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.