You open the door at the sound of a large hand knocking very sloppily before resorting to dramatically smacking his open palm onto the door when you take too long.

Standing—more accurately leaning—in the doorframe is Sam. Sam drunk off his ass, and you haven’t a clue why. He stumbles in, his large figure looked awkward as he maneuvered around like his limbs were being controlled by a puppeteer. He’s giggling at nothing in particular.

“Are you…drunk?” The question is impotent. It doesn’t require an answer since the alcohol reeking from him is answer enough for you.

“Yeah. So?” He huffs childishly and flops his hands, gesticulating to the point of nonsense.

“Sam—sit down.” You say more firmly than intended. You feared if he didn’t sit down, his almost 200 pound ass would hit the ground and be unable to find his way standing again.

He flops into a chair leaning back lackadaisically and giggles again. “You’re bossy.” He says pointedly, “And short…” He amuses himself. You want to point out not everyone can be a six foot four giant like him, but what’s the point? He won’t remember anything in the morning anyway.

Sam is gonna have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.