It's way late for this, I know, but hey, you write the idea when it strikes you. Apologies to any Irish people anywhere. What do you expect of ignorant Americans like these guys? Cursing and drinking. Take it with a grain of salt, or don't read.

"I'm sick of this!" Axel yelled, slamming his beer down on the table. Roxas hissed as it made a sound, but thankfully didn't shatter.

"What the hell are you on about now?"

Zexion barely looked up from his book. "I believe he is referring to the now mundane tradition inspired by this lackluster holiday."

"Exactly!" Axel indicated Demyx, who looked positively bored as he downed another bit of Blue Moon. "I mean, this is all we do! This all anybody does! It's fucking St. Patrick's day, and instead of doing something interesting or new, we just get wasted!" He groaned and leaned his head against his arm. "If drinking is all you're supposed to do, I'd swear it was St. Patrick's day every day."

"Every weekend," the slate haired man corrected, pushing his own beer away with disgust. Still not looking up from his damn book.

"Whatever! Let's go look for a pub or something!"

"So we can drink more?" Roxas said, rolling his eyes. "Do you ever think before you speak?"

"No! I just mean let's do something different! Bring some culture up in here, y'know?"

"Well, to be fair," Zexion said simply, "I don't believe the Irish wear green on this day. Or much of any day. I believe I've read that it's bad luck."

For once Demyx spoke up, his words more slurred than anyone's. "It's a holiday for a martyr too...I think...something about snakes and shit..."

Axel smacked his head. "Okay, how about this? Let's do half and half. Culture and normal stuff. Sound good?"

The sober blonde put down a tip, before getting up to grab his coat. "So, you mean get plastered and then go golfing or some shit?" His voice was still laced with sarcasm.

"No." The redhead got up and threw an arm around him, drawing him close. "Let's throw a party, have some stuff to drink, wear green, but let's get some dancing going. Play Rumjacks or Flogging Molly or something like that."

"You really think people will go for that?"

Axel grinned, kissing his cheek. "Sure. It's our college buddies. They're all about this shit, you know?"

A day later, they threw a party. There was dancing and green and drinking, mostly drinking. Of course. There is only so much you can expect from college kids who were smothered at home. But it blew up a bit more than Axel had expected.

"Who invited the two midgets in costume?" he shouted over the music, indicating two short guys in leprechaun outfits trying to beat the crud out of each other.

"John and Derek? I think they took the fighting Irish thing too literally." Roxas shouted back, irritable. He was doing better than Zexion, who in his rage at the noise level of the house proceeded to down a keg's worth of Guinness. Demyx was following him around to make sure he didn't a) hurl on anything, b) hurl on anyone, or c) find Axel and tear him a new asshole.

Roxas, on the other hand, was surprisingly calm about the people tearing apart his apartment and stomping loudly. Axel pulled him close and kissed him deeply.

"Having fun so far?"

"Are you kidding? The police will be on our asses any minute." The faintest smile shown through, though, and Axel grinned widely.

"Come on. Let's have a good ol' Irish jig!" The blonde laughed a little.

"For such an enthusiast, you get a lot of shit wrong, Axel."

Dragging his boyfriend over to the speaker, the redhead turned up the sound so loud, the foundation of the place began to shake. He then adjusted the mood lights, making the green a bit dark, just as the next song began to blare over the speakers.

"I don't try hard, kid. The Irish thing is in my blood." He pointed to his wild mane of hair proudly. "It just comes to me."

A snort answered him, but he saw it more than heard it. "Sure."

Demyx emerged from the kitchenette, hands against his ears and yelling, "Who wants authentic cornbeef and hash!"

No one took him up on it.

That night was full of dancing, drinking, fighting, and all such generically thought Irish things. Was any of it really authentic or just the poor, misguided attempts of a few less than sober college juniors? No one really knows, because they never bothered to look shit up. But Axel was proud of it, even as he puked up the rest of his lungs in jail that night, a fuming, black-eyed Zexion with him.

Roxas and Demyx came to bail them out in the morning. Somehow, they were decently cheerful about the whole thing. Regardless of what anyone said, Roxas found that the night was fun. Totally worth it. Until he found the celtic knot tattooed on Axel's butt the next night.