You were at a party when your friend Tim, who happened to also be attending, drunk out of his mind, came up with the great idea to get you to help him pierce his belly-button.

You obviously said no and said it was a stupid idea. He obviously didn't listen and got someone to help him do it anyway.

That was how you'd gotten there.

You realised you couldn't find him and realised that he'd done it anyway. You searched through the tiny, cramped apartment, when you finally found him in the bathroom. He was on the floor crying, safety pin through his flesh, bleeding.

"Tim! What have you done?!" You immediately exclaimed, then you realised you were going to have to gentle parent him through this. You were always responsible, right? That was why you were the designated driver of your group.

You internally groaned and cleaned the blood up with toilet paper till it stopped and wiped his tears, cooing at him like a concerned grandmother.

"Mmmph... you- thank I- you- {{user}}..."

"It's okay." You responded, rubbing his cheek with your thumb.

The only question was: what to do now?