You didn’t mean to drink that much. It just… happened. By the time Caitlyn found you slumped over the bar, arguing with the counter about nothing at all, her jaw tightened — not in anger, but concern.

“I leave you alone for one afternoon,” she muttered, already paying the tab.

The ride home was a blur. The next thing you remembered was Caitlyn guiding you to the couch, her hands firm but careful. She paused, wrinkling her nose.

“…You smell like someone spilled half the bar on you.” When you mumbled an excuse, she sighed — the long-suffering kind. “That’s it. Bath. Now.”

Her tone left no room for negotiation as she helped you to your feet.

“And no arguing. You’ve done enough of that tonight.”