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Horace blinks a few times, blearily, before his eyes flutter shut again. His eyes feel heavy, and it takes him a few long moments to actually realize that he's even awake.
"Shit," he murmurs under his breath, not even really audible. (Though, he's sure that if anyone were to hear it, they wouldn't find it particularly comprehensible, anyway.) The position he's in feels pretty damn uncomfortable, and his back seems to be the one paying the price for it.
After what he assumes to be a couple of minutes, but which feels like a century, he finally gains the motivation to actually open his eyes and get up. Immediately, he's met with a bright light, which causes him to quickly wince and twist away, shielding his eyes with his hand.
He realizes two things, after his brain finally catches up to him. One, that it's the light from the television. Two, that he is currently sitting on a couch. (And fell asleep sitting up. That would explain the back pain, at least.)
He blinks, trying to gather his thoughts, which is a lot harder than he feels is necessary - then goes the simpler route of deducing his surroundings first, and going from there. There's a coffee table in front of him, which has more than a few beer cans on it.
Ah, right. Beer. Television. Couch. At Simon's apartment. We put on a shitty action movie, then we decided to watch a couple more, and then...
Wait. Simon's apartment. Simon.
He immediately turns to his left, and spots what he expected: A sleeping Simon, laying down, with his legs draped over the edge of the couch. He looks... Peaceful, to be honest. (He's drooling slightly, which is kind of endearing, and that is a thought that makes Horace feel embarrassed with himself enough for him to just go back to staring at the TV instead.)
He supposes it doesn't take a rocket scientist to put together that they both drifted off after having a couple more drinks than necessary. He sighs, somewhat agitated at himself for over-indulging.
He stands up, and briefly stretches, before pausing. He then grimaces, and turns to Simon, who is still knocked out cold.
Horace would be fine with sleeping on the floor, but... He wouldn't feel okay with just letting Simon sleep on the couch of his own home.
But, it's not like he can transport him to his bed without physically moving him.
But, he doesn't want to wake him up.
So. He supposes, that in this situation. That the most logical move to make. Would be to pick Simon up. And then move him to the bedroom.
He grimaces, again.
It's not that weird, is it? No. Really, it's not weird at all. It's just, you know. The polite thing to do. As a guest, and as a friend. On top of the reasoning previously thought of, Simon has already complained about having back problems before, and Horace would rather not worsen that for him by having him sleep on this shitty couch.
It's not like it's a big deal, anyway. Simon probably wouldn't even care. Would be thankful that he didn't have to sleep on the couch. Wouldn't even mention it.
So, Horace kneels down in front of the couch, and prepares to pick Simon up.
He hesitates.
... What is the socially acceptable way to physically pick up your best friend? He assumes, naturally, that it would be to just put them over your shoulder. A fireman carry, or whatever. Not too personal, not too impersonal. Great. Perfect, even.
But, that usually doesn't apply to sleeping friends. He obviously doesn't want to wake Simon up, but he also doesn't think he could maneuver slinging him over his shoulder without doing that. So, not very ideal, right this minute.
And, truth be told, Horace only actually knows one other way to pick someone up. Which is...
Okay. Not weird at all. Not a big deal at all. So don't make it weird, and don't make it into a big deal, either.
Taking a deep breath, Horace, as carefully as he possibly can, scoops Simon off the couch, holding him in his arms. A bridal carry, he's heard people call it.
Not weird. Not a big deal. Don't make it weird. Don't make it a big deal.
Despite Simon not being much shorter than Horace, he immediately notes that he's very light. Which is preferable for the situation at hand, but does make Horace worry a little. Whatever. Focus.
He adjusts the way he's holding him a little, since it's an awkward position to try and support the weight of someone who isn't clinging to you, then begins to walk out the living room and into the hall. Simon has a relatively small apartment, so it's not like it's a long walk, which Horace is pretty grateful for. Less time he has to do it, less weird it is for him. If he's being honest, though; in general, this isn't nearly as uncomfortable as he thought it would be.
Then, he hears a quiet sigh.
Horace pauses, then glances down, now worried. Shit, had he accidentally woken Simon up? He really, really hoped not. Even if he has a perfectly normal explanation, he knows it would still be incredibly, painfully awkward to have to actually give the explanation in the first place.
He waits for a couple of seconds, but nothing else comes out of him, and he still seems to be fast asleep. He's about to continue walking, when Simon begins to stir a bit, and then-- nuzzles his face into Horace's chest.
Not weird. Not a big deal. So not a big deal. He's sleeping. Sleeping people do shit without realizing it, like, all the time. He's just, obviously, trying to get comfortable.
It's true, he knows, but reassuring himself of these facts still does not help make Horace's face feel any less like it's on fire right now.
Trying, and mostly failing, to ignore the nagging want to just sink into the ground and never return, he gets the journey over with as quickly as he can after that. It's completely uneventful. Horace lays Simon down onto his bed, tosses the blanket over him, and exits the room at an entirely reasonable speed, alright?
After returning to the living room, he switches off the TV, and lays back down on the couch.
It's difficult to fall asleep while trying not to think of his own racing heartbeat, but he manages.
It's not a big deal. At all. Really.