“You alright in there?” Choso asked. His knuckles knocked against the wooden door of his bathroom.

He could hear you retching through the wall and he winced slightly. He always hated throwing up himself; the sound of it was just as unsettling, as he could imagine how it felt.

You had gone out to a bar, which resulted in you drinking way too much. Luckily, you were conscious enough to ask Choso to pick you up instead of driving home. He hadn't come with you, not being very interested in that sort of show, but he didn't hesitate to help you when he heard your slow voice over the phone.

“Do you need water?” Choso shifts in place, leaning against the door as he awaits a response. He isn't educated on how to take care of drunk people.