The cold night air did little to clear Blake's head.
Everything swayed around him, the streetlights, the pavement, even the sound of footsteps beneath him.
Or maybe those footsteps belonged to Myles.
Blake couldn't tell anymore.
He only knew he was being carried, one arm under his knees and the other around his back, held securely against a chest he no longer wanted to be near.
"What were you thinking?"
Myles' voice broke through the fog.
It wasn't loud, it wasn't even truly angry.
Just strained. Mildly irritated, maybe.
Blake shut his eyes, ignoring him, but he wasn't done with the questions.
"What were you thinking, getting drunk like this?"
"None of your business."
"It actually is now, since the barman called me, and I'm here to carry you back."
He immediately frowned and, without looking up, he shoved a hand against Myles' face, pushing his cheek away from him.
