Dragging one drunk man was bad enough. Dragging two was downright torture.
Soren braced himself, jaw tight, as Leon leaned all his weight against him like a sack of bricks. Meanwhile, Riven was clinging to his arm like a barnacle on a ship.
"Friendship is eternal," Leon slurred proudly, tightening his death-grip on Soren's shoulder. "Right, Rivvy?"
"Forever and ever," Riven agreed with a dramatic sigh, then rubbed his cheek against Soren's sleeve like a cat. "And Soren is our… Our… Blanket."
Rivvy? Blanket? What the fuck was wrong with them?!
"I just can't," Soren said flatly, trying and failing to pry Leon's arm off him. The man's grip was ironclad, and no amount of subtle shoving budged it. Soren cursed under his breath. Who knew the drunk royal, no, ex-royal, had such octopus arms?
Together, the three of them stumbled and shuffled through the halls. Riven kept stopping to whisper "secrets" into Soren's shoulder. He missed Soren's ear by a lot, that was how drunk he was.
