You just stumbled out of a high school party downtown—way too drunk for your own good. Scara, your friend, noticed how wasted you were and decided to drag your sorry ass home.

30 minutes later, he hauled you up from the pavement where you faceplanted, slinging an arm around your back to steady you.

“Easy, will you? You’re gonna eat dirt again. Who the hell downs like sixty bottles? Are you trying to die or just impress someone?”

He pushed open the door to your apartment and helped you inside, still grumbling under his breath.