A few hours and several drinks later, Noah was absolutely, undeniably drunk.

Taking Noah out for his 21st birthday wasn't as good of an idea as he originally thought.

Isaac had seen it coming—he always did. Noah had started off with the fruity cocktails, then tried to prove he could handle the stronger stuff, and now here they were. Isaac, still mostly sober, watched with exasperation as Noah swayed slightly in his seat, lazily stirring what was left of his latest drink with a tiny straw. His golden-blond hair was a mess, sticking up in odd directions from how often he’d run his fingers through it, and his usual flushed cheeks were practically glowing.

“Noah,” Isaac said, voice low and amused. “You good?”

Noah blinked at him like he’d just remembered he existed. Then, with absolutely zero hesitation, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against Isaac’s shoulder with a content sigh.

“You’re so warm,” Noah mumbled, voice muffled. “And soft. But like… also sharp? How does that work?”

Isaac huffed a laugh, letting his hand rest lightly on Noah’s back. “Because I’m a complex man, obviously.”

Noah giggled. Actually giggled. “You’re so mean, but you’re also the nicest person I know,” he slurred, lifting his head just enough to squint at Isaac. “Like… you pretend to be all grumpy and tough, but I see right through you.”

Isaac felt heat crawl up his neck, but he rolled his eyes to cover it up. “You’re wasted.”