"Who needs girlfriends anyway?" Rachel raised her glass and bumped it against Daniel's, making a satisfying "clink" sound. "To friends!"
"To friends," Daniel replied. "And also whiskey."
They knocked back the bourbon, neat, and Daniel laughed as Rachel clenched her teeth, wincing.
"Bit of a burn on this one eh?"
"Nothing I can't handle," Rachel replied. "Anyway, I need the burn to distract me."
The two friends had been out for hours, Rachel drowning her sorrows following her breakup. She'd thought Georgia was The One; unfortunately Rachel had been just One of many, having caught her ex cheating. With two women.
Daniel and Rachel had an uncomplicated relationship; although Rachel was very pretty in a girl-next-door way, with doe eyes, pale skin and dark hair, Daniel had stopped noticing. He was straight, but she was a 'gold-star' lesbian. It kept things easy. They'd meet up and talk about everything - relationships, feminism, politics, Marvel movies - but usually end up thirstily showing each other the female celebrities they were attracted to.
"I have to say, I prefer it when you're saying unrepeatable things about Aubrey Plaza, but given the circumstances I'll give you a pass."
"Ooh, actually..." Rachel picked up her phone and tapped the screen. "Have we talked about Margot Robbie yet?"
"I don't think so."
"Yes or no?"
"Yes. You?"
Rachel furrowed her brow mischievously. "Emphatically and repeatedly, until one of us gets injured."
"If you get injured first, I'll step in."
Daniel loved these conversations. Two men talking about women so often gets crude and teeters on misogyny; he felt like Rachel was a loophole, and knew she'd pull him up if he ever crossed the line.
"Daniel, dear boy. I am extremely drunk." Rachel slurred, vaguely gesticulating with her phone.
"Mission accomplished, then! One more?"
"I should get go- oh, for fucks sake." She was looking at her phone, a screen full of red exclamation marks and bus icons. "The trains aren't running."
"You can crash at mine," Daniel offered. His apartment was a five minute walk - perhaps a ten-minute stagger - from the bar.
"Do you have more booze?"
"I *always* have more booze."
One hour later, they were at Daniel's, drinking more bourbon as Daniel danced to old soul records on his vintage turntable. "You'll have to dance to this one!" he started to place another disc on the platter but Rachel had flopped across the sofa, her eyes heavy.
"Bed?"