D. was pretty sure he was moving.<i>Pretty</i>sure — but then again, when you were wasted beyond belief, no one, not even in the drunkard himself, could really take anything he said without a grain of salt.<br/><br/>Still, the proof was there, especially when he felt another body lug him around toward the exit, yelling about Lucas or Ludus or dicks or something or another.<br/><br/>"Cool, cool," D. mumbled back, thinking that he didn't care about the other guy's sexuality as long as he took him home safe and sound.  "Get your dicks, brooo...who gives — who even gives a fuck...?"<br/><br/>Abruptly, as if the room wasn't spinning badly enough before, everything seemed to flip upside down and D. could do nothing more than grip tighter onto the boy next to him, clawing fabric into his tight grip to make sure, for dear life, that D. wasn't going to start walking up the walls, either, because god<i>fucking</i>dammit, he was having a rough enough time on regular floors, and the last thing he needed was to scale the goddamn ceiling.<br/><br/>"Don't drop me," he groaned.  "Are we there yet?  I think I'm about — about to fuck<i>ing</i>puke."