Rose/Michael
Michael had been keeping it together, if barely, until the last part of Rose's speech; at the mention of underwear he choked on his mouthful of beer. Nearly a minute passed until he recovered enough to speak. He was certain he knew why Rose was so responsible and demure now: the universe would never recover if she were like this normally. He was also certain that he shouldn't buy her another drink, given how well this one was going down. He'd never seen anyone go down that fast, but she was rather small and he was used to drinking with people who had hollow legs, so maybe that said more about him than otherwise.
"Why are you thinking about -- nevermind, danger, Will Robinson. Yeah, I'll be dressed." He plucked at the front of his shirt reassuringly, before reaching out to snag her drink. It tasted terrible, simultaneously tart and too sweet; he made a face. "Know what your problem is? You gotta stop playing by other people's rules all the time. World don't end if you turn in an essay late and get in five minutes past curfew. Can't expect not to be predictable if you're safe as houses all the time. And before Steve psychically kills me for this... devil's advocate says there's different kinds of exciting, this," he waved a hand around at the club, "don't have to be yours. My friend Sofiya? She goes on holidays all the time. Greece and places like that. 'S probably exciting and don't break no rules. You know? Different strokes."