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The 'each person gets drunk in a specific type' myth was, well, a myth. Moreef, being a barman, knew this better than anyone. Sure, Onnawor seemed to get rather teary after drinking more often than not, but sometimes she'd get all smiley, and yet other, cursed times, flirty. It depends on person's mood, their overal situation, approach to life, and so many other things.
Moreef also knew a person that gave him unlimited opportunities to theorize and make up reasons or ways the 'drunk moods' happen, that person obviously being Smith. After the whole incident with his parents, he became a regular at Tropical Hideaway, spending notable amounts of shills on drinks and chatting the nights away with Moreef. He couldn't lie to himself, he enjoyed it a lot. He'd give him some drinks on the house, which Smith would often regard with child-like glee and some embarrassing physical contact, and people would often come to his bar hoping to meet one of the most famous people in the Pearl for the past year. But even just chatting with him was a massive improvement to any day- he had plenty of stories to tell about his grifting days, and was a fairly good listener too, even if some things went over his head.
Overall, Smith was good for business, and a really good friend.
And so far, he's gotten angry-drunk in his bar a few times, giggly-drunk more than Moreef can count, exactly once crying-drunk where he spent the entire evening bawling his eyes out over losing his favorite flask which he later found in his pocket, and sleepy-drunk enough times to test out all sleeping spots at the bar itself and in Moreef's room. He still picked the floor in majority of cases.
But whatever this was- was pretty new.
Smith walked into The Hideaway late into the evening, not long after closing with no one left at the bar. He was obviously already drunk, judging from his uncertain steps and mistimed blinking. He didn't respond to Sweet Moreef's greeting, and didn't sit on any stools, opting instead to walk behind the bar, ignoring the barkeep's inquiries the entire time.
...honestly, it was difficult to say what was behind those pupil-less eyes. His lower lip was slightly sticking out, showing his teeth a little- which was completely normal for Smith, when he was relaxed. That at least should mean there wasn't any emergency going on, which calmed his nerves a little. What worried him most was the silence- Smith was quite a loud person, to see him so quiet when he's not sleeping was enough of a warning.
"Smith? You alright there? You didn't drink anything suspicious, did you?"
No response. That's not good. It wasn't entirely impossible for Smith to poison himself by accident- he actually did once, finding a bottle on the road and just chugging it during a scuffle only to learn it was some Bile Broker's experiment. Thankfully nothing bad came out of it, but who knows when Smith will run out of luck?
After all, you can drink from random bottles and eat sandwiches found on the street only for so long before you catch some nasty bug even a kra'deshi will have trouble with. And considering what happened to Vixmalli and that it was Smith who beat it out of him, it wasn't entirely impossible-
Two hands sneaked under his arms making him jump, which promptly got used against him when he realized he didn't land back on his feet. Instead, he got lifted under his armpits like a child, Smith staring at him the entire time, the same lax expression on his face. Moreef gripped him at the elbows, feeling unsteady as a Hesh disturbed sea, and the drunkard held him at arm's length before his eyestalk twitched to look around.
Moreef didn't want to admit he was scared, but he got lifted by Smith too many times in school where the result was way too often scarring, to lie to himself. He shuddered at the many memories of being held through an open window few stories above ground, begging to be brought back inside.
His fur standing fully on end, he was about to tell Smith to put him down when they started moving. A bit awkwardly, he got carried into his room where the grifter stood in the middle of the room, muttered something under his breath and-
-and Heshing twirled. Not just once either. Moreef could feel his face going way too hot from embarrassment, and he tightened his grip on Smith's elbows as the other man took tiny steps in place to keep them moving round and round.
He stopped counting after the sixth time the couch passed through his view, slowly starting to feel nauseous. His armpits also hurt. And neck, and he could feel his feet going a bit numb.
"Smith," he muttered, embarrassed "can you- ack!"
Somehow, the kra'deshi switched his grip on him to a bone crushing hug, in which he locked his arms under Moreef's as if his goal was to keep the bar owner from escaping. The last bits of momentum sent them both tumbling down, seemingly on purpose, for Smith to land on his back with a thud that jiggled various items on the desk and coffee table, and the jarackle falling chest to chest on Smith.
Overall an unpleasant experience.
Getting his breath knocked out from the impact, Moreef let his hands fall somewhat on the shoulders of the man under him, and his head on his collarbone as he tried to fill his partly constricted lungs. Smith refused to budge his arms.
After calming his hammering heart a bit, he raised his head to look at the kra'deshi, only to be met with the most ridiculous sight in his life.
In front of him, the green head laid flat on the floor, fully resting. Except for the eyestalks, which were raised and twisted in a way to still look at him from below. The longer Moreef stared at the ridiculous picture the harder it was not to snort with laughter.
To be fair, the position looked pretty uncomfortable. He doubts kra'deshi actually like to move their eyestalks to this degree.
But as seconds pass and Smith doesn't move except for his breathing and occasional blinks, Moreef grows more and more uncomfortable. This. Would be a good moment to be let go of now. He tries to push himself away a bit, to somehow prompt Smith to let him go, but he either doesn't understand through his haze or simply ignores him.
He tries to struggle for a bit longer, until he gives up and lets himself lay on the larger man. Being squeezed like a plushie by a scared child.
The eyes poking from below are blinking at him slowly, and Moreef does the same. He's tired, and the embarrassment of the entire ordeal slowly takes the background to his resignation. Will Smith get bored if he plays along for a while?
After a solid minute of just looking at each other's eyes, it seems the answer is no.
Looks like he'll have to wait for Smith to fall asleep. Which he doesn't look very inclined to do, but he's bound to eventually get tired after he's had his fun.
Is Smith having fun? He can only assume he does.
Smith's expression may not be telling much, (especially with eyes positioned like that) but the fact he still hasn't let go and seems adamant on staring at him means he's either exactly where he wants him, or waiting for something. Moreef has no idea what for.
And so they lay like this, the jarackle long since calmed down and playing with Smith's collar while he waits to be let go. He mentally thanks his luck for getting most of his chores done for the day, no way he's getting to do anything for the next 10 minutes. And after whatever's going on is over, he's going to sleep immediately. Dealing with Smith's nonsense tends to be really tiring.
One minute passes after another, and Moreef focuses on reverse matching his breath with Smith, in hopes that when the chest below him falls, he'll have more space to take a breath himself.
It kind of works.
His fingers start tapping a random rhythm on Smith's collar, and he looks up to check if the kra'deshi is still looking- he is, albeit with only one eye. The other fell to it's idle position at the side of his head. A mental pat on the back for Moreef- he guessed right, it was at least a bit tiring to lift your eyes like that.
Smith makes some sort of noise at the back of his throat, maybe in an attempt to speak, but fails to convey any message. The hands around him loosen just the slightest bit. Afraid that moving will make Smith tighten them again, Moreef stays still.
Few minutes pass. A hum makes it's way out of Smith, then a small cough, and finally there's a word being rasped out.
"S'ry..."
The arms around him go slack at last, and the other eyestalk lowers itself as his eyes close. Moreef slowly sits up and moves off of the kra'deshi. He can't help but feel a bit cold. He sits beside Smith, who hasn't moved from the floor.
The drunkard takes a deep breath, then exhales through his nose. Moreef's not sure what to say, or do. Should he get up? Prepare the bed or couch and ask Smith to move there to sleep? Ask him to leave?
He wouldn't do that, let's be honest. He's fairly sure Smith has nothing against sleeping in a ditch, but he has many reasons against Smith sleeping in a ditch.
"Thanksss..."
"You're welcome?"
Moreef's not sure what he did to warrant a thank you. Maybe Smith really is so out of it and taking with someone in his head.
But well, might as well try to get him off the floor and into bed now that he's talking.
"Smith, can you stand up?"
"Hmm."
Not much of a response, but after few seconds the kra'deshi starts to sluggishly pull himself up from the floor. Moreef gets up as well, and reaches his hand out for Smith to grab for leverage. He almost falls himself when Smith grabs it, but quickly catches his balance and tugs now standing kra'deshi towards the bed.
Smith stumbles behind him, then carefully sits down on the mattress. He doesn't need Moreef's prompting to start taking off his boots and belts, his eyestalks drooping, and breath slow. The barkeep's lucky Smith didn't just fall asleep on the floor.
As the grifter gets rid of all the uncomfortable stuff for sleeping, Moreef watches, with some strange feeling of relief. Smith's right here, and despite his weird behavior seems to be perfectly fine. This weird peace of knowing his friend is safe makes him feel safe in return.
When Smith is done, he looks up at Moreef with those empty eyes of his and yet Moreef can swear he sees gratitude in them. Maybe it's the intoxication bringing usually veiled feelings out, or maybe he just spent enough time with the slugger to actually read his face that well.
"...been feelin' real l'nely today. Th'nks for, bein' 'ere..."
Oh. Oh Hesh. That... Hit Moreef straight in the gut, sending his heart to his throat. Overwhelming flood of feelings and thoughts drowned his brain, and he couldn't decide which one to focus on.
The fact that Smith had moments when he felt alone, even after reconciling with his siblings and making a bunch of friends at Pearl?
How sad he looked right now, eyestalks drooped but eyes still turned upwards and with that tiny frown on his face?
Or maybe the pride and warmth that spread from his chest out across his entire body that Smith went to him for company?
How vulnerable the kra'deshi must feel right now, and that he trusts Moreef in this situation enough to show it?
Completely lost in his own head he must have left him without response for a bit now. Only when Smith's eyes dropped again did he shook off some of the shock to reach out and lay his hand on the kra'deshi's shoulder.
"That's... Anytime, Smith. I'm here, yeah?"
What he received in response was a big, big smile, unlike any of Smith's drunken grins he's seen before. His mouth was closed, for a change, and his eyestalks raised a bit despite his tiredness, looking at Moreef with more warmth than a spark-ignited fire.
It was, dare he say, beautiful. And he wasn't sure how to react, except to smile himself. They held eye contact for a while, even if Smith was fighting to keep his eyes open. Just as Moreef started getting distracted with his heart beating louder and louder in his ears, Smith failed to hold in a yawn which broke their eye contact. It was definitely time to sleep.
The jarackle gulped through the lump in his throat, then reached and lifted the covers from the bed and motioned Smith over. The kra'deshi crawled into the space, still smiling to himself, and when Moreef started to put the covers over him, grabbed his hand and tugged him into bed with him. Moreef stumbled, almost falling face first into the mattress, and feeling himself blush under his fur all over again when he saw Smith's wide pleading eyes.
With a sigh, he shook the hand off his forearm and sat on the bed, then removed his own shoes. Trying not to think much, he lays down, back facing the kra'deshi.
The covers got thrown over him, and one green hand snaked it's way under his arm to rest against his middle. His mind immediately replaying that wave of feelings he got when Smith admitted to being lonely made him choke up again, and he grabbed the hand with his own and squeezed a bit.
Smith fell asleep in a matter of minutes, and Moreef joined not long after.