"Not enough," Seb muttered, scoffing at himself. He patted the cushion next to him. Where the fuck was that bottle? He frowned and squinted at the face in front of him. "Dom? What you doin' 'ere?"
"You butt-dialed me."
"I did?" Seb felt his jean pockets. Wouldn't his phone need to be near his butt to butt-dial someone? Where the hell was his phone? With a frown, he scanned the living room. His phone lay on the coffee table across from him. How did it get over there? Then again he'd kind of tossed things wherever as soon as he got home, intent on drowning his sorrows.
"When you didn't answer, I got worried."
"I'm fine," Seb grumbled, letting his head fall back against the couch cushion. He squinted up at the ceiling. Was it his eyes, or was a square patch of ceiling slightly discolored. Like it had a translucent sheen to it.
With a scoff, Dom took a seat beside Seb. "Yeah, nothing says 'fine' like alcohol poisoning Therian style."
"Go 'way." Seb tried to get up. He needed more booze. Maybe then his heart would stop fucking hurting so much. Maybe then it would... stop... just stop. He didn't want to feel.
"Don't say th
at."
Seb stilled. Shit, had he said that out loud?
"Yeah, you're fucking using your outside voice, genius." Dom sounded mad. Why the fuck was Dom mad? Seb rubbed at his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. They burned. When had he taken off his shoes?
"How long you been here?" Seb squinted at Dom, leaning toward him to point a menacing finger at him. "Stop moving my shit."
Dom shook his head at him. "I just got here, and I don't know what you're talking about."
"You took my shoes," Seb accused. He lifted his socked feet. "See."
"You took off your own shoes, asshat. They're right there."
"I did?" No, he didn't. Did he? God, he was drunk. He must have. Seb lolled his head to where Dom was pointing and there were his boots, neatly tucked under the side table. With a shrug, he searched the couch. "Fucking fuck. Where is it?" He grabbed at Dom. "What did... what you did with it?"
"Okay. I see we're going to have to do this the hard way."
Seb flipped him off. Maybe. He moved his hand. It got quiet, and he forced himself to sit forward, elbows on his knees and fingers in his hair. Man, he felt like shit. Water ran somewhere behind him.
"Hey, I found your booze stash. It's over here."
"Yeah?" Seb waved a hand. "Bring it."
"Nah, bro. It's too heavy. You need to come get it."
Seb let out a sound of disgust, peering at Dom when Dom wrapped an arm around his back, grunting as he tried to lift Seb.
"You wanna maybe help me out here? It's like moving a fucking cement truck."
"You need to bench-press more," Seb grunted, his face pushed away from Dom's.
"And you need to fucking talk downwind and not in my face. Your breath smells like something fucking died."
"That's just my heart."
Dom paused. "What?"
"That died. My heart died."
"Jesus. Okay, come on, big guy. One step at a time."
Seb followed Dom into the kitchen, scowling at the lights. Everything was so damn bright, like it was trying to set him on fire. Maybe that was the alcohol. Why were they in the kitchen? Seb wasn't hungry. Thinking about food made him want to puke.