Bryson's POV
I turn around fully and come face to face with Julian. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, his shirt untucked and wrinkled, and the smell of alcohol hits me like a wall. He looks like he's been drinking for hours.
"Julian, you're drunk," I say, stating the obvious.
"So what?" His words tumble out messy and slurred. "It's my house. I can do whatever I want in my own house."
I try to push him back to create some space between us, but Julian only grabs my hand, his grip loose but persistent.
"Don't," he mumbles, swaying slightly on his feet. "Don't go anywhere."
My head starts to ache. I have zero patience for dealing with drunk people, especially not drunk Julian when I'm already exhausted from tonight's disaster of a dinner party.
"You need to go to bed,"
