Why Aravind decided to spend New Year’s Eve this way, he can’t say, but it’s...It’s interesting, if nothing else. A little too interesting, in fact.

Alexandre and Aryana are drunk, which is bad enough on its own, but that’s only highlighted by the fact that Arya’s brother is in attendance. He doesn’t exactly belong, but he isn’t returning to Persad this year, and so Alexandre valiantly came to the rescue with an offer to spend the evening with the rest of the family. He’s beginning to suspect it was little more than a chance to embarrass him and/or obtain free babysitting.

“Will you– will you sit down?” he hisses as Alex blunders into a floor lamp, Arya just barely catching it before it falls over. “You’re going to pull a muscle–”

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” Alexandre silences him, introducing a lull in the conversation before turning to Arya. Slowly, dreamlike, he presses his lips to her ear.

“That’s wha she said,” he whispers, and Arya immediately begins tittering, laughter wracking her body, while Aravind buries his face in his hand. She can barely stand by the time Alex guides her to the couch; they fall on it together, curling up and intruding on Aravind’s personal space. He doesn’t even want to look down at his lap to see whose– or which– body part is in his lap.

“Do you two have to be so loud?”

“You’ve no idea how loud we’re going to get, if you know what I mean.” Alex slurs, nuzzling against Arya.

Determined to look anywhere else, Aravind spots a woman in the corner shooting a glare in their direction, hands clapped over her son’s ears; her noise of displeasure is pointedly loud.

“Sorry,” Alex says loudly. “I meant we’re gonna...Sex.”

Aravind is nearly pushed off the couch as Alex and Arya laugh and laugh, tears streaming down their faces. Natan, though not occupying the same couch, is seated nearby looking as if he wants to be anywhere else, but also like he wants to commit a murder.

“I just think you two could be less...” Aravind attempts to convey himself using hand signals, but instead ends up flailing a bit before giving up. Alexandre nods, seeming to understand, and their whole side of the room is quiet for several minutes; every so often, Arya giggles and almost loses it again.

“So, Natan,” Aravind starts loudly and suddenly; Alex is muttering things in French about what he’s going to do with Arya later. The unfortunate part of all this is that he knows what they mean now, because someone thought he should be enlightened on the matter. They were wrong. “So. I heard you had a promotion?”

The only reason he volunteers to drive them home later is because he’s genuinely afraid Natan will commit a murder, given the chance. When they’re making out in the back of the car– and gods know what else, really, but he doesn’t care as long as there are no stains– at the very least, they don’t have any time to say things out loud. Instead, Alex keeps shushing her, and says something about “le jeu tranquille.”

Aravind just stares ahead, hands tightening on the steering wheel.