Drunken Assholes. They look like Zombies

Alexander pushed himself off the couch, his mind still spinning from the alcohol. His legs felt unsteady beneath him, but he was too stubborn to admit it.

"I—I need to see her," he mumbled, trying to walk, but the moment he took a step, his knees buckled.

With a heavy thud, he collapsed to the ground.

Marcus sighed, already expecting this nonsense. "For fuck's sake, Alexander."

He moved forward, crouching beside him, and slung one of Alexander's arms over his shoulder. "Come on, you idiot. You're built like a damn tank, but now you're nothing more than dead weight."

Alexander groaned, resting his head against Marcus's shoulder. "She's mine, Marcus… mine." His voice was hoarse, as if he had been screaming in his head all night.

Marcus ignored the emotional outburst and hoisted him up, dragging him toward the bedroom. Alexander kept mumbling to himself, his words slurred but full of raw emotion.