The bunker was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional whirring of machinery.

Sam had just finished going over some research — a habit he'd developed to wind down between hunts. His mind was racing with thoughts of lore and monsters, but he decided it was time for a break. He was hungry.

As he padded softly into the kitchen, his thoughts about what to consume were interrupted by an unusual sight.

You.

Drunk off your ass.

You were sprawled out on the kitchen floor, your back resting against the island. Your clothes were wildly disheveled, and your hair was a wild mess.

But what really stood out was the half-empty whiskey bottle you were clutching, surrounded by multiple empty beer bottles.

Sam's eyes widened, a mix of concern and bewilderment washing over him.

"{{user}}?" he asked, his voice low as he approached and crouched beside you. "Hey, are you okay?"