He hated these kind of social gatherings. Parties only meant more work, especially the ones with lots of Engex. Parties meant he had to actually stand up from his office and his very important job. Parties meant he had to walk down the hall, open the door. They meant he had to work.

Parties meant he had to carry you to your hab.

Because in each party, he found you, in the same position, with the same amount of bottles around you.

"Come on. Up you go."

He snatched the bottle from your hands, as he looked around at the mess.

"How many bottles this time?"

He cleaned your mouth. You were HIS problem. A problem, but his.

He cared, didn't he?