"Yo, Swan!" Mike suddenly yelled, his hand dangerously close to the ancient stereo's volume button. "I got you and your old man a song on the radio!"

We'd been alternating drunk karaoke since closing time an hour or two ago, so this wasn't too out of the ordinary; I had enthusiastically sung along with Hit the Road, Jack, and Eternal Flame earlier. I had also suffered through Mike's rendition of Love Hurts, and Eric's eerily faithful Radiohead impression. All in all, it was a good night.

Now, though, Mike looked scary, with a smirk on his face that made me want to scrunch up my face. His pudgy features stretched out to show his yellowed teeth; the resulting grin caused an extra chin to appear. It wasn't pretty.

However, for once, he seemed to have had an excellent idea, I thought, as Icona Pop's I Love It blasted from the speakers. I grinned at Edward, who of course didn't recognize the song at all, ancient man that he was.

"He's kinda right, you know," I said as I bumped Edward's shoulder. "This is toooootally about us. Listen!"

My alcohol intake prevented me from singing along to the verses, the words going too fast for my brain to catch up on the lyrics.

"You crashed your car into a bridge, and you let it burn? This is our song?" Edward asked, annoyingly semi-sober.

I rolled my eyes with all the drama I could find and had an errant thought that I would've made an Oscar-worthy actress. "No, doofus. Wait for it." I bumped his shoulder again for good measure. "Here it comes!" I squealed.

As the lyrics progressed to the bridge, I half-mumbled the words I knew—not nearly enough to make a coherent sentence—until the singer shouted the final sentence, which I joined in on passionately. "You're from the 70s, and I'm a 90s bitch! I love it! I don't care; I love it!"

My coworkers watched from their bar stools and applauded as I jumped up and down around the empty restaurant.

"You're kind of crazy," Edward said, wrapping his arms around me—undoubtedly to help me halt my movements; I'd gotten a little disoriented.

"Yeah, but, but, you get it? You're from the 70s, and I'm a 90s bitch. Well. Not a bitch. But you know."

"Yeah, I got it." He patted me on the head, deliberately being patronizing and annoying.

"Okay, that's it. You're switching from beer to tequila now. It's no fun when you're the only one who's sober. And it's my party anyway! Hollaaaaa!"

"I'll drink to that! Pour the girl another one, Mike," Tyler hiccupped, sloshing his beer. His fine motor skills had flown out the window half a dozen beers ago, and I was amazed he still knew what was happening around him at all.

Mike was almost as wasted and clumsily poured me another beer, cheerily handing it to me as if we weren't depleting the restaurant's stock in record time and that this wasn't just one of the many ways he was ruining The Rose financially. Edward received a small collection of tequila shots, which he dutifully started gulping down. I felt only a little bad about it.

"What are we celebrating again?" Eric asked. Eric's intellectual capacities were hindered by the alcohol; this was the third time he'd asked this. For some reason, I thought he was the funniest man alive at that moment.

Tyler gave him a slap on the shoulder with alcohol-fueled force, and Eric almost fell off his stool. "We are celebrating pre-mah-tssh. Tssh. Tsssurely. Prematssshurely. For Bella-babe here!"

"Miss Fancy Pants College girl here is almost ready to graduate," Tanya explained patiently. I eyed her suspiciously for no reason other than the fact that she'd just managed to pronounce all those words without so much as stumbling over one of them despite the fact she could more than keep up with the pace at which we were drinking. I distrusted people who didn't turn into embarrassing fools when they got drunk. Clearly, they must be mutants.

"I'm not a mutant, sweetie."

Crap. "I didn't say that."

Tanya smiled that sweet smile only sincerely nice people manage to pull off, the kind that shows sympathy and yet isn't patronizing or pitying or belittling, and I hated her just a little bit more for that as I struggled to keep those thoughts actually inside my head.

"Anyway. I still have finals left, so I'm not sure why we're celebrating. There's still a pretty big chance I'll flunk a bunch of those."

"Blah, blah," Edward interjected. It was the first time I'd heard his voice in about ten minutes. For all his easy socializing, Edward was the quiet type of drunk, seemingly lost in his own world, staring at the foam on his beer in silence, puckered eyebrows and all. I was glad to hear him join in on the conversation, even if this wasn't exactly his most intelligent input ever.

"You know you'll rock this shhiiii—stuff. Wait. Why am I not just saying 'shit'? I'm confused."

I tried really hard not to laugh at his expense too much, and I failed spectacularly.

"I hope I'll do well. But it's like … don't count your … something hatches? Eggs? Something with chickens? Fuck, I suck at language. Why did I ever study literature?"

"Anyway!" Tanya spoke up again, ignoring my confused mumbling. "We are also in mourning! Grief! Sadness!" Her voice became louder with each word and she accompanied her voice with wonderfully outrageous hand gestures, which made me a little more convinced that she was, indeed, as wasted as the rest of us, so despite her message of tragedy, I smiled.

Eric looked confused, as if he hadn't heard any of our lengthy farewell speeches tonight, but the repetition seemed to bother no-one, so Tanya continued. "Emmett's leaving us for bigger and better things, honey."

Such was the full extent of "reasons" to drink ourselves silly, flimsy as they were. Emmett had stuck around as a part-time line cook after his internship was over but recognized the sinking ship he was on (the door to the men's bathroom fell off its hinges two weeks ago, and had yet to be fixed; the decay was becoming more and more obvious) and had found a financially sound place to work, instead. My guess was he was also more than happy to be far away from Edward when he'd finally reveal that he'd been dating his boss's daughter for the past half-year. This was the worst kept secret ever, but Edward still seemed oblivious, which made for a perfect running joke between the rest of the staff.

Anyway. I digress.

I was nearing the end of my college career, having worked myself to the bone to fit in as many business credits as I could. As soon as I'd figured out that I wanted to study business, I'd jumped in enthusiastically, overzealously, with extra credits, heavy course loads, and summer classes. With all the general education classes I'd taken in my first two and a half years at UDub, and an elective or two that miraculously counted for my business degree, it meant I was now ready to graduate, only a little over a year after the idea first came up. Finals were definitely going to kick my ass, but since I'd been combining far too many courses with far too many hours at work for far too long, now was as good a time as any to relax and go crazy. Besides, the fun at The Rose would end soon anyway, either because Edward and I managed to start our own place, or because Mike had finally reached the point of no return for The Rose's tragic state of being and Aro pulled the plug.

But tonight, we drank.

For all that we—and by we, I mean late-night working restaurant personnel—were used to late nights and heavy drinking, I had never seen Edward drunk. It was a marvelous sight to behold. I would've filmed it if I could just have remembered the needlessly complicated pattern I'd set to unlock my phone.

Edward stumbled out of the cab with all the grace of a baby deer—hopelessly unstable, but incredibly adorable. I'd like to say I was much steadier on my feet, but I was pretty uncoordinated on a good day, so that would be a lie. Still, the contrast between the usually poised, adult, responsible man I usually saw and the stumbling drunk I was seeing now was funny, and I tried to will my brain not to forget the sight of it in the morning.

"Ahem," he announced in front of the door, standing as stiff as a butler. He held up his finger to emphasize every syllable he spoke next. "You, miss. Need. A …" The finger went up, up, up to his chin in a standard "I'm thinking so hard" gesture. Apparently, Edward on alcohol turned into a clichéd cartoon character. "What's the word? I'm expecting a light bulb over my head any moment now." Yep, definitely a cartoon character.

I stood silently and waited. It wasn't as if I had the mental capacity to finish his sentences.

"Key!" he yelled triumphantly, actually throwing his fist in the air in victory.

Immediately, my neighbor's window opened, and old Mrs. Pott, clad in a lilac flower-patterned nightgown, stuck out her angry face, hair curlers and nightly greenish mud mask and all. I guessed Edward wasn't the only clichéd cartoon character tonight. "Would you young people quiet down already?" she yelled.

"Shit, did I end up in Toontown?" I wondered out loud.

Both Edward and Mrs. Pott looked confused. I tried to let it go and instead remembered Edward's brilliant idea of finding our house key, which I dug out of my purse in what felt like record time. What an epiphany. I was amazingly fast when I was drunk! "Ha! I could totally race Bolt right now."

Edward and Mrs. Pott did not change their confused expressions. I shrugged and went to open the door, which incidentally only took three tries, thank you very much.

I waved bye to Mrs. Pott and went for the door along with Edward, where we almost got stuck in the doorway because it wasn't big enough for both our bodies to pass through simultaneously. "Forget Toontown, maybe it's slapstick," I mumbled. Edward gave me an odd look, shook his head, and as we closed the door behind us, clearly decided to change the subject to one he understood.

"You're so pretty," he slurred, pushing me against the hall wall.

Heh. Hall wall. "Hall wall sounds funny."

He shrugged. "Okay. Can I kiss you now?"

I nodded, and he stumbled into me immediately. Hands grabbed body parts with much less finesse than either of us was used to. Thankfully, our methods of scoring such encounters had been loosened up significantly too, so nothing mattered. Teeth clashed against each other. His fingers twisted my nipples much too hard, my intended slap on his butt missed its mark, instead hitting pelvic bones, and we both yelped.

"I want to see your sexy, mister," I said in what I was certain was the sultriest voice I had ever attempted. I batted my eyelashes for good measure. "Take off the clothes."

"Yes," he agreed with a nod and a return of the pointy finger gesture. "However! I do believe you, too, should be, um, naked."

"What!" I yelled, mostly because I hadn't actually processed his words. "Why?"

"Because," he started slowly, then growled, "sexy time!"

That sounded fair to me. I discarded my shirt and bra with the epic superhero speed I felt I had acquired due to alcoholic overindulgence but ran into problems with my tight skinny jeans, which were hard to peel off my ankles on a good day, let alone when slightly uncoordinated and drunkenly hopping on one leg. I paused for a second to look up at Edward, only to see him standing proudly naked in front of me, full mast and all.

"Woman!" he groaned. I didn't like him calling me that but realized the inevitable discussion that would follow from saying this; after all, was I not a woman? I settled for a frown.

"You take too long," he continued, then put his arms around my waist and lifted me up. I'm sure he would have thrown me over his shoulder caveman-style had he had the presence of mind and necessary balance skills for it; instead, he settled for hugging me close to him, my legs dangling awkwardly in the air. My left foot was still stuck in the jeans, which dragged across the floor as he carried me through the hall until he managed to land his foot on the discarded pant leg, and we both went down. I lay on the floor, laughing hysterically despite the pain I felt from my back hitting the hardwood floor. Edward's full weight pressed on my chest, making it hard to breathe. He seemed too bewildered to actually move voluntarily, so I slapped him with what little force I had left in my arms.

He blinked twice, returning to this plane of reality, before pushing himself up on his arms and off my poor breathless body. I brought a hand to my chest in a mock dramatic gesture. Edward's eyes followed my fingers' every movement, so I went on to my nipples, the swell of my breasts, before trailing down to my belly button. I imagined my fingers to be a silly little stick man and made my index finger and middle finger behave like the legs and walk down, which made me giggle, but somehow it didn't diminish my horniness.

Edward sat back on his knees to watch the show, so I figured why not? And proceeded to give him one.

"You're so pretty," he said as I came. I lifted my hand to stroke his cheek gently, ever so softly, before grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling him toward me.

"So are you. Now get in."

He frowned. "Get in? Are you a car?"

"All right. Bad word choice. You have a point. How about, please fuck me?"

"Much better," he replied with a grin and a thrust, and no words were said for a little while—for a little while it was, indeed; alcohol does not improve one's stamina, sadly.

After, we lay next to each other on the hallway floor, a little sweaty and no less drunk. I pursed my lips. "7/10, I'd say. Although this floor's a pain in the ass. Literally."

"Seven, really? I need to work harder. Also, how about the bed?"

"Too far, too far! Ugh. I need to be the level of ultra-famous so I can have a servant who won't bat an eye at dragging my naked, sexed-up body to bed."

Edward chuckled. "You're funny. And pretty."

I kissed him on the nose, because that was the closest part and I didn't want to stretch farther. "You're pretty too."

He nodded, as if this was a perfectly mundane thing to hear from him. Maybe it was.

"I think you should marry me," he said.

"Hmmm," I agreed. "I probably should."

His brow furrowed. "Well?"

"Well, you should probably propose then."

"But I just did?"

I shook my head and regretted it instantly; hardwood floors were not made to roll one's skull over. "Nuh uh. That does not a proposal make."

"You could say yes regardless."

"Yes regardless."

"Is that a yes?"

"Was that a proposal?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then, well, yeah."

He nodded and winced, undoubtedly reaching the same conclusion about skulls and hardwood floors. "Good." Edward lifted my head with his arm and pulled me to his chest. I entangled my legs with his and we promptly fell asleep.


A/N Yes, yes, it's been a while, I know, I suck, I've been busy, etcetera. Lots of job hunting. I also suck for not replying to reviews. Found a job (or 2) now, yay!

Thanks go out to Alice's White Rabbit who fixes all the many, many mistakes in my writing.

ICYMI: I'm co-hosting a Twilight Fanfic contest called Beyond the Bedroom. It's basically 100% smut. It'll be fun. Come join? Find us on Facebook (Beyond the Bedroom: a Twilight Fanfic Contest), through my own Facebook group (Lotus Wri(gh)tings), or through my favorite authors here on FFN.

Reviews are better than drunk proposals. Leave me one?