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When presented with the puddling mess that was supposedly the great and mighty Uchiha Madara, all Ryouji could do was raise a single eyebrow, arms crossed loosely over his chest as he addressed the almost pitiable soul who had been forced to drag him home. “I thought he preferred not to drink.”
“He does.” The almost pitiable soul - aka Izuna - heaved his brother up the final two steps, scowling over at the other man when he almost tipped them over. “But apparently that doesn’t apply when it comes to drinking contests. Word of wisdom: don’t challenge the Senju.”
Competitive as he was, Ryouji knew a losing battle when he was met with it, and would most definitely not be idiotic enough to do that - unlike the man that was quite suddenly shoved right into his arms, Izuna shouting a quick “he’s your problem now” over his shoulder before disappearing off into the night.
Madara grumbled something that might have sounded like words underwater, and Ryouji just stared at him for a moment, wondering how on earth he’d got stuck with drunk duty. But he knew the answer to that and sighed to himself, leading Madara inside to watch him and make sure he didn’t choke on the aftermath of his bad choices.
Come morning, he’d make sure his headache and hangover went as smoothly and with as little pain as possible, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be hearing it for trying to overload his liver. For now Ryouji let him lay his head in his lap, lulling the man to sleep petting his hair while he went back to his research.