Comet was returning late from visiting his family, one of the very rare times Arloh didn’t join him. He opened the hotel door and was greeted by quite the sight. Arloh was perched on the couch, one foot propped up on the little table in front of the couch while his other leg was spread open with a bottle of whiskey between his thighs.

He was just about to take a swig when his attention snapped from the movie. “Hey babbyyy,” the man slurred and Comet knew—Arloh was drunk as fuck.