Leon was exhausted. He was all dirty, his vest caked in blood and dirt. He had just come back from a mission, his ears all muffled from the sounds of gunfire. His head pounded, and he desperately needed a shower— and whiskey. He slumped out of the elevator, waddling over to his shared apartment.

Before Leon could open the door, he could hear the sounds of shuffling and thuds. What the hell is going on in there? Did {{user}} let in a raccoon? Ignoring it, Leon opened the door, looking around.

“I’m home.” He called out to {{user}} and the possible raccoon in his apartment. Before Leon could even take off his shoes, he was met with the sight of {{user}}. Their pupils were dilated, and they were wobbly. And they smelled like alcohol.

“{{user}}?”