Yeah, yeah. [He's got no sympathy for you. Dr. Phil has clocked out for the day. Now you're stuck with Mr. Sunshine himself.] How many did you have, anyway?
[Isamu might have argued that he had a bed, if Raph was really making him lay down, but his room was further away and who wanted to walk those few more steps?
He sorta falls into the seat, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to push away a little of the dizzy feeling.]
[Yeah, but he doesn't really wanna camp out in your bedroom, man. You're a bro and all, but with the whole kissing Naoki thing and shit, Raph's trying to avoid awkward situations.]
[Two hours later, Raph arrives back at the apartment and tracks back into the living room. It's good to see Isamu sleeping, but he does check twice to make sure he's breathing. Though the guy didn't seem like he had that much.
Next is to tackle the fallen soldiers in the kitchen and by the couch where this whole thing must've started. A few minutes of searching and he finds the garbage can, pulling the bag out and chucking the empty bottles inside. He doesn't bother being quiet. He knows Isamu's dead to the world.
Once that's done, he takes the opportunity to snoop around the apartment orient himself to his surroundings, finding a bottle of aspririn and refilling Isamu's glass of water to set by the couch. But mostly, he just wanders until he's tired enough to sleep.
Then, folds himself into an arm chair and dozes off until morning.]
[Isamu's wishing he'd managed to get to the bed when morning comes around, as the sofa isn't the most comfortable thing to wake up on when one's suffering from a hangover. Not that he wouldn't have been hurting either way, but he has to start his mental list of complaints off somewhere.
He makes a very short noise of discomfort before covering his head and face with one arm.
Yeah, y'know, about that. I'm feelin' I should pull a Casey and start yellin' at you, yank your sorry ass right off that couch. [He chuckles. Yes, this's way too easy.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Then he's right back on the original topic, his mind running steadily on one track.] He'll probably move out.
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[He lets his head fall forward, burying it in his arms.]
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He's just going to utter a faint] Mmph. [from where his head is buried.]
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[He raises his head again anyway and begins pushing himself to his feet. He'll move away from the table just as soon as it stops moving.
...Any minute now.]
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Isamu leans into Raph, holding onto his arm with both of his.] Shit, man...
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...Didn' count.
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Didn't think so.
[Almost to the couch. He's trying to go slow, despite the stern tone of voice. Mostly he's just pissed he only got two lousy beers out of the deal.]
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He sorta falls into the seat, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to push away a little of the dizzy feeling.]
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You good?
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['Fine' being a relative term, but.]
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He goes to leave.]
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[Isamu will be out like a light when he gets back.]
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Next is to tackle the fallen soldiers in the kitchen and by the couch where this whole thing must've started. A few minutes of searching and he finds the garbage can, pulling the bag out and chucking the empty bottles inside. He doesn't bother being quiet. He knows Isamu's dead to the world.
Once that's done, he takes the opportunity to
snoop around the apartmentorient himself to his surroundings, finding a bottle of aspririn and refilling Isamu's glass of water to set by the couch. But mostly, he just wanders until he's tired enough to sleep.Then, folds himself into an arm chair and dozes off until morning.]
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He makes a very short noise of discomfort before covering his head and face with one arm.
Just kill him now, Raph. Please.]
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G'mornin', sunshine.
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...No talking...
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