Oh sure, it seemed a good idea at the time. Keywords being at the time, when the time was half a year ago and the location was on the futon watching The Hangover.
"Shit bro," you said and how you cursed the words now, "shit bro, let's go to Vegas. Like serious."
John had looked at you bemusedly, saying "haha with what money?"
"We could do it bro. I earn a pretty sweet amount from my DJing, you're sorted with your lame ass barista job, we could save this shit up and full on go crazy-"
He punched you on the shoulder. "Yeah right, as if you couldn't stop yourself blowing all your cash on mixing gear."
Your eyes narrowed. "I could save a metric shit ton more than you."
He glared back. "Oh it is on."
"So on," you agreed, allowing the conversation to dissolve into a wrestling match. Per usual.

Then suddenly you were working overtime and people were giving you extra big checks for your gigs and Bro was getting extra revenue from his review work, and before you knew it you'd saved a pile of cash that would make any tyrannical corporate boss proud.
And suddenly, more people were inviting themselves, and suddenly you'd all pooled money and it became less of a small weekend bro-trip and more like a party for eight where nobody knew what was going on and everybody was utterly stoked.
Bro helped out with the payments, shoving cash into your hands with an evil gleam in his eye that suggested if you fucked this up, you'd never be able to regain even a smidgen of the low respect he gave you. He even offered to pay for John's fares but was point-blank refused with a "I am a strong, financially independent woman who don't need no charity".
The same John is - you don't know where the same John is, in fact, you don't know where you are - probably passed out somewhere.
Probably being awoken by the same goddamn Vegas sun that was physically melting your eyes, which are now opening painfully and being burnt by just sweeping the room -
oh, there's John.

He looks positively dead lying on your bare stomach, eyes closed like shutters in a low-income area and mouth freely adding to the drool pooling on your chest.
Ugghh. Wow, way to be attractive John.
Although if you were completely honest with yourself, John was attractive - in the dorkiest way imaginable. Right now, ignorant to the mutant grey elephant penis of a hangover he would most likely have to face soon, eyebrows laxly curving upwards, black hair tousled and tossed over his eyes...
A panic twists in as you think, we didn't... did we? fuck i can't remember fuck did we do it fucckkkk
and then you breathe out as you realise that, while you're currently topless, your pants remain on. And so do his.
fucking miracles
"John," you mutter, because as much as it hurts to talk and as happy as he looks asleep you're really kind of gross right now, "c'mon wake up. It's morning you fat nasty trash."
He doesn't even stir.
"JOHN GET THE FUCK OFF ME," you yell, grabbing his shoulders and then wincing horribly. Oh god that was not wise to do, hilarious as it was.
Too fucking loud.
John opens one eye and rolls it to you groggily.
"Mmmphgppfh" he says.
"Intelligent," you croak, god damn do you need water right fucking now.
"Mmmphgh?"
"I have no idea."
"Mpgho...?" He pauses and takes in your naked torso beneath him. "... mmnaghghMMN?"
That was the most panicked and simultaneously half comatose grunt you'd ever heard. "Nah, pretty sure not. Hard to when you're still half dressed."
"Ughuggh." he mumbles with relief.
You lie there contemplatively. A shaft of light makes it through a gap in the curtain, dust motes swirling through it via a motion akin to the hordes of tourists you can just hear outside. The traffic below produces an almost whispering noise, like the sound of husky breaths being blown over the top of empty beer bottles, playing an elegy to bad ideas and human foolishness. It's almost beautiful, how crass your situation is. Is this the true heart of irony? You let yourself wonder.
Or at least, you wonder until your phone explodes with the noise of Satan, effectively ending your contemplative train of thought.
"Jesus DICKS," you yell, grabbing it and answering the phone before Gangnam Style (oh how hilarious you thought you were, how fucking ironic and hilarious) can destroy any more of your precious neurons.
"Hello, Daaaaaaavvvvve" squawks your girlfriend and it hurts mama it hurts.
"It's like 4 am go away," you moan. Now is not the time for Terezi's apparent inability to use any kind of normal voice volume.
"You sound like shit. I'm assuming your first night in Vegas went well?"
"The morning's peachy. I remember jack shit."
"Always a good sign. You found anyone else yet?"
"Only Egbert... fuckin' dope was curled up on me like a lost puppy when I woke up."
"Mmmrpghrpgh."
"Haha shut up jackass."
"What... in the same bed?"
You lean forward a little. "Aw no c'mon Terezi, not like that. We're still fully clothed."
"That doesn't mean much. But whatever, I trust your hungover self. I guess."
"Haha love you babe."
"See you soon coolkid," she says (and you can hear her grinning) and hangs up.
You roll John off you with a "brb piss" and where are you exactly?
Looks like a cheap hotel... looks like your cheap hotel. Your drunk self was actually clever enough to get you back here? You mentally applaud him as you walk past discarded beer, empty bottles, playing cards... wait, what-
You pick up a fancy jacket. It looks like it's part of a marching band outfit. Sure enough, when you reach the bathroom, you find a... is that a sousaphone? - in the bathtub.
Silence settles over the dinghy room, broken only by the noise of John trying to get out of bed and your zip - silence that is as thick and opaque as your mind when you try to remember what happened last night. You remember dancing. A lot of dancing. The green felt of the pool tables, god where did you go after that?
Silence, like a reminder of something you've forgotten.
The silence grows yet heavier.
You look down.
"John," you call through to where he lies. "Why am I wearing women's underwear."
"... you made some bad life choices," he slurs back, finally appearing to have woken himself up a bit.
"Shit bro I'm being serious." You walk back through to the bedroom, pantless but not panty-less. "Look."
He snorts and covers his eyes. "Dave it's too early for this..."
"What are they, Victoria's Secret? So fucking lacy."
"Dave please. I'm gonna... gonna barf..."
You roll your eyes. "Right. Just get dressed so I can find some actual underwear."
You find, thankfully, that your toothbrush remains in its little pot holder, and you try to regain some semblance of hygiene (fat chance).
John eventually appears at the bathroom door, eyes glued shut and a pained expression on his face.
"Get out need piss," he says.
"Sure Mr Princess. Do you need me to get you a fresh glass of water and some blended mango?"
"I will cut you and piss on everything you own" groans John and yeah, you decide hungover John isn't the best person to wind up in a morning. You abscond into the bedroom area.