Sharon and Mobius
His words made Sharon beam. It was nice to have someone who didn't mind that she was hanging all over him; something she was definitely planning on doing. Her drunken mind couldn't do complex equations or remember names of actors in films from twenty years ago, but she could definitely plan out how she was going to hang on her... whateverhewas. (What was he, anyway? Not that Sharon needed a label... but she wouldn't say no to one, either. FWB? Something more?) Seems she had a capacity for planning quasi-romantical-hangings-on when shitfaced. Who knew?
After one more sip from her water, she climbed up to her feet, teetered slightly, and reached out a hand for him to take. Once he was on his as well, she'd wrap her arms around his arm and let him lead the way out of the hall. It was too stuffy in there, anyway. Some crisp, evening air would do wonders to help sober her up a little.