"Ah, I see yer awake," Sean said, peering over the top of the newspaper as Orlando stumbled into the living room.
"Urg," Orlando grumbled as he dropped to the sofa and buried his face in Sean's armpit.
"Didn't sleep well?"
"Gurk," Orlando replied, voice muffled. It was all Sean could do not to laugh.
"How's the head feel, then?"
"Nurgh," Orlando said, and Sean found himself smiling.
"Bad as that, is it?" Sean clumsily reached around and patted Orlando's shoulder. "You'll feel better in a bit."
Orlando didn't say anything to that. He just pressed closer, practically rooting Sean over the arm of the sofa.
"When you're feeling better," Sean continued, taking more than a little delight in Orlando's current predicament, "you've some phone calls to make."
"Hrn?" Orlando shifted a little, lolling his head to the side. As Sean looked down, one very blood-shot eye cracked open and peered up at him. The second eye, looking the same, followed.
"Phone calls," Sean repeated, deciding small words might be a good idea. "Last night. The pub."
Orlando blinked, then shut one eye and frowned a little. "Hmm?"
"You don't remember a bit of it, do you?" When Orlando's frown deepened, Sean had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing himself sick. "Do you remember drinking all the egg nog? Yes? And going to the pub? No? And nothing that happened..."
A sharp elbow dug into Sean's ribs, and he grinned in response. "When you're up to it, there's a list of people by the phone. I'd suggest calling each one and, ah, offering a, well, an explanation. Perhaps with an apology."
"I'm sure you can come up with a suitable reason for wanting the entire pub to know you were wearing Sponge Bob boxers last night. Along with the other, um, happenings."
A slow expression of horror crept across Orlando's face, and Sean had to make a fast retreat behind his newspaper. Really, sometimes Orlando was just too easy.