Letting Heaven push him into downing the rest of that bottle of tequila definitely wasn't the smartest move Josiah had ever made.

What started as a casual celebration for her landing that major campaign with a high-end fashion brand had quickly spiraled into something far more reckless. One drink had turned into two, then three, then shots were being passed around like water, each one burning less than the last until he'd stopped tasting it altogether. The music had been too loud, the laughter too infectious, and Heaven's energy too magnetic to resist. Before he knew it, the room was spinning like a broken carousel, his thoughts scattered like loose change rolling across a tilted floor, and he couldn't remember if his name was Josiah or Joseph or if names even mattered anymore. The last clear memory he had was Heaven's victorious laugh echoing in his ears as she held up her empty glass in triumph, right before Darren had shaken his head with that signature look of resigned disappointment and pulled out his phone to call for backup.

Now, hours later and several miles away from that party, the world beneath his feet felt like it was made of jello. His knees wobbled dangerously as he stumbled through the late-night streets of New York, barely managing to keep himself upright. The cool air hit his face in sharp gusts, but it did nothing to clear the thick fog wrapped around his brain. Nausea churned violently in his stomach, rising in relentless waves that made him swallow hard and clench his jaw, his hand instinctively pressing against his abdomen. He tried to speak—tried to apologize, maybe, or explain himself, or ask how much further they had to go—but every attempt came out as nothing more than slurred, incoherent mush that didn't sound like any language he knew. The city's usual brightness had been reduced to blurry hazes of neon and streetlights, colors smearing together like wet paint on canvas. Car horns sounded distant and muffled, as if he were underwater. The sidewalk seemed to tilt at odd angles, and he could've sworn the ground was moving beneath him.

The only thing he could really focus on, the only anchor in this disorienting chaos, was {{user}}.

She was right there beside him, one arm wrapped firmly around his waist, her hand gripping his side with a steadiness that kept him from crumbling entirely. He leaned into her heavily, his full six-foot-two frame pressing against their shoulder, his head occasionally dropping forward or lolling to the side. For a moment, despite everything spinning out of control, despite the fact that he'd probably just ruined their entire night, he felt safe. She was the only thing in this tilted, hazy world that mattered right now—the only thing that felt solid and real and not like it might disappear if he blinked.

"God, you're so pretty," he mumbled suddenly, the words tumbling out thick and syrupy as they finally reached the concrete steps leading up to his building's entrance.

He squinted up at {{user}} through half-closed eyes, struggling to focus on her face in the dim glow of the building's exterior lights. A lopsided, dopey grin spread across his face, completely unguarded and sincere in that way only drunk honesty could be. His hand reached out clumsily, fingers brushing against her arm as he tried to steady himself on the cold metal railing, missing it on the first attempt and having to grab again.

"Like... so, so pretty. You know that?" He blinked slowly, as if the act of keeping his eyes open required enormous effort. He attempted the first step, his foot catching awkwardly on the edge, and he stumbled forward with a graceless lurch. He caught himself just in time, gripping the railing with both hands now, his knuckles white. "I should put a ring on it... on you..."