Inspired by Wish You Were Sober. Listen to it first if you like, and even listen to it as you read. Fyi, I wrote this one-shot as the song played in a loop. Enjoy!

Shota let out a low, long growl.

This party's shit.

Music smacked the walls of the house and rammed itself into his ears as he sat on the couch, bouncing his knee in frustration of the events unfolding before him.

Hizashi (unsurprisingly) was stumbling over his asleep feet as he made his way to the beer table for the dozen time that night. His shaking hands took a red plastic cup from the clean pile and held it lazily under the kegs' shiny metal spout. As the human bird brought the cup to his pink chapped lips, a random ginger girl walked up to him and exchanged drinks. Before Hizashi could chug the mysterious contents, Shota called after him loudly and lightly stomped to his side.

"You don't even know her," Eraserhead pointed out as he grabbed the drink from his hands, giving the fleeing girl suspicious look. The underground hero sniffed the red cup, then chucked its mucky contents into a nearby bin. "I don't want you to get kidnapped, you know."

One arm around his waist, he heaved Hizashi backwards as his shiny black-booted feet trailed limply on the wooden floor.

"Shota…" he slurred trying his best to stand by himself. "Let me go…"

"You're hammered, " he said as he pushed the blond onto an armchair. "Sit down."

His hands grasped Hizashi's shoulders, keeping him seated on a 90-degree angle. His eyes looked tiredly down at his best friend.

"You also look a mess."

"What did you expect kitty-kitty," the cockatoo giggled. They stayed still for a while, Shota squinting into Hizashi's.

"Don't drink anymore. Please. We're 19 and you're acting like 25. "

Yamada tilted his head back, mouth parting slightly. "You care about me," he smiled.

"And what if I do?"

Yamada gawped at him for long several seconds, his eyes back to their usual olive-green colour, freed from the dark glace of influential alcohol. The noise around them seemed to evaporate as he stood over his best friend, hands becoming tense on the other's narrow shoulders.

Face heating up by Yamada's unblinking gaze, Shota let go of the hero. He silently walked away towards a wide-open window near the back of the crowded room. Cups rolled around on the floor and pills crunched under his thick brown construction boots.

The white translucent curtains flowed in the gentle wind, the same breeze brushing his nose and cheeks idly, turning them icy to the touch.

Resting his elbows on the windowsill, Shota tried his best to drown out the people behind him as they played some beer pong and sang random lyrics.
It was all so claustrophobic. The noise, the laughter, the drunk crying.

"Shota…" said a quite familiar voice. The male in question turned around, his eyes finding Hizashi's messy blond bun just below his gaze. Golden hair fell past his triangle glasses, framing his clear light-skinned face. "We can go to a more quiet place. We're the music isn't so loud…"

The underground hero's mouth curled into a closed smile and his body instantly jumped over the window, feet softly jumping onto the green lawn of the house's front yard.

"Thanks. I'll walk you home, Zashi."

"Home?! I meant another party! it's Friday and tomorrow it's—I'm kidding, Shota. Jeez, take a joke," the blond laughed, crawling out the window slowly.

Shota had forgotten he was heavily drunk, so he grabbed the young adult by the chest and picked him up. His arms held him firmly as he propped him on the grass.

As they walked down the pavement to Hizashi's small city apartment, the blond kept stripping so eventually, Shota just carried him bridal style.

"You're embarrassing me," he groaned, glasses falling slowly but surely down his slim nose.
"To whom? The light post? 'Oh no, don't want to lose popularity points to a lamppost, my life is so awful," Shota joked bitterly.

"Hey, that's mean Sho-chan," Hizashi chuckled. He sighed contently before digging his head into Shota's black woollen jumper. "You're warm."

The man soon fell asleep on his arms midway to his house, mumbling incoherent things every so often.

"Go to sleep," Shota said sternly, hand placed on the doorknob to leave the semi-dark flat. He turned around to look at his friend one last time, back leaning on the door.

Two arms hooked around his neck, pushing him backwards.

The shadow of Hizashi's face was so close to Shota's, he could smell the fruity fragrance of a cocktail the blond had drunk a few hours back. He could get drunk simply by inhaling the hero's summer fruit breath. Shota's hands stayed pressed on the door, unsure of what to do.

"Can I help you?"

Soon the cheery scent entered his mouth, cheery and mango flooded his brain and nerves as Hizashi took the man's face between his hands and kissed him harder, painfully pushing him against the cold metal doorknob. Shota let out a surprised gasp and Hizashi used it as an entrance to shove his tongue into his mouth.

It was sloppy and messy, but Shota's head spun by the sweetness, ignoring the stinging in his back. Their mouths tilted back and forwards, sharing each breath and smile.

Hizashi pulled away, taking a deep breath against Shota's flushed neck. "You taste like caramel…mmm…"

"Mmmm?" he smiled.

"Stay over."

The words in Shota's vocal cords died before he could say them, so he gently pushed Hizashi onto his couch as he had done back at the party.

"I've gotta bounce. And your drunk, I'm sure you're not thinking straight."

"But it's raining," he slurred, grabbing a nearby cushion and hugging it. It was raining, noted Shota. It rolled down the windows of the flat, obscured with grey clouds.

"I'll take the train."

"You sure? I don't want you to catch a cold…"

"I'm sure."

"Okay then…" The cockatoo yawned widely as he took off his hearing aids and laid them on the black coffee table.

"Goodnight, Shota," he whispered, falling sideways and taking up the whole couch with his tall body.

The radio host was asleep before he could reply.

"Goodnight, Zashi."

He silently walked down the now wet street, the soft summer drizzle damping his hair. Cars zoomed by his left, and by his right, apartment buildings were ghost-like quite, all lights off.

The rain grew in power by seconds as he walked home, water soaking his shirt and jeans sending shivers down his spine and shaking his broad shoulders side-to-side. The underground hero jogged to the nearest train station, skipping down the gray metal stairs into the Underground. Slipping just in time to the metro, Shota's arm wrapped itself around a nearby silver pole as his eyes skimmed around the shuttle for a seat.

A sigh of relief exited his vocal cords as he dumped his tired body on the metro's orange plastic, head resting back and black messy hair falling down on to his shoulders. Two 17-year-old-looking boys sat in front of him, chatting heatedly with muddy skateboards across their laps.

"Fuck. You're shitty 3 dollar plank of wood is getting mud on me. Get 't off!"

"Oh shut the fuck up, you crybaby. Its just dirt. I'll buy us some McDonald's when we get off."

Letting his eyes close, Shota crossed his arms and rested his head on the window next to him.

"GOOD MORNING LISTENERS!"

Shooting up, Shota's eyes traveled in light speed to the metro's doors. There were bolted shut, the train in the middle of a dark tunnel where small light bulbs shone as they passed. "And welcome to our short two-hour radio segment with Yamada Hizashi!"

A pre-recorded episode was being played on the train's speakers, bringing the man into a calm haze as he listened in to every smiling and gentle word that left the blond's sweet lips.

Traditional Japanese houses flashed like a vintage film, ponds and creeks reflecting the city's light, golden high grass dancing in the soft breeze as small rain droplets slipped down their stems.

Soon enough, the hero fell asleep on the plastic chair, smiling peacefully as the moonlight shone on him from afar.