Sugarcoat was Drunk


                                            >Sugarcoat was drunk.

                                            >Not lights out just yet, thankfully. Not too drunk to stay quiet, sadly.

                                            >Oh, who would've thought that this girl's the talkative and loud type? Yet here you are...

                                            >"You're really weak."

                                            >Thin cold fingers give your forearm a meager squeeze from the side. You feel the nails, done too well for such a casual occasion, remain on your shirt just a second longer than you'd expect from a mocking gesture.

                                            >Hopefully it's a sign she's starting to calm down.

                                            >Well, she's not really that wrong. Your first attempt at carrying her was an almost immediate failure, not to mention it was really awkward to princess-carry someone in the dark.

                                            >The carry 2.0, girl on the back, is a much better iteration, and yet you're barely keeping balance already, huffing and puffing as you trudge forward at a snail’s pace.

                                            >Not to mention how annoying it is to have your hands full of someone's legs when you really need to fix your glasses that she keeps bumping with her forehead from behind.

                                            >Well, 3.0 will be just carrying her over your shoulder like a goddamn log, especially if she won't stop wriggling around.

                                            >It's not like you're sober either. You know for sure you've been drinking a lot more than her.

                                            >Of course, you need to take into account your years of Manehattan U experience, nobody gets through a university of that caliber without developing high alcohol tolerance.

                                            >"Are we there yet, teacher?" Sugarcoat whines into the back of your neck.

                                            "No, and please, please stop calling me teacher."

                                            >Just imagine being seen like this by someone who knows either of you. You're reasonably far away from the school now but one would only need to place two and two together seeing you wander around under streetlights at 2am if she keeps calling you out.

                                            >No, you're not her teacher, really. You did tutor her personally a year ago in some math, and your dad knows her dad and her dad has contacts in Crystal Prep and they needed a part-timer to take over for any absent teachers at the time and...

                                            >Still not a legit teacher. But already apparently a teacher enough to be invited by dean Cadance to her birthday party. Which she makes a school event for both students and teachers.

                                            >"Well maybe you shouldn't have given me a ride home then huh? You ever think about that?"

                                            >What is up with this girl's tone, just because she's dead drunk doesn't mean...

                                            >It's kind of your fault, you have to admit. You were her ticket to "drink just a little" when she mentioned you'll be there to her parents. So you were made responsible for her without even agreeing to that.

                                            >But, naturally, you became not just hers but everyone's ticket to alcohol tonight. Statistically speaking, one sparkling wine bottle for a whole group of students would amount to less than a glass per student.

                                            >Thinking about this now... you might not have been their only source of drinks at the party.

                                            "No, no I don't," you answer absentmindedly.

                                            >"Yeah you do," she contradicts you just out of spite. "All you do is think about stuff, four-eyed nerd."

                                            >Ignoring the spicy irony, you almost feel like this is your cue to check if she still has her glasses on. One of her shoes was almost immediately kicked off at the start of her piggyback ride, who knows what else could fall off in the meantime.

                                            >This schoolgirl weighs almost nothing and she's still such a burden...

                                            >Her slim shorts feel too slippery for your already tired hands and it doesn't help that she sometimes smacks her head against yours like some kind of oversized woodpecker.

                                            >The yellow hue of street lights is sapping your drunk bravado real fast. There is no end to this road and you don't even feel like you're getting anywhere.

                                            >Maybe it is time for the log position after all.

                                            >"Just wait until dad hears about this... The slowest driver in the world, pfft. Did you, did you ‘calculate’ the speed wrong huh?"

                                            >Sugarcoat usually isn’t the most friendly girl around but now you miss her ability to keep to herself.

                                            >You bump the girl up to get a better grip and it yields you a quiet yelp from her.

                                            "Hey, you're not gonna actually tell your dad anything, right?"

                                            >"That depends... What are you willing to bargain for my silence?”

                                            "I'll give you my lunch money for a month."

                                            >She's thinking about it. Anything to keep her silent.

                                            >Goes without saying that she'll be the one in trouble if she tells anyone. But, of course, your situation will be worse.

                                            >Yeah, you're not this kid's guardian, how are you supposed to know where the students are playing while you're chilling with Shining Armor and the lads?

                                            >But you still were responsible for walking her home. Which you are doing now, in a way. At least one of you is doing the walking.

                                            >"That's acceptable I guess," the girl finally agrees with you, but after a pause realizes something. "Hey, you're a teacher, what freaking lunch money?"

                                            "Stop calling me that!"

                                            >She's gonna do it on purpose all the way, you just know it.

                                            >Truth be told, if you were in her class as a fellow student you'd definitely get bullied by her and her friends. Shit, even as a post-grad you don't get any respect from them.

                                            >Sugarcoat only takes a few seconds to get back on track.

                                            >"How much lunch money do teachers get anyway?"

                                            "If you wanna find out then stay quiet for a bit, we're almost there."

                                            >"I'm thirsty."

                                            "Yeah, sure, I'll get you s-"

                                            >"I need to use the bathroom."

                                            "Same, same."

                                            >"You're going too slow."

                                            "I'd be going faster if you weren't hanging on my neck."

                                            >This one hits the spot for her.

                                            >"Are you calling me heavy?" Sugarcoat hisses with barely contained indignation.

                                            "No, that's not what I'm calling you."

                                            >"I'm not fat!" she nearly yells.

                                            >Yeah, exactly what you need, alert everyone in the vicinity, girl.

                                            "Shut up or I'll drop you!"

                                            >"Stop bullying me!"

                                            >Her exaggerated whiny voice doesn't have any effect on you: focusing on the road takes all your mental and eye muscle power.

                                            >You're gonna start swaying left and right any moment now. Worse than that, you're starting to work up some sweat.

                                            >Sugarcoat notices that too, her face being so close to your neck at all times.

                                            >"Eww, I'm gonna smell like you for the rest of the night."

                                            "No you won't."

                                            >There's a chance she's not noticing how she's wording things so you decide to not pay attention to anything that sounds provocative.

                                            >You really do miss the normal Sugarcoat.

                                            >Experience tells you there's a lot of things one can say while drunk. You're just gonna pray you won't be the one saying anything like that. The end of your journey should be close by now.

                                            >Closer than it was a minute ago, at least. Right?

                                            >Why couldn't you just get your car and drive her home? Who cares if you're drunk too, nobody is out on this wealthy mansion alleyway this time of night.

                                            >And indeed, step by step and tease by tease, you and your cargo finally start passing very familiar fences.

                                            >"Finally, I was starting to get sick."

                                            "Hold it in," you remark just in case she's serious.

                                            >At long last, the end of your journey. And the hardest part of it.

                                            >Sugarcoat probably isn't expected to come home in the middle of the night. The party is still going and it's just Sugarcoat that had to be evacuated swiftly before anyone on the teacher side noticed she's shitfaced.

                                            >That still left other drunk students walking around and being loud, of course, but none as bad as her. If they ever fess up who got them the stuff (they promised they wouldn't, but you know how highschoolers are) it's only your own reputation that's at stake there.

                                            >So now, after a few more minutes of hauling the dead weight on your back and cursing under your breath, you finally stand before Sugarcoat's residence.

                                            "Hey, you alive back there?" you notice she's been quiet for some time now.

                                            >"Oh, now you want me to talk?" her sarcastic tone is ever so present even when she slurs her speech.

                                            "Can you stand?"

                                            >"No."

                                            >Not like she has a choice. You can't bring her in like this.

                                            >Your arms feel so relieved when the girl's legs are finally on the ground. She still clings to your back but you feel like her hands are gonna slip at any moment.

                                            >When you turn to face her she nearly falls onto you. You grab her shoulders and call for her.

                                            "You hear me?"

                                            >Her hair, styled into her usual thing you'll never understand, is starting to get messy and some strands are threatening to get out of their bind. But other than that she still looks salvageable, if you don't try to look into her eyes of course.

                                            >Her light colored shirt with a small school logo print on it is still clean too, so you absolutely can’t let her fall down right here.

                                            >Once the drunk girl gathers enough strength to turn her head up and point her vacant stare at your face you brief her on your plan.

                                            "Go tell them you're back."

                                            >"You tell them," she averts her gaze somewhere far away to the side.

                                            >Is she finally realizing how much she has fucked up?

                                            "Listen, you'll call the intercom, smile and tell anyone who picks up that you're home, alright? It's your mess, Sugarcoat."

                                            >"No, man, you don't get it..."

                                            "You just have to act like you're normal, alright? Just act like Sugarcoat. They won't notice, c'mon."

                                            >Holding the girl steady with one hand, you rummage through your right pocket and get your half-empty pack of gum.

                                            "Here, chew this. They won't even notice you've been drinking."

                                            >She hesitates to put a piece into her mouth and winces as soon as the mint hits her senses.

                                            "Just don't swallow," you say just in case.

                                            >"That's what she said."

                                            >That's not how it- Never mind.

                                            "Whatever, just go."

                                            >But she can't really go. When she moves to the gates she immediately threatens to fall over.

                                            >"See? You'll have to carry me inside," she grumbles right after you catch her.

                                            "No way. Don't be a baby now."

                                            >There’s absolutely no way you’re letting her get accustomed to this luxury of being carried around.

                                            >After applying some drunk logic to the situation, you decide to stand right behind her.

                                            >Nobody from the front would be able to tell, especially from the small camera in the door bell, but Sugarcoat is actually resting on your hands that prop her up from behind, like some kind of awkward off-balance figurine.

                                            >The call is made and you stand there, counting seconds that drag on for too long. You’ll start falling over soon if this keeps on going.

                                            >After a while you hear a man's voice coming out of the speaker asking who's there.

                                            >"It's me dad, I- I'm home early."

                                            >You can tell she's trying her best to smile even if her voice sounds really weak all of a sudden. You hope the old man's gonna buy it.

                                            >That's bad news for you, you expected their maid or whoever else they have there to take this call. How come her dad is up this late?

                                            >Well, obviously it's because he knows this is exactly what would happen at a party like that. No, even better, he's staying up specifically to catch you red-handed.

                                            >It was their plan all along. He's testing you or just wants to blackmail you.

                                            >Fuck, this makes too much sense!

                                            >All you can do now is pray that Sugarcoat won't rouse too much suspicion. And it seems like luck is on your side in this.

                                            >Making it all the way to the intimidating two-story building blanketed by the darkness of the night, protected from the street lights by nothing but a tall metal fence, proves rather difficult exactly because of your partner in crime.

                                            >Of course, she has to walk straight. There's not a lot of distance to cover, and yet...

                                            >It's up to you once again. Meaning you have to stay close to her and guide her. Not just walk next to her, push her. But not too hard so she doesn't fall over.

                                            "Go on, walk," you have to remind her a few times when she turns around to check why you're still touching her shoulders and back.

                                            >It's as if the girl is proceeding to her own execution. Each step is cautious but barely conscious, she would surely drop on the ground if not for the force you're putting into your forward motion.

                                            "Just remember to smile and don't say too much, alright? Let me do the talking."

                                            >You don't see this sarcastic little smartass smile genuinely very often. Yet here she must prove capable, or you're both done.

                                            >And as soon as you are greeted by the father himself, in his PJs no less, right at the front door, you know you're doomed. Sugarcoat will never-

                                            >Or will she?

                                            >"There you are," Mr.Sugarcoat smiles meekly, obviously sleepy still.

                                            >His eyes are kept open only by his sheer will to see this through. Now that he's relieved to see his daughter safe and sound there should be no problem, at least that's how you envision this.

                                            >Sugarcoat waves her arm a bit and leans back so much you're practically forced to push her forward to keep her steady. You've got no clue what this maneuver of hers was supposed to accomplish.

                                            >The summer night air is fresh and whatever alcohol Sugardad may be smelling right now might as well be coming from you, for all he knows.

                                            "We're back," you confirm with a smile of your own. "Didn't expect such a welcome at this time of day...night."

                                            >"Just couldn't sleep, you know."

                                            >The man shrugs, a worrisome parent counting minutes towards his girl’s return.

                                            >He squints at his child, probably lamenting lack of proper lighting here. Should've waited inside.

                                            >"Been drinking, huh," the man smirks.

                                            >No idea if he noticed or deduced anything. Gotta keep it cool.

                                            >"A bit," the wayward daughter admits.

                                            >Thankfully, nothing more.

                                            "Yeah, you could say so."

                                            >Your own answer is as casual and cool as you can manage right now.

                                            >It is the parent's duty to notice these things. But maybe not this time.

                                            >No matter how much he squints he can't notice that Sugarcoat is barely even standing still without falling over - all thanks to your helping hand pressing right between her shoulder blades, just above the outline of the bra's lock that you've found just a tad earlier.

                                            >"Well, you know-"

                                            >Before Mr.Sugarcoat even gets to his point, his girl takes initiative in her usual annoyed tone.

                                            >"I'm a bit sleepy now so I'd appreciate it if we could stop standing outside."

                                            >It takes the man a second to confirm it to himself that it still does sound like the usual Sugarcoat. Maybe that's all the proof he needed. Maybe she's making a very annoyed face right now that you can't see because you're stuck apologetically smiling at her dad like an idiot.

                                            >Whatever it may be, it doesn't bother him for long. What’s the big idea, right, old man?

                                            >"Alright, come along. I'm gonna go back to sleep, oh, and try not to disturb anyone."

                                            "Got it," you nod as confidently as fog in your head allows you to.

                                            >You only now understand that Sugarcoat used "we" in her demand. Meaning you're not done with assisting her just yet.

                                            >Well, what else could the reason be? She won't make it to the second floor even if she's gonna awkwardly climb the stairs on all fours like some kind of wounded animal.

                                            >The house is dark, with barely any light entering through the windows at the other side of the hallway, and it becomes just as quiet after Mr.Sugarcoat retreats to his room, silently and stealthily, putting his finger to his mouth as a parting gift to you.

                                            >Working through this obstacle without making too much noise may prove the hardest challenge yet - before you are the steep U-shaped stairs to the domain of your drunk protégé.

                                            >Sadly, despite your best hopes, she didn't become any more sober after a frankly sobering encounter with the man that held your fate in his hands.

                                            "Alright, just take it slow," you nod to Sugarcoat when the first step of many is conquered by her.

                                            >But not one more. This girl becomes an immovable object the very second her foot touches the next step.

                                            >"Oh fuck..." she whispers with despair in her voice.

                                            "Language!" you hiss at her involuntarily before realizing you've got bigger problems at hand.

                                            >"I'm afraid of heights!"

                                            >With these words she entrusts her body to you. That is to say, her noodle legs go limp, nearly bringing her down on you.

                                            "Oh, for fuck's sake, man."

                                            >At this point you can imagine she's doing it on purpose just to annoy you but this doesn't make a difference. There's a mountain to scale whether you like it or not.

                                            >And so the modern Sisyphus has a whole journey before him...

                                            >Thankfully, you're not sober enough to give a damn. Sugarcoat is pushed forward not to move, but to lie down on the stairs face-down. You go past her with a plan in your head.

                                            >Well, she certainly has no dignity left in her, so why would you?

                                            >"That's your plan?" you hear her complain when you simply take her forearms and pull her up to you.

                                            >A drunk slug is now making its way upstairs, little by little.

                                            "I take it back, you ARE heavy."

                                            >Making a turn would've been impossible if Sugarcoat didn't try to get back at you for this remark.

                                            >It's hard to imagine if she actually takes offense in that but you'll just assume that every girl thinks she's fat, so this was basically foolproof.

                                            >Lucky for you, she can't actually do anything but crawl with one hand while you drag her up by the other.

                                            >Without a doubt this would've been easier if you tried the carry 3.0 position here. But you know you'd just fall over or something like this. At least this humiliating ascent keeps you both safe.

                                            >It turns out Sugarcoat is far from helpless - at the final stretch of her stairs she finally finds the strength to overcome her fear of heights and stand on all fours, from which you help her up by pulling her arm again.

                                            >This feels a lot different than the outside.

                                            >It's dark, very warm and cramped here. Silence amplifies every groan both of you produce trying to steady the helplessly drunk girl vertically.

                                            "See, we made it, no problem," you reassure yourself.

                                            >You're completely out of breath now and you can't stop sweating but to your surprise Sugarcoat also sounds like she just finished running a marathon.

                                            >"I'm gonna hurl for real," her voice is trembling slightly.

                                            >Even in the dark you can locate her room, the one you've been visiting once a week last year. Remembering all the math you've been pouring into this girl's head back then has a calming effect on you.

                                            "Keep it together."

                                            >The light wooden door to the room opens with a barely audible creak. For a second you turn on the light but after a loud "OUCH!" from Sugarcoat you turn it back off.

                                            >You got blinded as well, so now you see even less than before the flashbang.

                                            >It was a bad idea, but finding Sugar's bed in the dark of night is almost just as bad. To your luck, the curtains that are usually wide open are still exposing her window even now, letting all the light you need right in.

                                            >At long last, your student is finally set down on her bed, despite the two attempts at returning to her quadrupedal stance on the way there.

                                            >In the pale light from the outside Sugarcoat somehow looks even more pale. With sweat on her forehead and gulps in between breaths you figure it's best you find something to contain the approaching tide.

                                            >It doesn't take you long to find some empty plastic bag lying around; Sugarcoat takes it without hesitation and her face gets right into it.

                                            >Anticipating the worst, you try to get her hair out of the way at least from one side, but the girl is just breathing heavily for now.

                                            >This goes on for some time, a quiet night in a schoolgirl's room with nothing but rustling of the bag and her labored breathing to indicate anyone is here - both of you are completely motionless.

                                            >At long last she lifts her head and sighs.

                                            "You okay?"

                                            >"Seems that way."

                                            >Hearing her usual tone is a relief. Maybe any further humiliation can be avoided after all.

                                            >She isn’t putting the bag away just yet, but it feels like Sugarcoat is already much more relaxed. She takes off her glasses and smirks quietly as she massages her eyelids with her dirty fingers.

                                            >You take the time to turn her desk lamp on, a compromise to not remain in the dark. When you return to Sugarcoat's side this earns you a glance of approval.

                                            >"Well, this was certainly a horrible experience," she complains just as usual.

                                            "Come on, you had a bit of fun, admit it. Being carried and dragged around…"

                                            >"Maybe just a bit."

                                            >Silence befalls you again and it seems that both of you take your time to gather strength for the next step, because you start at the same time.

                                            "So, I'm going-"

                                            >"Are you going-"

                                            >It makes both of you stop and you can't help but smile. No such reaction from Sugarcoat however.

                                            "Go ahead," you nod.

                                            >"Are you gonna stay the night too?"

                                            "Where, right here?" you point down at the bed, "No way."

                                            >"What if I need someone to walk me to the bathroom?"

                                            "Huh? It's not that far."

                                            >Why would she even assume you're gonna stay? And right here, in her room too? That you're gonna sleep on the floor like some kind of a dog or something?"

                                            >Does she want to make a personal servant out of you that bad?

                                            >You're pretty sure her family can afford an actual one, or even has one in-

                                            >Your thoughts are being disrupted by Sugarcoat's hands reaching to your face.

                                            >"That's too bad..." she whispers.

                                            >For a moment you can almost feel the warmth of her fingers hovering right at your cheeks.

                                            >"...that you won't have a choice!"

                                            >Your breath is taken away for a stray moment. And the next one it's your glasses that are actually taken away.

                                            >Sugarcoat pulls them off with a swift motion before you even realize what's happening.

                                            >"Ha, got 'em."

                                            >You can barely discern a triumphant smirk on her face without those glasses. It's all a blur more or less.

                                            >At least the sarcasm in her voice is unmistakable:

                                            >"Pfft, did anyone ever tell you how ridiculous you look without them?"

                                            >Joke's on her, every time anyone sees you without glasses they comment on it. You're immune to that by now.

                                            >"Looks like you're not finding your way out of here now."

                                            >She might be smug but she's still drunk. She doesn't know what she's doing. That's because she's now trying to put the glasses on and you're certain her vision is much better than yours, and that means...

                                            "Wait, those are-"

                                            >"Whoa," Sugarcoat looks around with your glasses on, but, unprepared for this kind of magnification, she's moving her head too fast.

                                            >She removes them just as quickly when she realizes this feels all kinds of wrong. Alas, the horrible disorienting effect is just kicking in now and for a girl one step away from barfing this spells only one sentence.

                                            >With a sigh, you move Sugarcoat's hair out of the way as her face dives into the plastic bag again, barely making it before her body starts to spasm.

                                            >It was time for Sugarcoat to sober up.