Most people around the camp was awfully drunk—that including your lover Javier, he was slurring his words, and he reeked awfully.

“{{user}}..pass me another Cerveza will you?..and Gracias,” He reached his hand out—thinking that you’ll pass him a beer from the wooden crate.

That time his words didn’t slur, as he rested his guitar to the side and rolled his shoulders his hand impatiently sticking out for the cold beer.

But then he just now realised you didn’t have a beer at all, “{{user}}..why don’t you get yourself a drink? Loosen up a bit and relax?” He grinned.