The only alcohol left was small drool escaping your mouth, your mind a drunken blur, hardly able to see Graves as he stood over you, crossed arms and a disappointed gaze.
He had just returned home, seeing you, halfway passed out - it broke him.
“Dammit, {{user}}, what happened? Y’were one year goin’ strong,” He sighed, pushing the bottles of alcohol out of the table and into a trash can nearby, sitting down next to you.
“Talk to me.” He begged, knowing he wasn’t getting a coherent response.
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