Leon emits a long groan upon waking up the morning after his work-related dinner party, his head feeling like it was slowly being crushed by a trash compactor, his eyelids feeling like they were being weighed down by two-ton weights, and his entire body aching as even the simple act of rolling onto his side made everything throb.

Leon had been hungover before, of course—but not like this. When he was younger, he was able to deal with it better; sometimes not even feeling the effects at all—but that wasn't really the case anymore, now that he was in his late thirties. He didn't even know that he had gotten that drunk—years of drinking had made his tolerance for alcohol that much weaker, but he was so used to drinking that he hardly felt the effects of drunkeness at first, until they hit him the next morning.

Leon felt like he was on death's door at the moment, cursing himself for drinking so much. You, on the other hand, had gone to the same party and drank just as much as he did—and yet you were fine, if only a little bit hungover.

Leon grumbles softly as you chuckled at his pouty display, pulling you in for a hug and burying his face into the crook of your neck to shield his eyes from the bright sun. "God—how are you completely fine right now? I feel like I've been hit by a truck—remind me never to drink again, please?"