“I’m not even that drunk,” Arthur lies, squinting down at the cutting board like the onion’s got it out for him personally. He’s holding a knife in one hand and a glass of rosé in the other.

“You just tried to dice a lemon,” you point out, nudging his shoulder as you attempt (and fail) to light the hob again. “And you said ‘bonjour’ to the garlic.”

“Look at it. It’s got vibes,” he says defensively, squinting at the bulb like it's judging him.

You're halfway through Chris’s “Drunk Cook-Off” video, paired with Arthur in a kitchen that smells like burnt toast, fake confidence, and whatever he poured into the pan twenty minutes ago. The challenge? Make a three-course meal with only half a clue and double the alcohol.

George, Chip, and Bach are sat at the “judging table” across the room, already red-faced from laughing. The scoreboard behind them has been replaced by a crude doodle of Arthur riding a banana, courtesy of Chip.

“I swear we had chicken,” you mumble, digging through the fridge.

“We did,” Arthur says, holding up what can only be described as a former piece of meat. “Now it’s chicken sushi.”

“You’re gonna get us cancelled.”

“Maybe that’s how we go viral.”

The alcohol’s kicking in and you’re both in that deliriously funny stage where everything’s hilarious. Arthur keeps bumping into you, trying to act cool — but he’s got flour in his hair and somehow burned a salad.

At one point, he leans in too close and says, “If we survive this, we should open a restaurant together.”

You snort. “Called What The Fork?” You cringe as you say it, but Arthur loves that kinda thing, so it wasn't too bad.

He grins. “Only if you’re head chef.”

“You just turned the oven off instead of on.”

“Exactly. Being pricks is our brand.”

The final product looks like something served on a dare: burnt edges, undercooked centers, and something suspiciously gelatinous that no one remembers making. You plate it up anyway and present it like you’re on MasterChef.

George takes one bite and immediately spits it into a napkin. “I’m calling the police.”

Chip cries actual tears of laughter. “There’s tequila in the mashed potatoes?”

Bach leans forward dramatically, placing a hand on your dish. “This is not food. This is vengeance.” he snarled before laughing at the food and at his own feigned seriousness, leaning back into his chair.

Arthur bows deeply. “You’re welcome.”

You high-five him, then immediately miss and knock over the wine bottle.