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"Well, you look bored."
Damian scoffed from his place by the wall, he'd been hiding away from the main crowd the entire night, nursing paper cups of only mildly spiked punch while rolling his eyes at his classmates’ haphazard attempts at dancing.
"Thanks for stating the obvious, moron."
Jon remained unbothered, used to Damian's constant jabs. As a crowd of heavily perfumed women passed them by he leaned in closer, taking a sniff off Damian's cup.
"Don't tell me you spent the whole time drinking?"
"No, I was out chasing penguins."
Jon rolled his eyes, "Very funny Dames."
Right, as though Damian hadn't actually bailed 30 minutes ago to chase a pair of amateur thieves and somehow ended up in a penguin enclosure. Nothing Jon could prove.
Jon waited, if he looking for any kind of response, he wouldn’t be getting one from Damian, who'd taken to the punch bowl in lieu of actual painkillers. Startled penguins and sharp beaks didn't go hand in hand, not as though Damian would ever admit to that out loud.
Jon sighed, holding out his hand, "C'mon."
"Hmm?" Damian mumbled over his cup. "What?"
"Dance with me?"
Damian peered at him blearily.
"No."
"It's better than sulking here the rest of the night."
"Says your opinion."
Damian shuffled, subtly readjusting his shoulder blades around the hastily applied bandages.
"I don't wanna dance."
"Dames you're a better dancer than I am," Jon sighed again.
"C'mon. Just one dance? For me."
A sharp pitch in the crowd caught them as the music suddenly turned up. Loud, thudding drum beats bouncing off the floor as someone near the front of the room grabbed a karaoke mic.
Damian drowned the rest of his cup, throwing it at Jon's chest, where it bounced off harmlessly.
"At least treat me to another drink first."
Jon rolled his eyes and dragged him onto the edge of the dancefloor, "You’ve had more than enough to drink, I'll get you a taco once we're done."
Perhaps it was pitiful, being so easily bribed by food, but none of Father's alcohol tolerancy protocols ever took the time to mention just how hungry alcohol made you.
Damian stumbled onto the stage, casually clinging onto Jon's ever-growing biceps. They weren't usually this big, were they?
"You'd better. Alcohol makes people hungry."
"Does it?" Jon asked rhetorically, "So that was your stomach grumbling."
Damian smacked him, limp wrists doing nothing against a wall of solid muscle.
Jon laughed, leaning in with a conspiratorial look on his eye, "You haven't denied it."
"Behave," Damian ordered bluntly, "And don't step on my feet Kent. I'm not in the mood to kill anybody tonight."
"I wasn't in the mood to die anyways."
Jon slowly spun him around.
But you might just kill me anyway.