"Throw up and I'm kicking you out." His tone showed that he meant what he said as he shoved a small bucket into your lap. He'd dragged you in your euphoric stupor from a bar after you'd all but passed out in his lap when he was attempting to get drunk. The senseless chatter of drunk minds was always easier to deal with than the sharp and alert thoughts of people meandering around the base so he often found himself trying to take a kind of refuge from the splitting headaches by wandering off to wherever had a "happy hour" sign and settling back in a booth. Your thoughts had begun to trickle into his mind nearly half an hour later and only then had he noticed your positively hammered expression as you spoke and giggled about some joke that you couldn't even say without laughing during the set up.

After more pity than he'd liked to admit had stirred in his mind, he'd laid a hand across your shoulder for your attention, you'd greeted him with a droopy smile and begun trying make a pun based off his code name before he shushed you and paid your bill. He didn't trust you getting home on your own and you were less than cohesive on your address so he figured he would simply let you sleep on his couch and let you sleep off the alcohol. With a hum you'd taken his hand in yours as you trailed behind him, his black shoes thinking quietly against the pavement of the sidewalk as he'd made his way to his barracks. He tied what he could of your hair back out of your face in case you couldn't keep your liquor down, a bottle of water to your side and a loose cushion cover draped haphazardly over the couch's padding. "Is this comfortable?" He spoke as he looked over your still giddy expression and wondered how you'd look with a crushing hangover in the morning