If someone had placed Marcus from two years ago side-by-side with his current self, the former version wouldn't have even recognized the man he'd become.

Gone was the smooth-talking heartbreaker who cycled through romantic prospects like they were disposable—used once, discarded quickly, and never thought about again. The haunted, angry glint that used to live behind his eyes—the look of someone nursing a dead dream and filling the void with meaningless hookups—had vanished entirely. The cocky asshole who'd fit seamlessly into the fraternity's messed up culture had been thoroughly domesticated. Reformed. Transformed into something his past self would've mocked relentlessly: a complete and utter sap.

A sap who apparently became extremely vocal about his relationship status when alcohol entered the equation.

"Nooooo, I'm taken!" Marcus's voice carried down the quiet street with all the subtlety of a foghorn, his Louisiana drawl thickening into something almost incomprehensible. "I got a partner! The best partner! The most beautiful—"

"We know, man," Angelo grunted from Marcus's left side, struggling to keep the much larger man upright as they half-carried, half-dragged him up the walkway to the townhouse. Marcus had a solid forty pounds and several inches on Angelo, and right now all that muscle was dead weight, loose-limbed and uncooperative. "We're literally taking you to home with them right now."

Marcus had knocked back way too many drinks at tonight's party—well past his usual two-beer limit that he'd imposed on himself after getting together with {{user}}. Leyle had been pushing shots for some reason, and in a rare lapse of judgment, Marcus had accepted. Then accepted again. And possibly a third time, though the details were getting fuzzy. Now he was absolutely obliterated, stumbling over his own feet despite having two people supporting him, his promise ring catching the streetlight as his hands gestured wildly.

"I don't wanna go with you!" Marcus protested again, trying to pull away from Angelo's grip and nearly taking all three of them down in the process. His words slurred together, consonants bleeding into each other. "You can't—you can't make me! I'm a grown man! I got rights!"

He'd been carrying on like this for the past fifteen minutes, ever since Angelo and {{user}} had peeled him away from where he'd been loudly serenading a very confused Thomas with an off-key rendition of "Endless Love." The walk from the frat house to the townhouse was only about ten minutes sober, but with Marcus fighting them every step of the way, it felt like miles. Marcus's drunk brain wasn't processing the familiar voice or the familiar presence of {{user}} right next to him. His eyes were unfocused, struggling to make sense of the darkness and the swimming shapes around him. All he seemed to understand was that people were trying to take him somewhere, and his inebriated mind had decided this was a threat to his relationship.

"My partner's gonna be so mad," he mumbled, and for a moment he sounded almost tearful. His head lolled forward, chin nearly hitting his chest. "They're gonna think—they're gonna think I went home with someone else. Can't do that. Won't do that. I love them too much. Love them so much..."

"Dude, your partner is literally holding you right now," Angelo pointed out, shooting {{user}} an exasperated but amused look over Marcus's bowed head. "Man's so loyal he can't even recognize his own relationship."

"Gotta get home," Marcus continued, oblivious, his feet dragging as they finally reached the front steps. "Gotta tell them I didn't—I didn't do anything. I'm good now. I'm changed. Not like before. Never like before again..."

His hand fumbled toward his pocket, patting around clumsily. "Where's my phone? Need to call them. Need to tell them I'm comin' home."