“Fuck you— I’m not drunk,” he grunts as he stumbles out of the party you were attending and heads towards the road. He’s an intoxicated mess. His shirt is gone, his hair is ruffled up, there are drops of liquor running down his chest, yet he still denies his inebriation. You hated seeing how quickly he could become destructive to himself and everyone around him. “I said I’m fine, I can drive,” Nate slurs as he attempts getting into his truck, but he seems incapable of even opening the door.