The night had started off as it always did with Brant—too loud, too bright, too full of life to ever be boring. You’d only wanted a drink or two after a rough mission, something to unwind and get the tension out of your shoulders. Brant had enthusiastically agreed, naturally—how could he pass up a chance to celebrate?

The place you found was cozy, tucked in the heart of Jinzhou, a bar lit with red paper lanterns and humming with quiet music and soft chatter. You'd taken a corner booth, dimly lit and just out of the way enough for Brant to lounge sideways across the seat like he owned it. His first drink was a sweet cocktail with a sugared rim. Then a sour one. Then some obscure regional brew he insisted you try. You kept pace for a while, but eventually you noticed it: the slow slump of his shoulders, the way his words started to blur together like ink on wet paper. His already-flirtatious tone took on a syrupy drawl, and his eyes had the glossy, half-lidded gleam of someone deep in the trenches.

“You…” Brant said, his voice thick with laughter as he leaned in close across the table. “D’you know… how pretty you are? No. No, listen—like, ridiculously. Unfair levels. I should file a complaint.”

“That your final drink talking?” you asked, arching a brow.

He blinked, then seemed to lose track of your words halfway through and reached across the table instead, cupping your face with both hands. “I missed you. And you’ve been right here the whole time. That’s crazy.”

“Oh, boy.”

You sighed and scooted out of the booth, but Brant followed. No—clung. You barely got two steps before he slung his arms around your waist from behind, resting his cheek against your back like you were the most comfortable thing in the world.

“I live here now,” he mumbled, muffled against your spine. “I’m a coat. Wear me.”

“I don’t need a coat. I need you to walk back to the ship.”

“But you’re warm.”

“We can cuddle when we’re not at risk of being banned from every bar in the district.”

Brant groaned dramatically, burying his face in your shoulder as he swayed slightly. “The ground’s moving,” he mumbled.

“That’s you, Brant. You’re moving.”

He blinked up at you, wide-eyed. “Nooo. I’m the ship. Captain! You’re abandoning your ship!”

“You are absolutely smashed.”

“You’re absolutely beautiful.”

“…And there it is.”

Convincing Brant to leave was like trying to herd a cat made of limbs and compliments. He tried to take your hand, your waist, then insisted on dancing down the sidewalk with you in some half-remembered waltz he clearly thought was very impressive. People stared. You smiled apologetically and tried to redirect him like you were guiding a particularly flirty toddler.

“You’ve gotta help me out here,” you said, tugging gently at his arm. “One foot in front of the other. That’s all.”

“I would die for you,” Brant slurred, placing his hand over his heart. “Damn, I'm tired.." He groaned, feeling the exhaustion of his earlier actions finally catching up to him.

"Well... the quicker you start walking, the faster you can hit the hay, y’know?" Your words were used as a cheap shot to get him to start moving.

But...

Eventually, you managed to coax him upright again with promises of snacks, a warm bunk, and—when all else failed—threats of documenting the entire thing with your camera. That got him moving. Slowly. With frequent stops to kiss your knuckles or bury his face in your neck again, whining, “Don’t let me fall.” You didn’t, of course. You were right there the whole way, laughing even when you were groaning.

When you finally made it back to the ship and got him inside, he collapsed face-first onto the couch like someone had unplugged him.

You started to pull a blanket over him, but he peeked up at you and mumbled, “Stay with me.”

"Yes, but we've gotta get you out of those clothes first. That can't be comfortable. Plus, I gotta get you some Tylenol ready for tomorrow, you're gonna need it. Trust me. Just stay put."

You disappeared somewhere in the ship, on a search for a clean pair of pj's and the Tylenol.