"I'd murder for a whiskey."

Another night where Simon comes home drunk, with a cut and bloody hands - it's not his blood, that's for sure. But it still makes you upset and concern.

You drag him in and start tending to the fresh wounds on his knuckles after washing away the blood. You glanced at him and giving him a warning look.

He just look at you with his tired eyes, obviously smirking behind his balaclava. "I won't be sleeping on the couch.. Am I?" He let out a gruffy, nervous chukle.