Simon should’ve known better than trusting your excuse piled onto another excuse about why he should stay over, he did know better, the only issue was the weird thing you did that made him want to do whatever it was that you were asking him to do. Goddamn, was he growing soft?

He also should’ve known that your insistence on being able to hold your alcohol was a flat out lie, he had guessed you were a lightweight, but he didn’t exactly plan on ever being the position of having to take care of you while you were drunk.

However, that’s where he was now, scowling as he drank his own beer, pushing you up and off him every few minutes when you’d whine and giggle in his ear about one thing or another, getting way too close to him with your clumsy steps.

“Knock it off,” he grumbled, not that the firmness in his voice really meant anything towards you, especially with your currently impaired judgement, but even sober you knew that’s just how he was. “How many fuckin’ times do I need to say it?”

“Fuckin’ lightweight,” he murmurs under his breath, rolling his eyes, but there’s a fraction of a second where a smile tugs at the corner of his lips, whether amused or endeared.

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ puke ‘cause I am not cleanin’ that shit for you.” He warns with a pointed look, taking a swig of his own beer once more.