"Fuck you, Arlo!" Michael grumbled as he took his brother to his bedroom. The problem was: his bedroom was on the second floor, and he had to drag his brother, whose body was bigger and taller than his, to climb the stairs. "Oh, fuck! Come on! Walk! We are going to fall if you are like this! Why don't you have anyone in your home?!"
Michael couldn't stop cursing as he finally managed to reach the top stairs and dragged him to his bedroom, while Arlo was mumbling something under his breath; but mostly, he was unconscious. Too drunk to string a comprehensible word.
"Fuck you, Arlo! Can you be heavier than this?! I feel like I have done ten rounds of gym!" Michael stretched his body and threw a blanket over Arlo's body; he was not going to be affectionate and tuck his brother in.
He was already being 'affectionate' enough not to throw him from the stairs.
