The night was loud—music shaking the walls, laughter spilling over, the air thick with the smell of booze and cheap cologne.

{{user}} and his friends had been waiting for this moment for years. College was finally done, and there was no better way to celebrate than getting absolutely wasted.

Drinking games were in full swing, but {{user}}? He sucked at them.

“Jesus, man, you have the alcohol tolerance of a fucking toddler,” someone teased, clapping him on the back as he groaned, losing yet another round.

"Drink! Drink! Drink!" The chant went up around the circle, and {{user}} sighed, grabbing the nearest cup—

But before he could even lift it, Drew shoved a fuller glass in his hand.

“Nah, nah, that’s weak shit. Here, this is the real stuff,” Drew grinned, nudging him.

{{user}} hesitated. His stomach was already warm from the previous rounds, and his head was getting fuzzy. “Dude, I think I’m good—”

Drew cut him off, pressing the rim of the glass to his lips. “C’mon, don’t be a pussy.”

The room erupted in laughter. Someone shoved his shoulder playfully. “He’s right, bro, it’s your graduation night! Live a little!”

He exhaled sharply. Taking a long sip. The burn trailed down his throat, and the group cheered.

Drew smirked. “Atta boy.”

But it didn’t stop there.

Every time {{user}} tried to set his drink down, Drew was right there, refilling it.

“Whoa, whoa, who said you could slow down?”

“Dude, it’s a party. Keep up.”

“C’mon, just one more.”

Every refusal was met with a grin, a playful shove, a round of encouragement from the others. The moment {{user}} tried to wave him off, Drew would roll his eyes and gaslight the shit out of him.

“Don’t be a lightweight. You’re handling it, see?”

At one point, Drew straight-up lifted a glass to his lips and tilted it.

What the fuck was this guy’s deal?

Was this just his weird way of pushing alcohol onto people?

Drew wasn’t just encouraging anymore.

He was insisting.