There was the sound of a curse, a heavy bottle dropping and rolling across the floor and a shuffle before Chris' voice sounded from the kitchen, "Beecher?" The man was still drunk, swaying between several rections to all of this. He had been so gay the night before and obviously Toby couldn't handle it, didn't want it, so he ran off (In Chris' version of things) and got high. So, Chris got drunk. He got drunk and was still drunk. He hated Toby for leaving him, he hated himself for being so weak and he hated the world for bringing him back to life to be rejected by some fucker like Beecher. He hated the man, he loved the man, he wasn't sure-Chris was torn, drunk and at that moment, laughing.
"Beecher, you finally showed up," He stood from his chair, swaying like mad as he tried to balance himself, one hand going into the air as counter weight, the hand having a dirty bandage on it, "Good for you. Good for me." It was hard to gage Chris when he wasn't drunk. It would be an even harder feat now.