When Bast hears the low groan from the bedroom, he quietly begins making tea. The motions are familiar, as soothing as the brew itself. He takes a handful of dried ironwort stalks down from the cupboard, the flower buds crinkling as he counts out six and returns the rest to the bundle. The floorboards creak with soft footsteps in the next room over. He fills a pot one-third of the way with water and adds the stalks whole. Some of them need to be folded in half to fit, and he does so carefully so as not to break off any of the flowers. A muffled retching noise comes from the bathroom. Bast winces in sympathy as he covers the pot and sets it on the eye of the stove. After turning up a low heat, his hands come to rest on the counter. It’s just waiting now. It’s about midnight when Bast looks over at Corvin and sees him swaying on his barstool. He grins and claps him on the shoulder. “Looks like you’ve had plenty,” he says. “Thought you were switchin’ to non-alcoholic stuff?” Corvin’s eyes swim up to meet his. He grins back, open and wholehearted, and Bast thinks maybe they should go out drinking more often. “I did,” Corvin tells him. He’s pronouncing his words very carefully, like he’s practicing for a play. “I’ve been having the…iced tea, think that was it.” “Huh, guess you…” A thought makes it through the thick cloud around Bast’s brain. “Wait, not the Long Islands, right?” Corvin smacks a hand on the table. “That was it. Really like them.” “Oh buddy,” Bast says. “Those are majorly alcoholic. You’ve had, what, two of ’em? An’ those beers to start?” Corvin blinks. “Is that a lot?” “For someone who’s only ever drunk once before? Yeah, that’s a lot.” Bast pats him on the shoulder again, more gently this time. “Should prob’ly get you home before any of those drinks make a reappearance.” Liz leans over. “Ah, sorry I didn’t stop him. He said he’d drunk before and I thought he meant, y’know, more than once.” Bast eyes Corvin as he goes to stand. “I mean, he seems to be handling it alright…” As soon as Corvin’s feet hit the floor, he’s falling. Bast leaps up to catch him before he can knock himself out on the next table over. “...or maybe not,” Bast mutters. Corvin’s put on muscle since they first met, but he’s still light enough that Bast easily props him up. Corvin laughs and leans against him, trusting Bast to keep him upright. “I’m sorry.” Bast turns to find Corvin standing where the kitchen/dining room meets the hallway. He’s still dressed in his jeans and red shirt from last night, now rumpled and creased. His dark hair falls over half his face as he stares at the floor. “Hey, it’s no trouble,” Bast tells him. “Wasn’t your fault you didn’t know what Long Islands were.” If anything, Corvin just looks more miserable. “I…I meant for everything after.” Bast hears the water in the pot begin to murmur and turns to shut off the heat while he thinks of a way to respond. “Okay, hand on my shoulder, let’s go.” Bast keeps a firm arm around Corvin’s waist as the other man dutifully reaches across his back and grips his opposite shoulder. “Sorry to leave ya so suddenly, Liz. Miri.” Miri raises her cocktail with a smirk. “Are you kidding? It’s suddenly girls’ night, who’d complain about that?” She slides off her stool with far more grace than her six drinks would suggest and moves to sit next to Liz, who laughs and clinks her bottle against Miri’s glass. “See you boys later,” Liz calls. “Make sure Corvin drinks some water.” Corvin gives a wave as Bast starts leading him to the door. He seems perfectly content to lean most of his weight on Bast and let him configure their balance. When they step outside, Corvin hums and drops his head against Bast. “Holdin’ on there?” Bast asks him. He almost trips over his own feet when Corvin gives his shoulder a tight squeeze and laughs in a low, almost husky voice. “You’re so sturdy,” he murmurs. “And you have good shoulders.” Bast is far too drunk to trust his intuition, so he settles for a neutral response. “Uh…thanks? Hey, you walked here, right? Where’s that new apartment of yours again?” “Mmm, don’t know,” Corvin says. “Nash gave me directions to the bar. Can’t remember it all backwards.” “We gotta get you a smartphone,” Bast mutters. “Okay, change of plans. You’re comin’ home with me.” Corvin lifts his head to give Bast a bright-eyed, breathless smile. “Yeah?” “Sure,” Bast says. “Not like you haven’t stayed over before. We were pretty much roommates back before…” “Before you saved me?” Corvin’s expression contains no hint of pain. He remains relaxed against Bast, smile still easy. Bast is once more reminded of just how far Corvin has come in the two years since they met. He’s a completely different person from the suspicious, malnourished young man too scared to testify. Looking at Corvin now, with his tense shoulders and lowered eyes, it’s hard not to see him two years younger. The idea that Bast is even remotely responsible for this regrets