I kissed Tony, feeling like the ground was being pulled out from under my feet. For a while, I can't possibly tell for how long, he kissed me too. I felt his hands under my coat, on my sides, and they were surprisingly warm. I remembered the first time Arthur touched me under my coat and how his hands felt then.

Tony pushed me away. "What are you doing?" He asked, and he sounded far soberer than I was.

"I is – was – am…" I struggled with my verbs for a couple of moments, and by the time I figured it out, I couldn't remember what I was trying to say. So I just ended up saying "I am" a couple of times with all the conviction I could muster.

"Indeed, you are," Tony said, and I couldn't tell if he found me hilarious, or he was disappointed that I got smashed from a couple of shots. "Let's take you back," he said.

"No, no, no, no." I protested and almost fell over him with all my weight. He hauled me back on my feet and sighed. I kept complaining and, to my shame, tried kissing him again. I wasn't quite sure what had gotten into me.

"Dude, you're pissed drunk." He told me, and I don't know how or when it happened, but we were walking towards the exit. I felt very light as if I wasn't waling at all. I realized soon it was because all my weight was on Tony. I had my arm wrapped around his shoulder, and he was supporting me by my waist. Two more shots, and he would've been dragging me out like dead weight.

"I –," I started again, confident that this time I'm going to nail my sentence from the first try. "Am."

"Yes, you certainly are," Tony said.

"No." I wanted to sound pissed at him for not letting me finish my damn sentence, but instead, it came out as a wail. I sounded like a five-year-old who's trying to throw a tantrum but is too tired to articulate anything.

Tony dropped me on a couch, and it struck me that I had no memory of walking in the hotel room. "Go to sleep," he said while taking off my shoes.

"No, no, no, no." I rolled off the couch and fell face down on the floor. I managed to push myself up and grab onto his shirt. "Hey, hey. Let's ugh." I frowned, and he rolled his eyes dramatically. "Sex," I said nodding.

"No way." He pushed me back on the couch, and I fell easily. I couldn't stand being drunk.

"Come ooooon."

"Dude, fuck off. We are not having sex. You're smashed."

Most people would've backed off. They would've understood that a no is a no. And I would've done the same if I wasn't so damn drunk and desperate. I, for the second time, rolled off the couch and grabbed onto his leg.

He sighed from the bottom of his soul and picked me up again.

"Everyone is doing it!" I complained.

"What?"

"This!"

"What is THIS?"

I was getting annoyed that he couldn't understand what I was saying to him. To me, it was obvious what THIS was.

Tony didn't drop me on the couch this time. He sat with me and sighed.

"Look, Dude, you need to chill. I'm sure Arthur is fine, and he's not fucking his way through Paris. He's probably at the airport, going home."

"No, no. He can do whatever," I said, feeling like I was going to throw up.

"Aham," he said and placed his hand on the back of my head. "You're going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow."

I puffed a laugh and covered my face with my palms, trying to stop the feeling that I was in a hurricane.

"How about you go to sleep, and I'm sure you'll be able to talk to Arthur tomorrow. Alright?"

I grunted because, at this point, I didn't even want to sleep with him anymore. I didn't want to sleep with anyone, as a matter of fact. Tony helped me to my room, and I can't remember even getting in bed.

The next morning, I woke up, and the first thing I had to do was rush to the bathroom. I think I threw up my heart and soul at that moment. My head was home to some very aggressive, very agitated monkeys that insisted on banging on everything around them. I went to Tony; he was the only one around me that spoke English and the only one who probably had some sort of pill to give me. After all, half of this was his fault. Or at least, it was half his fault.

I knocked at his door, and he opened. He looked like he hadn't slept, but that wasn't my concern right now.

"I'm dying," I said, probably a bit too dramatic.

"You're not dying." He stepped out of the door to let me walk in. "Go in the kitchen."

I sat down at the small table and placed my head on it. "God, I'm dying," I muttered.

"You're not." Tony poured me a cup of coffee, and I watched him add salt to it. He pushed the cup in front of me and told me to drink it. "That'll cure your hangover," he said. "I also have some aspirin."

"Thanks." I drank that god-awful drink and hoped that I wasn't going to puke on the floor.

"You really can't hold your booze," he said and sat down at the table.

"It's your fault," I said.

"Yeah." He admitted, to my surprise. "I'm sorry about that." I waited for him to follow up with that, but. He didn't, which astonished me. Of all people, Tony was the last person that seemed capable of apologizing properly. "You said you don't drink, and I pushed you. So sorry."

"Ugh." It took me a couple of moments to figure out what to say. "It's fine. I'm an adult too."

Tony's phone rang, or better said, it vibrated on the table.

"Hey ma'," he said and got up, not to go to a specific place, but to wander around while talking on the phone. I couldn't understand much of his conversation since he kept switching between English and Spanish like it was the most natural thing in the world. After he was done talking, he sat back at the table. 

"Feeling a bit more awake?" He asked me, and I nodded. I wasn't a hundred percent alright, but I was significantly better. "You speak Spanish?"

I had to wonder how come everyone around me knew more than one language except me.

"Ugh, yeah," he said. "My mother's from Colombia."

"She is?" I realized that I knew absolutely nothing about Tony besides the fact that he liked to drink and drive like a madman. And let's not forget that he could be a complete asshole.

"I'm not going to lie about where my mother's from." He laughed. "More coffee?" I nodded. He poured me another cup, this time with no salt.

"So did you grew up there or…" I couldn't hear even the softest of accents in his speech.

"In Bogotá, until I was about five. My dad was in the military; then, he decided to quit that and opened up an auto repair shop in San Francisco. I met King there."

"Oh?"

"Mhm. His car broke down. By that time, I took over since he couldn't handle it anymore."

"Why not?"

"Oh, he got sick," he said. "King came in; I fixed his car, then he came in again; I fixed his car again. It was this 1969 Chevy, in this obnoxious orange color, but it was a classic, you see." He shrugged. "And the engine kept dying."

"Don't tell me; he offered you a job."

"And I said yes," Tony said. "I needed money. And King pays well."

"For your dad?"

"Mostly, yes. But I have enough to fuck around and send money home. I call it a win."

"You don't have siblings? Anyone else that can help?"

"I have a sister; she's eighteen now. Always wanted to go to college. She's way smarter than I am, that's for sure. So I'm doing my best to help her. Mom too. But no, I don't have relatives that can help financially. It's me, mostly."

"Oh."

Suddenly Tony didn't seem like such a selfish asshole anymore. Well, maybe not selfish. There was no way in hell I could picture Tony as a stand-up, proper citizen, not since he almost got in a race drunk. 

"Let's focus on what we have to do," Tony said, derailing the way the conversation was going. "About the egg thing, we'll do it tomorrow. The guy that has it lands in Tokyo tomorrow evening. I think if we're lucky, we can switch the baggage."

"Do we know how the suitcase looks?" I asked.

"We have absolutely no idea." He smiled. "But that's why we have to go to the airport and see. Do a bit of spying."

Tony seemed oddly happy about it.

"You're not that bad," I told him, and he snorted.

"Please, I'm terrible."