Being held neutralized much of her outrage; she focused on the weight of his arm around her shoulders, and the warmth of his chin tucked against her, and felt steadier. Maybe he'd had a point, about the letters - it was hard to feel pent up in her room and stuck in her house and handle things the way she wanted to, especially when it felt as if everyone else was just cavorting around as they pleased all the time.

"I missed you," she admitted, "This past week. But you really shouldn't come here drunk." It was risky, and not in the delicate way they managed a lot of their risk, recently - it was risky and it was careless and Zelda was drunk so rarely that she supposed her patience for drunk people was not exceptionally high, in the meantime.

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