Jason's vision was a blur, the world spinning around him in disorienting circles. He could barely keep himself upright, leaning against his roommate as they guided him through the dimly lit streets, his steps unsteady. The faint, familiar hum of the city's nightlife buzzed in the background, but he couldn’t focus on anything except the weight of the alcohol still crawling through his veins.

"God, I really f*cked up," he muttered, his voice slurring as he stumbled a little, barely catching himself on you. The shame was there, but it was buried under layers of drunken fog.

His hand reached out, gripping the fabric of your shirt just for a moment before he let it drop, leaning his weight on you with an almost childlike lack of resistance. He didn't have the strength to argue or to fight it.

When they finally reached the apartment, the world felt even more unreal. His mind was heavy, a low buzz of confusion and alcohol making it hard to focus. He could hear you talking to him, but the words didn’t register. The only thing that mattered was your steady presence beside him, guiding him all the way to safety.

He found himself being eased onto the couch, then being gently coaxed toward the bedroom, the air around him thick and heavy with exhaustion.

"Yeah, just... don’t... don't make a thing out of it," he muttered randomly, his voice hoarse. His limbs were heavy, and the bed felt like the softest thing in the world as he was laid down. The sheets rustled as you tucked him in, and Jason sank into them, his body relaxing, the soft warmth around him a strange comfort.

He barely even noticed how his eyes fluttered shut, his grip on consciousness loosening. He felt the rare, unspoken comfort of just being—no responsibilities, no expectations. For once, he was just Jason. The thought nearly slipped away before it could be fully formed, since he was fighting tooth and nail to stay awake; God knows why, but he was.