are you taking me?"
"Dunno, man. I'll figure it out." Mikkel shrugs, letting go of the wheel again to change the radio station. It stops on a popular rock station, and he starts singing along, although it's obvious he doesn't know any of the words. He probably hasn't even heard the song before. He flaps a hand in Abel's general direction. "Sing along!"
"Not happening."
Mikkel taps out the bassline on the steering wheel. Noticing how he manages to keep time remarkably well, he wonders why he never tried taking up a rock instrument. Being in a band would be tons of fun; maybe he'd pass the idea past his brothers, see if they wanted to try it.
"I'd like to know that you're not taking me to some brothel, or something," Abel insists.
"Well, there goes plans one through six," Matthias says, trying to force himself to frown and not really succeeding. "I guess you'll just have to crash on my couch."
"I'll probably still wake up with some woman I don't know slung over me," Abel says, rolling his eyes.
The car pulls out onto a larger street, this one with a single functioning streetlamp. Mikkel tries to make a mental note to tell the local government to hurry up the repairs, but he probably won't remember. Replacing so many lights was guaranteed to be expensive, but if it was for the safety of the people it had to be worth it. Someone could get in an accident or something.
After three songs of trying to sing along to the music, Mikkel gives up, and starts making up lyrics as close to the tune as he can manage. After Abel gives a few half-hearted chuckles, Mikkel starts making the words more ridiculous, until his friend is outright snorting. Mikkie starts every new song off by dedicating it to Abel, and singing about drunken lions who accidentally sleep with bulldogs. As Mikkel gets more and more involved in the songs, the car's path becomes more and more unsteady, until Abel demands they pull over again.
Mikkel pulls to a stop, helping Abel to unbuckle himself. The latter throws himself out of the car and onto the sidewalk outside, on his hands and knees, trying not to vomit on himself. Mikkel turns off the car, and gets out.
"Shit man," he says, kneeling beside his friend and rubbing his back. "We should get you to bed or something."
"I'll sleep here." Abel struggles to move to a different spot, away from the soiled sidewalk. Mikkel grabs a hold of him and does his best to help, though the positioning offers little opportunity. He sets the poor man up against the car.
"No, you damn well won't. Just stay here until you think you're good to move."
"This is the last time I do this with you," Abel tells his friend. I'm not young enough for this shit anymore."
"Shut up, you're not even old."
"'Not that old' still isn't young ."
"Younger than me, last time I checked," Mikkel says, grinning.
"Fuck you."
"You'd love to, wouldn't you?"
On some other adjoining street some ways away, a car's screeching tires can be heard. Probably some kids out joyriding, taking advantage of the empty streets. Mikkel stares out at the street, at the bright neon lights of the various stores. They provide more light than expected, but not enough to light up anything significantly.
A lot of people criticize the city and its tendency for pollution and not-as-fresh air, but Mikkel really likes his city. He admires the countryside too, in its own way, but he adores the sparkling night lights and the bustle during the day. Nothing makes him happier than wandering the streets of Copenhagen, whether a night time stroll or a sunny day's hike.
"I think I'm good," Abel says, snapping Mikkel out of his reverie. "I really hope your couch is comfortable."
Mikkel feels a little guilty at the thought that he just arbitrarily decided that his muddled friend would take the more uncomfortable of the available accommodations. He slides an arm under Abel's and helps him into the car. "Who said anything about the couch? You're taking my bed, friend."
"You did. And we're not sleeping together."
Shutting the door, Mikkel makes his way around to the driver's side. "Hey, I never even implied such a thing. Get your mind out of the gutter."
"Screw off, my mind's nowhere near that gutter of yours." Abel uses the hand crank to roll down the car's window. The night's cool air fills the slightly over-heated car.
"Is that a euphemism for something? You'd like to be in my gutter, wouldn't you?" Mikkel asks as he settles himself into his seat.
Behind them, a car barrels onto the street. Mikkel glances at them in the rear view mirror. "That those tire screechers, you think? Hope their wheels pop and costs their parents tons of kroner." Mikkel starts the car, shifts the gears and goes to pull out. The other car is now much closer, and still travelling just as fast. Instead, Mikkel moves the car directly forward, rather than immediately outward, planning to just pull out once they pass.
"Watch it!" Abel says, reaching for the steering wheel. Mikkel attempts to swat his friend's hand away, causing a tangle of confusion and reaching, grabbing hands. The two manage to adjust the wheel so that the car turns out into the street.
Mikkel curses loudly as both he and the other car swerve. The other one nudges their bumper as it spins away, giving the two men a jolt that sends them forward. Metal shrieks. Panic fills his body, and Mikkel sticks out his legs, trying to brace himself. He hits the gas in the process, and the car surges forward, Mikkel removing his foot and slamming on the brakes, desperately attempting to steer the vehicle. Tires shriek, the car spinning and making both men dizzy.
The steering wheel turns sharply, as does their car and the one behind them, currently slamming into them again. The car's back tire clips the edge of the curb and is sent forward once more, except now on an angle, two wheels displaced from the ground. The car rolls, Mikkel and Abel shouting, desperately clinging to the interior. Mikkel's head connects with the window as the car rolls, and Abel's seat belt pinches against his chest, his neck, his shoulder. The car rolls once more, and Mikkel tries to brace himself against the door. Not having anything else to secure himself, his head once again connects with the car and he recoils. Bleary with pain, he lets go of control of his body, and his head and neck get whipped about. His vision goes black just as the car stops on its side, leaving both men dangling sideways.