This St. Berry drabble was inspired by Kerrigan-Lowdermilk's "Last Week's Alcohol," and is set during the "Blame It on the Alcohol" episode. Hope you enjoy!

Time is passing, but we're still drinking.
Life is passing us by; we're drinking last week's alcohol.

The beat of the bass reverberated throughout the house – up through the floors, down to the basement, out into the yard. Everywhere. That familiar feeling of knowing nothing but the rhythm of some pop garbage, of knowing nothing but the bimbo you're currently grinding against, of knowing nothing but that red plastic cup in your hand, of knowing nothing but that blissful, bitter medicine that always seemed to heal every wound. That familiar miracle of forgetting every past mistake, every wrong, every sin. That familiar escape, the ultimate chance to lose yourself – Jesse St. James welcomed it all. He welcomed it with open arms.

As yet another bit of pop drivel began to blare from the sound system, Jesse stumbled off the dance floor in the direction of the kitchen, grateful that this particular frat house was relatively easy to navigate, compared to the other ones he'd partied in the past few weeks. As his blurry gaze landed on the nearest keg, a lazy grin worked its way onto his face, and he pushed past the few remaining partygoers that were in his way. Just as he reached down to refill his cup, he felt a vibrating in his pocket. Jesse let out a groan, but switched the cup to his other hand and pulled out his iPhone. Unidentified caller. Not recognizing the number, he shrugged, glanced around once, and pressed 'talk.'

"Hello, you're speaking to Jesse St. James," he slurred loudly, unsure of whether or not he could be heard over the music.

"I hate you, you know," a somewhat familiar voice slurred back at him through the line. Jesse's face scrunched up in confusion before he managed to place who it belonged to.

"Rachel Berry," he laughed in astonishment, propping his cell phone in between his chin and his shoulder, taking the opportunity to refill his plastic cup. "It's a pleasure to hear from you again."

"I hate you, you know," she repeated, as if Jesse hadn't heard her the first time. "I really, really, really hate you."

"Oh?" Jesse took a sip of alcohol and began making his way outside. The music was hurting his head.

"Yes. I hate you."

"So you've said."

"Well, it's true. I hate you."

Jesse finally made it to the yard, and he slumped against a nearby tree. "Berry, are you drunk?" he asked bluntly.

"…I might be. But don't change the subject, St. James. We were talking about how much I hate you."

Jesse groaned, dropping his head down to meet his chest. "I get that you hate me, Berry. Can we just… Can we just leave it? I have a party to get back to." He was lying. No one would miss him at the party. He doubted anyone there even knew his name.

"A… you're at a party?" Jesse's eyebrows knit together in confusion, as Rachel's voice suddenly grew quiet.

"Yes, Berry. I'm at a party. It's what college students tend to do, nowadays." He was the sarcastic type of drunk. Actually, no – he was the sarcastic type of person.

"I was at a party, too," she whispered, almost too softly for him to hear. Jesse chuckled and rolled his eyes – he was pretty sure that what Rachel Berry considered a 'party' was the equivalent to a six-year-old's birthday celebration. "I did a bad thing, St. James."

At that, Jesse's brows shot up, his curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?" he slurred, taking another huge gulp of beer.

"I kissed Blaine."

Jesse chose to chalk the sudden rush of anger up to the alcohol, and not to jealousy. He wasn't jealous. Jesse St. James didn't get jealous.

"And who's Blaine?" he managed to ask blandly, chugging some more beer. "His name doesn't sound familiar."

"He's a Warbler," Rachel mumbled into the receiver. "And… and he's gay, Jesse."

Her use of his first name wasn't lost on him, but he ignored the sudden urge to sing for joy. "If he's gay," Jesse answered slowly, "I don't see a problem, Rachel. You were both drunk. This kind of shit happens when kids get drunk." Jesse would know; he'd been doing a lot of drinking since he'd begun UCLA.

"But we kissed, Jesse," Rachel answered gradually, taking her time to say each individual word. "And… and I think I might have… liked it. I think I might like him."

Jesse's jaw clenched, and he instinctively clutched his phone a bit tighter. After taking another enormous swig of beer, he cleared his throat and responded with the slightest touch of bitterness, "Then ask him out."

"…W— What? Why would I do that? He's gay, Jesse. Gay. As in, not attracted to me. Just like every other boy in the world – not attracted to me."

Jesse let out a short, derisive laugh at that, and shook his head, even though she couldn't see him. She really thought she was that unattractive? "You're being ridiculous, Rachel," Jesse retorted simply.

"…You… You really think I should ask him out?" She didn't seem to have picked up on the fact that he hadn't been referring to her attraction to this 'Blaine' character.

"Why the hell not," Jesse deadpanned as he drained the last few dregs of alcohol from his cup. Gazing sadly at the now-purposeless red plastic, Jesse cursed himself for ever answering Rachel's call. He ignored the internal voice that whispered, 'If I can't have you, better you lust after a maybe-gay than Hudson. Or Puckerman. But mostly Hudson.'

"I see. I'm too tired to call him now" – Rachel let out the long yawn of someone who's had too much to drink – "So I'll write myself a note and do it tomorrow. Thank you, Jesse."

He slammed his eyes shut at her words, but kept his voice bland. "Any time, Rachel." You won't remember this conversation in the morning, will you? You're too drunk. All you'll see is that pink post-it note I know you'll use to write yourself that reminder, and you're going to forget all about me.

The pain was excruciating.

They both stayed like that for a while, neither of them speaking, but neither of them hanging up on the other. The sound of Rachel's steady breathing seemed to drown out the music that continued to emanate from the fraternity across the yard. Jesse blearily closed his eyes at the slow realization that this might be the last conversation he ever had with Rachel Berry. It was clear that she was moving on, while he was stuck crashing house parties every weekend.

Finally, Rachel broke the silence.

"Oh, and Jesse?" she mumbled.

"Mhm?" His eyes remained shut.

"…I still hate you," she whispered sadly.

"I know, Rachel," he answered quietly. "I know."