Rose/Michael
Alcohol should never taste like anything but alcohol, or it was cheating, in his opinion. Given how fascinated Rose seemed with the cosmo, Michael made a mental note not to let her loose in a liquor cabinet. It would be like Steve drunk times twenty. There was a scary thought. "Tell you what, if you remember this conversation in the morning? I'll write it in the journals. For free. Minus the price of taking the mickey outta you for the vocab lesson. Plus a recipe for Long Island iced tea, 'cause I've got to see you down a couple of those." He snorted and took another sip of his beer. What? Giggly drunks were funny. That was why alcohol consumption was best done in a group: otherwise, who was going to point and laugh?
Or listen. Michael slid the bottle back and forth between his fingers as Rose talked, wishing he were either significantly more drunk or just slightly less so. He couldn't relate. By the time he was eighteen he'd had plenty of drunken misadventures, not to mention regrets enough to carry him through the next seven years. Exciting was all right but sooner or later you had to settle down or keep doing bigger things to get the same high. Michael was dead certain his life wasn't anything to emulate, even if it qualified as exciting. He couldn't exactly get all preachy right now, though. For one, hypocrite. Two, back to the not being drunk enough for that conversation.
"Huh," was his response, once Rose had finished. He looked at her -- thoughtfully, this time, or as thoughtfully as he could while tipsy and in a crowded club. "Could tell you 's'not that cool, being exciting. Grass being greener and all that. I like you 'cause you're a good sort. Reliable, like. S'not a bad thing to be in the long run, I hear. Us drunk sorts gotta have people picking us up in the morning, yeah? 'Sides, I don't think doing somewhat you regret just so you can regret it counts as a real regret...." He squinted, muttered that back to himself, wondering whether that made sense. Nevermind. This was why Rose should know better than to confess things to him instead of, say, Steve. "Anyhow. What's your definition of exciting?"