Pretty sure you were born with a fried brain, sweetie, but that's not stopping good ol' Akira from remaining your loyal friend. It'd almost be more of a relief if Ryo shattered the bottle instead of what he does instead. Like, watch where you put your arm, Ryo? He's not your girlfriend???

Ryo's breath reeks of alcohol and something almost chalky. Akira doesn't move away even though he'd really fucking like to, possessing a different kind of fear for the boy next to him than he does for the encroaching terrors outside. When the bottle's once again offered up to him, Akira isn't even tempted to take another sip. Instead, he leans, placing the bottle on the floor outside of Ryo's reach.

"That's... that's enough for the both of us. You can't fight those monsters if you're drunk, can you?"

It's a logical argument, just– please, actually consider it, Ryo.